ONE
August, 1944
The German SS office for the control of internal af-
fairs in Romania was located in Bucharest, at 9 Strau-
lesti Street. It was a three-story, gray stone building.
Inside, the floors were chopped up into little cubicles
designed to hold mostly file cabinets and few people.
Every hour on the hour for the last three days, Greta
Schell left her cubicle and walked briskly down a long
corridor to the office of the area commander, SS Grup-
penführer Graf von Wassner.
It was four o'clock on the afternoon of August the
twelfth. Greta ripped the last coded report from the ma-
chine and moved quickly. Her heels tapped heavily on
the wooden floors bleached with too much scrubbing.
She knocked once on the glass pane of the door and




2
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
entered without a command. Wordlessly, she placed the
report on the desk and stepped back to gauge its effect.
Von Wassner scanned the latest news quickly, and
then read it a second time.
Dressed in the stark black uniform with the twin
bolts of lightning on his collar, von Wassner was a strik-
ing figure. He stood to pace the room.
He was even more splendid to watch in motion than
in repose. His thick blond hair and gray eyes glistened
under the harsh lights as he walked with the lithe assur-
ance of an acrobat. At forty-three he looked no more
than thirty-five, and carried himself as if he felt another
ten years younger than that.
Watching him, Greta Schell felt the same desire she
had felt the first time she had slept with him a year
before.
His voice, when he spoke, was a rumbling bass.
"Hitler is an idiot and Himmler is his ass-kisser!"
"It is bad?"
He looked up. '*Worse than bad. It is terrible. The
partisans have linked up with the Red Army. They are in
the Transylvanian Alps and pushing south."
Ihe woman's lips quivered. "How jong?"
"Two days, three at the most. Our mighty Führer has
ordered us to hold Bucharest to the last man."
'Can we still get across the Danube to the sea?"
Greta whisrrred.
Von Wassner nodded. "l think so. Order Dieter to
bring the car around."
Greta Schell hurried from the office. Despite the hor-
rorofthe moment. she had a slight smile on her lips.
He had not mentioned his wife in Berlin. She, Greta
RUBY RED DEATH
3



3
(15 of 212)
+ 100%
RUBY RED DEATH
3
Schell, had replaced her. Together. she and the count
would safe in South America.
Graf von Wassner steppd from the black Mercedes
and leaned back through the window. 'Take Fräulein
Schell to her flat and return for me in an hour."
"Ja, Herr Gruppenführer. "
Ihe count hurried up the three flights, unlocked the
door to his flat, and shoved it OIRn.
One step into the room, von Wassner froze. Sitting in
a chair, his hands folded across his fat paunch, was the
head of the Bucharest Abwehr, Hermann Eisling.
Could the man know?
Von Wassner ignored the knot in his gut, shut the
door. and stepped forward. He managed a look of con-
tempt as he lit a cigarette.
"What the hell are you doing in my flat, Herr Eis-
ling?"
"Waiting for you, of course."
'S You have a key?"
"Locks are conceived by fools," the other man said
with a shrug.
Von Wassner stepped to a nearby table and angrily
extinguished the cigarette. "I've had a difficult day.
What do you want?"
"Each day, in these times, is a difficult day."
"Dammit, Eisling—
"I know," the Abwehr man interrupted.
"What?"
"I know of your plans. I know that you have pur-
chased Portuguese passr»rts for yourself and Fräulein
Schell. I know that you have stolen a great amount of
Arnerican dollars and English pounds sterling ..
4



4
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
Von Wassner bristled. "Eisling, do you know what
you're saying?"
"Every word of it. I know that you plan to drive
across the Danube to the Black Sea at Constanta. lhere,
you will—
He was wearing a pair of blue trousers and a large
turtleneck sweater, both of which showed his flab to
disadvantage. Von Wassner took a firm hold on the bulk
of the sweater, just under his chin, and yanked him up
to a convenient position. He backhanded him across the
mouth with his right hand. nen he let him have one
from the opposite direction. He repeated the action half
a dozen times. It was like hitting a punching bag. Eis-
ling's head moved with the blows but he didn't resist,
just hung loosely where he was held.
He whimvrred once, and von Wassner let go of him.
He flopped back down into the chair.
"What do you want?" von Wassner hissed.
Eisling didn't answer. Instead he a handkerchief
from one of his side trouser pockets and began dabbing
at the blood that flowed from his nose and mouth and at
the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Ihat wasn't necessary, GruppenfUhrer."
Von Wassner's foot shot forward. His toe connected
squarely with Eisling's knee. The fat man squealed in
pain and rolled from the chair to the floor.
"When I ask you a question, you answer me. Don't
fuck around with it. Just answer."
"I want to come with you," Eisling whined.
Von Wassner yanked him to his feet. "You are a
fool."
"Herr Grumxnführer, you might as well know that I
RUBY RED DEATH
5





5
am an intelligent man and I accept the fact that I am a
physical coward, so I won't fight you."
Von Wassner threw him back into the chair in dis-
gust. From the holster at his belt he withdrew a 9mm
Luger, cocked it, and placed the muzzle against the Ab-
wehr man's head.
"I have to kill you."
"No, no, wait!" Eisling's lower lip quivered and
more tears appeared on his cheeks. "The funds you have
secured for your escape are not large. They are merely a
fraction of what I can offer if you take me with you."
Von Wassner's grip relaxed slightly on the pistol.
"What are you talking about?"
Eisling squirmed around in the chair, pulling himself
together. He balled up the handkerchief and held it
tightly in a fist as the arrogance began drifting back into
his expression.
"I know where there are enough jewels to last both of
us a lifetime. ten lifetimes. They are here, not more
than an hour's drive from Bucharest."
As he watched the change of expression in the other
man's eyes, he pulled a fresh cigar from a breast pocket
and rolled it between his fingers. Now the arrogance
pervaded his features.
"Why haven't these jewels already been confis-
cated?" von Wassner demanded.
"Two reasons. The first, because their owner has
been very helpful to our cause. The second reason is
because I have deleted all records of them from my re-
ports. Only the family, myself, and Canaris know of
their existence."
Von Wassner thought about it. As head of the Ab-
wehr, Admiral Canaris was an honest military man. Un-
6





6
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
like Göring, Canaris cared nothing about raping the
countries that the Third Reich had conquered.
'*Who is the family?" von Wassner asked.
'WA very highly placed Romanian family, anti-Bol-
shevik. "
"You have proof of this?"
"I can lead you directly to them."
"l didn't ask you that," von Wassner barked. "Do
you have proof?"
Eisling ignored the question. Calmly, he started to
light his cigar. Von Wassner brought the barrel of the
Luger down across the other man's head, just hard
enough to stun but not enough to crush the skull.
"The proof, Eisling!"
"The report," Eisling rasped. have the only origi-
nal copy of the report the one I never filed!"
"Where is it? I want to see it."
Von Wassner softened his voice, the way he did
when interrogating a prisoner. When no answer came,
he hit Eisling again, this time across the temple, harder.
"No!" the man whimpered. falling to his knees, a
hand covering the place where von Wassner had struck
him.
"Yes, you fat pig! Do you think I would gamble tak-
ing you along without knowing you're worth it?"
It was in the Abwehr man's eyes: fear, desperation,
survival. He telegraphed the move a full second before
he made it. His hand had snaked down to his ankle and
come up with a small pistol. As he came out of the
chair, von Wassner shot him low in the groin.
Eisling screamed as the blood ran out over his pants.
Von Wassner bent down. The man moaned softly in
German. He tried to scream again, but it came out as a
RUBY RED DEATH





7
(19 of 212)
+ 100%
RUBY RED DEATH
moan and what sounded like "Bitte." Von Wassner
placed the gun under his ear. Nearby, a truck rattled
over the old cobblestones and a horn blew loud and
long. •ney made so much noise that von Wassner felt
the recoil and saw the skull explode more than he heard
the shot.
He searched Eisling's m)ckets and found only his
identification and the usual paraphernalia. The man's
jacket was hung on a nearby chair. He shredded the
lining, and found a thick envelope.
One quick scan of its contents told him that he had
struck gold. Or, better yet, a fortune in jewels.
In the rear of the Mercedes, von Wassner, a penlight
in his right hand, studied the Romanovsky file.
Prince Valentin Romanovsky had fled from Russia
during the Bolshevik revolution. In Romania he married
the only surviving heir to the powerful house of Cim-
peni, Princess Sophia. While the other royal houses fell
to financial ruin after World War l, Romanovsky sur-
vived and prospered. The reason for this was the tre-
mendous borrowing power of the merged Romanovsky
and Cimpeni family jewels. They were worth millions.
When World War II came along, and Romania be-
came an ally of Nazi Germany, Romanovsky gladly
supplied Hider's military machine with oil from his rich
Romanian fields. In retum for this, the family's for-
tunes—including the jewels—remained intact.
Greta Schell read the dcxurnent over von Wassnerss
shoulder. By the time she finished she was shaking with
excitement. "My God, Graf, millions!" she exclaimed.
He smiled. '*And ours for the taking."
"But will Romanovsky have them in the castle?"
8




8
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"He will," von Wassner replied, "if he is a prudent
man and not a fool. Like us, he must have seen the end
long ago. He would keep the jewels at hand, just in
case."
Von Wassner spread a map of Romania on his lap.
He studied it for a moment, and then circled the village
of Cernavoda.
"Herr Gruppenführer.. ."
'The bridge."
A mile ahead lay the Fetesti Bridge across the Dan-
ube. On each side they could see the tiny huts of the
checkpoint guards.
The driver slowed as they approached the western
side of the bridge. No one challenged them from the
hut.
"They have probably set up a line on the eastern
bank," von Wassner said evenly. "When the Reds come,
it will be from there. Drive on."
But they got no challenge on the eastem side of the
river either. Von Wassner's antennae came up on full
alert. Something was wrong, very wrong....
But it was too late.
Greta Schell saw them first, a Red Army patrol.
They materialized from the trees beside the road.
She screamed, but the sound was drowned out by
rifle fire.
Sergeant Boris Glaskov was five feet ten. His body
under his dirt-brown unifonn was broad and solid. His
sandy hair was long and limp with perspiration. His
brown eyes were flecked with gold and set too close
together for most people's taste, including his own.
RUBY RED DEATH
9




9
They made him look cruel, devious. and dishonest. *Ihis
was a disadvantage, since he was cruel, devious, and
dishonest. Glaskov was one day past his twenty-first
birthday.
He munched a candy bar he had taken from the Mer-
cedes dnver's pocket, and examined the watch he had
pulled from the man's wrist.
He was angry. The fools had opened fire without his
order. The woman was beautiful. They could have all
raped her before they killed her. The fools.
A blanket was dropped at his feet. "From the two in
the back, Comrade Sergeant,"
Glaskov looked up at the man with his dead stare.
"What did you keep, Corporal?"
The corporal started to protest, thought better of it,
and pulled von Wassner's SS ring from his finger. He
dropped it onto the pile and retreated.
Glaskov went through the SS officer's and the
woman's belongings. Anything of value went into the
pouch on his belt.
The Portuguese passports were interesting. Heinrich
and Greta Bolivar, Lisbon.
He picked up the sheaf of official-looking papers
with the Abwehr seal.
Boris Glaskov had been born in the tiny village of
Vysokoye, near the Russian border. Because of this, he
spoke fluent Polish and German, as well as his native
Russian.
He read the complete report on Romanovsky, and
then read it again. He looked at the marked map, and
then picked up the passports once more.
Boris Glaskov was not educated, but he was cun-
ning. All of these items put together meant something.
10



10
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
Vysokoye was a poor village, and the Glaskov clan
the poorest of its inhabitants. Boris had stolen to eat
almost from the time he could walk. In fact, if the war
had not happened, and he had not tren conscripted into
the army, his fellow villagers or the GPU would proba-
bly have lynched him by now.
As far as Boris was concerned, the revolution had
done nothing for him or his family. The only difference
was that the grain and meat Boris stole was now the
state's instead of his neighbor's. That made it even more
likely that when he went home he would be hanged that
much sooner
Boris Glaskov did not want to return to Russia.
He had a gut feeling that the papers he now held
might solve that problem for him.
'Corporal?"
"Da, Comrade Sergeant?"
"Your grid map of the area."
"Da." The corporal trotted over, pulling the map
from his puch.
"How far are we from the village of Cernavoda?"
The corporal calculated quickly. "About six and a
half kilometers, Comrade Sergeant."
Glaskov €tmd and shouldered his rifle.
"We go there."
Castle Cimpeni was perched on a hill that dominated
the countryside clear to the Danube. Its battlements and
fortifications recalled a history of conquests and internal
wars. Ihe village of Cernavoda clung to the side of the
hill, and some of the weathervanes atop the little houses
reached almost to the level of the castle's terrace.
On this night, with Red Army artillery booming to
RUBY RED DEATH
11



11
the north and east, the castle was ablaze with light.
Behind its three-foot-thick walls, there was con-
trolled chaos. Servants, directed by Princess Sophia
herself, humedly packed the most essential of the fam-
ily's belongings.
Surveying it all through sad eyes was Prince Valentin
Romanovsky He was in his middle fifties, wide and
powerfully built, with close-cropped, iron-gray hair and
square, solemn features. He wore a black overcoat. a
black suit, and carried a narrow-brimmed green felt hat
in one big hand. His clothes needed pressing, but there
was a certain massive dignity about him. A full-length
sable coat was draped over his left arm.
"Sophia."
The woman turned and came immediately to his side.
She was fifteen years younger than her husband, but
strikingly beautiful in the same way he was regally
handsome. Her face, considering the circumstances,
was remarkably calm.
"Yes, Valentin?"
"It is enough. We can take no more. Where is Ser-
"Freeing the animals," she replied. "He doesn't want
his horses under the asses of Bolshevik
butchers. His words."
They both laughed. And Romanovsky's eyes filled as
they gazed at his wife. In her wealth of midnight hair,
which she wore loose and well past her shoulders, re-
strained from clouding her face by a barrette over each
temple. In her steady black eyes. In her features, large
but perfectly chiseled. And above all in her complexion,
which was as utterly white as her hair was utterly black.
She made him think of a madonna.
12



12
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"What is it, my darling?"
"Nothing. Where is little Sophia?"
' 'In the nursery. She is being readied."
"Go fetch her. We must leave at once."
She was two steps above him on the wide stairwell,
when gunfire erupted in the front courtyard. Screams of
dying men reached their ears, and suddenly the massive
doors were flung wide.
Fifteen-year-old Sergei Romanovsky was flung to the
floor where he rolled toward them. He was followed by
three Russian soldiers. The one with thc sergeant's
stripes approached them.
"Prince Romanovsky?"
"Yes."
"Your family?" The man gestured to the boy and the
woman.
"Yes. My wife, Sophia. My son, Sergei."
'*And these three?" the sergeant said, nodding toward
the dumbstruck women.
"Servants," Romanovsky replied.
"And who else is here?"
Romanovsky hesitated only a second. "Only the male
servants... outside,"
"They are all dead," Boris Glaskov said. He turned
and shot the three servant women.
Princess Sophia was too shocked to scream. She
gasred in terror and clutched her husband•s arm. Young
Sergei reacted in the same manner, staring in quiet,
stunned disbelief.
"Butchers!" Romanovsky hissed.
g 'That is so you know I will do everything I say I will
do." the sergeant stated flatly. "In there, all of you."
Glaskov prodded them into a small study, and turned
RUBY RED DEATH
13




13
to his men. "Tell the others to stand guard outside. You
two, search the house."
Glaskov closed and locked the paneled door behind
the men. Using drapery cord, he tied the man and boy to
chairs. He bound Princess Sophia spread-eagled across
a chaise.
When he was finished, he stood before them. "Boy,
where are the jewels?" He jabbed his rifle in Sergei's
chest.
"He knows nothing," Prince Romanovsky said.
Glaskov turned to the older man. "And you?"
Romanovsky stared at him, his eyes glittering.
"What would a peasant like yourself do with jewels?"
Glaskov slapped him three times. "I have very little
time, and even less patience. Where are they hidden?"
Romanovsky spat in Glaskov's face. The sergeant
turned to Sophia. He wrapped his right hand in the bod-
ice of her dress and ripped it from her body. Within
seconds he had stripped her nude.
Romanovsky cried out in rage. Glaskov slapped him
again. '*Where are they, all of them! And tell me the
truth, old man, because I have an itemized list."
"Valentin," Sophia hissed, "tell this pig nothing!"
Glaskov raised his tunic and unbuttoned the front of
his trousers. "Where?"
Sweat poured from the prince's face. "What are you
going to do?"
"l am going to rape your wife. Where!"
Romanovsky took a deep breath. "In the
There is a false back on the rear of the altar."
Glaskov fell forward Sophia's legs. She
cursed him in screams as he entered her.







TWO
The present time
The electric train from Salzburg droned through the
storm and sent the snowflakes spinning crazily in its
wake, but nothing could prevent their piling on top of the
already deep snow. So far, the train had made good time in
spite of the whiteness in the high mountain passes. Fortu-
nately, there was still no wind to create the impassable
drifts so common to the Tyrol. The air was unbelievably
dry, and the snow was light and fluffy. It was as though the
great cloud bank, drifting slowly into western Austria,
had stopped, hemmed in by the Alps, and now was trying
to shake off its tons of snow in order to raise itself high
atx»ve the peaks that held it captive and drift on again into
the heart of Europe and beyond.
Nick Caner gave up staring out the window, and
14
RUBY RED DEATH
15



15
glanced at his watch. The train would arrive in Kitzbü-
hel in another twenty minutes, a full two hours late tr-
cause of the stonn.
No matter,
The message hadn't a time, only a date. It
had come through the usual contact in Paris, and, as
usual, was cryptic: Very important I see you in person.
Evening of the tenth, my chalet, Kitzbühel. Lorena.
Lorena was Madame Lorena Zomova. Carter had
met her ten years earlier, in Vienna, through an equally
cryptic message:
My name is Lorena Zornova. I am a refugee from
Budapest, a defector, if you wish to call it that. I wish,
in the future, to pass information on to you, only you.
"Why me?" Carter had asked, when they had finally
"Because my contact in the East knows of you and
thinks you can tr trusted." To his surprise, she popped
off several operations he had undertaken in Bulgaria,
Romania, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia.
"All right," Carter said, and nodded, "your informa-
tion is good. What do you want in retum?'S
"A modest fee, enough to live here in the West."
"That's reasonable. I think it would be no problem."
A contact and drop was set up through Paris. And the
information she provided was gobd, pure gold. When it
was something really big, Carter would go to her in
person. Some of those meetings had taken place in trop-
ical, exotic locales.
Lorena Zornova was not a young woman but she was
all woman, and exceedingly beautiful. It was only natu-
ral that she and Carter would eventually share more than
information.
16



16
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
But even in bed he had never leamed a shred Of
knowledge about her past. That was a closed book, with
only a hint of anything to come.
"One day I will ask you a very big favor. By then
you will owe me several big favors. When that day
comes, perhaps then you will know the real Lorena. "
Carter had never complained. Neither had David
Hawk nor AXE. One intelligence coup followed another
through the years as a result of her information.
It had been three years since Carter had last seen her
in
Carrying just a small overnight bag, the Killmaster
stepped from the train into blinding snow. He turned left
out of the station and into the back streets of the village.
The snow seemed to get heavier with each step from a
motionless gray sky.
He stopped for a minute and stood at the corner of a
narrow street and listened. There was no traffic of any
kind, and the absolute quiet was unnerving. The snow-
flakes gathered on his bare head and coated his eye-
brows. He tried to peer through the snowflakes and
penetrate the wall of gloom around him, but he couldn'l
see more than a radius of twenty feet.
He kept walking until he heard music, and then fol-
lowed the sound until he saw the window with a lighted
stein.
Inside, it was warm and practically empty The bar,
tender was a giant ofa man in height, with a girth to match.
"Schnapps," Carter said, and waited until it was
poured. "I just got off the train. I need a taxi."
"Hotel, right across the street."
"No, I need to go a way outside the village."
RUBY RED DEATH
17



17
"Ach, on a night like this?" He shook his head,
seemed to think on it for a moment, and leaned forward.
" You ill pay?"
"I'll pay."
Two minutes later, Carter was back on the street
heading four houses down for "old Kirchner's." It
seemed that Herr Kirchner ran a car-for-hire, and that he
was the only one greedy enough to go out on a night
like this.
Carter found the house, knocked on the door, and
waited,
The door was opened by a short, stout Hausfrau with
grayish hair. She looked surprised.
"Ja? What do you want?" she said.
"Is Herr Kirchner at home, please?" Carter asked
with a smile. "l would like to talk with him."
The woman hesitated a moment. "I will see if my
husband is awake yet. He works late, you know," she
added. "Wait here."
She closed the door and left Carter standing in the
snow. It was several minutes before the door opened
again and a man stood on the threshold. He was only
half dressed. His nightshin was bulging over his pants.
He was dough-faced and shapeless.
He squinted at Carter. "Ja?"
Carter explained his needs and the chalet by name
without naming its owner:
Kirchner blustered, waved his hands pointing at the
falling snow, and in no uncertain terms declared that
Carter was crazy.
The Killmaster held up an American hundred-dollar
bill. The man snatched it and pointed to a vintage. open
Jeep at the curb. "Wait."
18




18
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
Carter chuckled to himself as he swept the seat with
his hand. If anyone from the other side was keeping
track of Lorena Zornova's visitors, he thought, he was
leaving a trail a mile wide.
Carter managed to step from the Jeep even though
his legs were frozen. The last of the great foul-weather
Grand Prix drivers, Hans Kirchner, roared off just as
Carter rescued his bag.
He managed to wade through the thigh-high snow-
drifts and ring the bell of the chalet. She must have seen
the Jeep arrive because the door opened at once.
"I didn't think you'd make it." Her voice was low,
husky, and the words came out as if Garbo had an-
nounced that she vanted to be alone.
"Some of me didn't, I think," Carter muttered. "I'm
frozen."
Lorena laughed, "You should have dressed warmer."
"Lorena, are you going to leave me standing out here
all night?"
"Sorry."
She stepped aside and he entered the hallway. The
door slammed and she took his coat. Her lips brushed
his cheek.
"Good to see you."
"Brandy, woman," he growled. "Now."
"This way."
Carter followed her down the hall and into a small
sitting room, cozy, with a roaring fire. He watched her
pour brandy into two large snifters.
She looked good.
Did he exrrct three years would change her appear-
ance? Not Lorena. Her face was a little grave, there were
RUBY DEATH
19




19
shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes, and she had gained a
pound or two, maybe. But she was still the same.
lhe thick blond hair spilled down from her head over
her shoulders, every lock shining and in place. The con-
tours of her face were soft and delicate, the skin pale
and clear. The mouth was a red banner across her face,
unfurling at the lower lip in a gentle pout.
The dress she wore was of softest wcx)l with a gently
draped back. It molded itself lingeringly to her ample
curves, then flared slightly so that it swirled as she
walked.
"You're staring," she said as she handed him one of
the snifters.
"Don't I always?" he shot back with a grin. "Salud."
They touched glasses and sipped the brandy. Carter
shivered and moved to the fire, She sank into a vast,
pillow-bedecked sofa, the crossing of her legs a whisper
of sound.
Carter again raised his glass. 'Old times," he said.
g 'And old faces," she replied.
"Change that old to familiar and I'll drink to it."
She laughed. "You look much nicer when you smile."
They drank.
She put down her glass and took a cigarette from a
black lacquer box on the coffee table, offering him one.
He got them lighted with very little shaking of numb
hands and sat down.
Lorena studied him. "I'll guess you've taken on
about a pound a year," she said. *'Three pounds."
"Eight," he replied. "Pounds, that is."
'Otherwise," she continued, "you don't Jook much
different. Except in the eyes. Mature? Grave?"
"Cynical."
20




20
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
Immediately her face closed. "Yes, aren't we all."
"You want to tell me why the hell you dragged m
across the Alps in a blizzard?"
'*Must I, right now?" she replied, making a face.
"You wanted to see me right away, remember?"
"Yes," she sighed. "But you haven't even tk)thered 0
kiss me hello."
Carter cocked his head to one side. "This doesn'
sound like Lorena Zorkova."
"No, it doesn't
"But—" He shrugged, and leaned forward to brus
his lips across hers. "There."
"Christ, Nick," she groaned, "you're so damn rc
mantic."
"l know. Speak to me."
She crushed her cigarette in an ashtray, fell back o
the sofa, and closed her eyes. "It's a long story, Nick.
starts in 1944. I was just a year old." She paused an
opened her eyes to stare at him for a second. "Now yo
know I'm a middle-aged woman."
"You're being coy again."
"Sorry." She smoothed her dress and shifted her pc
sition. 'Of course, my real name isn't Zorkova."
"l never thought it was," Caner replied.
"Have you ever heard the name Romanovsky?"
"Several times. It's a common Russian name.
probably have two hundred Romanovskys in our files.'
"Prince Valentin Romanovsky?"
Carter thought for several minutes. then shook h
head. "No, but that wouldn't be unusual. After the reva
lution, there were damn few princes around."
A smile curled her lips and her eyes narrowed
slits. "So true. Prince Valentin Romanovsky was rx
RUBY RED DEATH
21





21
father. Princess Sophia of Romania was my mother. I
also have a brother, Sergei."
"Was, and have?" Carter said, his brow furrowing in
curiosity.
' 'My brother is still alive. My parents are dead.
That's where the story begins .. i"
For the next hour, Carter sat transfixed as she told
him the events of that evening so many years before. He
didn't move until she paused. Then he took her glass,
liberally filled it and his own, and resumed his seat.
"What happened then, after the Russian sergeant
raped your mother?"
"My father went mad. The Russian left the room. By
then his two men had searched the house. They hadn't
found me in the upstairs rooms. When the shooting
started, my nurse hid both of us on top of the canopy
above my bed."
Here she paused and took a long drink of brandy.
Carter lit fresh cigarettes for them both and let her take
her time.
"My bedroom had two doors, one into the hall, the
other directly into the family chapel. We saw the sergeant
remove the jewels from the rear of the altar. He brought
them into the bedroom and carefully compared them to a
list he had. When he seemed satisfied, he hid the jewels in
his clothing and built up some twigs and papers in the
fireplace. He was about to light it, when two soldiers
appeared in the doorway. He asked them if it was done.
Both of them nodded. Then he killed them, both of them.
He sprayed both of them with his rifle, his own
comrades."
"You remember all this so clearly?" Carter asked.
"Not really. I was only a baby, and by then my nurse,
22




22
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
Nanya, was covering me with her body to make sure I
wouldn't cry out. But later, I heard every detail many,
many times."
"Go on," Carter said.
'The Russian dropped a match to start the fire, and
then bolted from the room. Nanya dropped to the floor
and rushed to the fireplace: For years after that, she told
us that she never really knew why she saved the papers
the Russian was trying to burn. Something just told her
to do it."
"What were they?"
"I'll get to that. There was more shooting from the
front courtyard. Nanya rushed to the window. The Rus-
Sian sergeant had killed his other two comrades. Nanya
watched him ride off in the sleigh that was supB)sed to
have taken us to the sea."
"And your parents? Your brother?"
She continued as if Carter hadn't spoken. "We waited
in the bedroom for nearly an hour txfore going down-
stairs. My brother was babbling, but Nanya got the
story out of him. The two soldiers had come into the
room right after the sergeant had left. One of them shot
my mother and father. He was turning his gun on my
brother, when the other soldier stopped him.
"He shouted in Russian that he would not be a party to
the killing of children. The other soldier just shrugged and
they left the room, letting my brother live. 'i
Suddenly she stood. "As you can tell, all of this is
very depressing for me. There are three things I need
when I am depressed ... drink, food, and sex. We have
had drink. Now I will make us some sandwiches. I'll be
right back."
She returned in no time with a tray of food and two
RUBY RED DEATH
23




23
bottles of good Romanian lager, ney ate in silence,
Carter mulling over the story thus far, and not hiding his
curiosity to hear the rest of it.
At last she pushed her plate away and continued.
"Nanya hitched horses to another sleigh. She bundled
the two of us into it and headed north, into the moun-
tains. She knew the countryside well. We were able to
avoid the retreating Germans and the advancing Rus-
sians. In two days" time we reached her village, Vailia,
near the Russian border."
"And obviously survived," Carter murmured.
"Oh, yes, thanks to Nanya. Vailia was a partisan vil-
lage. Nanya•s family accepted us without question. We
were given the identity cards of two children of neigh-
boring families who had recently died."
"So you grew up in Vailia?" Carter said.
"Yes. I Lorena Zarkova."
"And your brother?"
' 'Sergei tuame Vadim Vinnick."
Carter paused with the bottle of lager halfway to his
lips.
Vadim Vinnick was the all-powerful head of the Ro-
manian intelligence service.
Carter stocxl under the shower, letting the hot water
finish thawing the cold from his bones.
In his mind he went over every word of Lorena Zor-
kovass story. At first he had thought it farfetched. Then,
when she had gotten to the kicker, the punch line. he
found himself wanting to believe every word.
"My brother wants to meet with you, face-to-face. "
"That could be tncky, in Romania," Carter had re-
plied.
24




24
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"Hc knows that. You can get into Hungary unno-
"Yes."
"Then he can get you into Romania."
"Great. Why?"
"l'm afraid he will have to tell you that. RememtEr,
many years ago I told you that one day I would require a
"Yeah, I remember."
He had stalled, but he knew he would go. Somehow
it seemed to be in the cards. And, trsides, if he met
face-to-face with a man as high up as Vadim Vinnick
and got back out, it had to prove profitable.
He dried his body, wrapped a towel around his hips,
and entered the bedroom. Lorena was stretched across
the t*d. The lights had been dimmed and she had
changed into something sheer and feminine.
He remembered her earlier comment. "I hope you're
still depressed," he quipped.
She laughed, a light, ringing sound in the still room.
"Yes, very depressed."
She slid from the bed and Carter closed the distance
between them. When he kissed her she did nothing at
first, neither responding nor withdrawing. Then Carter
put his arms around her, bringing her closes and she
snatched out at him with surprising passion, pulling him
to her and forcing herself against him. They parted fi-
nally, both breathless.
"I am glad my brother contacted me when he did.
You see, I wanted to see you myself. I feel like a nun in
this village."
Her voice was low, husky, full of un-
masked desire.
She came forward, kissing him again, but more gently
RUBY RED DEATH
25




25
this time, without the former urgency. When it was over,
she stepped away from him, breathing heavily.
She the wispy gown and pulled it slowly up
over her thighs and hips, and then slid it over her head,
all in one easy movement.
She was nude except for a tiny piece of cloth on her
hips. *Ihe thighs were downy-soft, the sweep of curve
from hip to waist was stunning, the breasts were ripe
and inviting. She smiled at him, her eyes heavy-lidded,
her mouth partly open.
"Well?" she breathed.
Carter grabbed her and pulled her against him, and then
they were kissing again, his mouth exploring her hot one,
his hands finding the txautiful curves of her flesh.
She pulled away, gasping for breath, her eyes slightly
glazed over now, her b(Xiy trembling gently. "Take me,"
she murmured.
She fell to the bed. Carter discarded the towel and
joined her. He found her seeking tongue. and the golden
thighs, and the hot flesh of her body pressed insistently
against him.
She took his hand and put it where she wanted it to
be, around her breasts first, where she left it for a long
time, her eyes half closed and her breathing becoming
heavy, and then down, parting for him.
He manipulated her with his fingers and then moved
his head downward. With a cry she raised her hips to
meet him.
"Harder, yes, harder!" she cried out, bucking and
groaning under his lips.
Then she pulled him up over her. She was wetly ready,
sighing as he entered her. At the beginning they both
stopped for a moment, resting briefly, and then started
26




26
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
again in perfect time, unhurried. She was slightly ahead,
moving faster, urging him on at the very last.
He strained to catch her, and did, so that they ex-
ploded together. She screamed out and clutched at him,
burying her face into his shoulder and murmuring, ' SOh,
oh!" over and over again.
He awoke first, moming giving broad shapes and
forms to the trees outside the window, deep grays with
touches of white, as though they were part of a giant
canvas. He looked across at Lorena. She lay on her
side, facing him. 'Ihe sheet had slipped down to reveal
her left breast, beautifully round, deeply full, the deli-
cate pink circle tipping it. He swung from the bed, went
into the bathroom, showered and shaved, and dressed.
She was awake when he came out. sitting up with the
sheet wrapped around her.
"Sleep well?" He smiled affably at her.
"Quite," she replied, and grinned.
"I've got a scrambler device with me. I'll call Wash-
ington."
"And tell them what?" she asked.
"That I'm going over."
He wasn't sure as he turned away, but he thought her
smile was just like the one on the cartoon cat that ate the
canary.









100%
THREE
Carter caught the early-morning train out of Kitzbü-
hel and amved in Salzburg ncxyn. He checked the
schedules and found he had forty minutes before the
express to Vienna pulled out.
There were two ranks of pay telephones, one at each
end of the terminal, He idled by one bank of phones
until he had a number, and then walked across the ter-
minal. He dropped the required coins in the slot and
waited until a husky female voice answered with the
number he had just dialed.
"Tell Gunter that an old friend wants to talk to him,"
Carter said. ' •ne number is Salzburg 779-101."
He hung up and walked leisurely across to the other
bank of phones.
No one paid him any attention.
He waited nearly five minutes in the booth before the
phone rang. "Yes?"
28
27




28
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"All my old friends have died from bad drink and
loose women. Who is this?"
"Gunter, you fat old thief. I'm glad to hear they
haven't shot you on the other side for short-changing
and overcharging."
"How could they?" replied the gravelly voice in
barely accented English. "I the answer to their
black-market prayers. I haven't heard from you in an
age. You must want something."
"I have to go over," Caner said, "and I don't want to
be made."
"When?" The voice suddenly got serious.
"Tonight, if possible."
"That might be arranged. You're in Salzburg?"
"Yes. I'll arrive in Vienna around seven."
"Should be enough time. Take a taxi from the station
out to my country place. You remember it?"
s do."
"I'll try to have everything ready."
Carter hung up, bought a paper, and boarded his
train.
He had a light lunch in the dining car and slept fit-
fully all the way to Vienna.
The snow had turned to a light rain, making the
streets of the old city glisten. Clutching his light bag, he
ignored the taxi queue outside the station and walked
several blocks before hailing a passing cab.
"The country. I'll direct you."
In no time they had left the city. The windshield
wipers flicked steadily. They drove past stolid-looking
houses surrounded by stone walls and dripping trees,
The streets were as silent as the hills that rolled behind
RUBY RED DEATH
29



29
them. Eighteen miles out of the city they exchanged the
highway for a mountain road that climbed up through
dripping fir trees to a sodden expanse of pastureland.
The farmhouses were dark and isolated. Dogs barked as
the headlights lit the bams and outbuildings.
They had climbed another three miles, when a build-
ing loomed out of the mist, fields stretching behind it
into wet darkness.
"Here," Carter growled.
The driver braked. *Ihe headlights shone on a
wooden chalet surrounded by an ugly wall built of stone
and iron piping. Water ran from the gutters. *Ihe shutters
were closed. Not a single light showed. Carter gave the
driver his shillings and added a large tip.
"Thanks for your trouble."
The man pocketed his money, glanced across at what
looked like a deserted chalet, and drove off.
Carter walked around to the rear and opened a gate in
the stone wall. He could see light in the first-floor-rear
rcx)rn, mostly obscured by heavy curtains. He waited a
minute or two before crossing a patch of broken con-
crete and then onto a stretch of lawn.
Interesting, he thought. Gunter Forbin was probably
worth millions, yet his "country house" was little more
than a dump. But then, when one made one's millions
by not paying duty on Western goods smuggled into
Eastern bloc countries, it didn't pay to advertise one's
wealth.
The ground sloped down and there were steep steps
to the basement. The opaque glass door was open as
promised. Caner stepped into the passage; there was a
wedge of light at the far end. As he moved, the light
widened until the whole of the far end was illuminated
30




30
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
and Gunter stood silhouetted like a giant against the far
wall.
"It's me," Carter said.
"I know," came the reply with a rral of laughter, "I
could hear your catlike stealth from the grave. Come in,
I have schnapps."
The room was plain. Carter supposed that the two
doors leading off were to a bedroom and kitchen. *lhere
was a new armchair, and a table pushed into a corner
looked new. There wasn't much else. Photos of irnm)S-
sibly süuctured nude women hung from walls badly in
need of paint and plaster.
lhe Killmaster took the offered tumbler of schnapps
and set his bag on the table. "You really should spend
some of your money, Gunter," he said with a grin, mak-
ing a face as he surveyed the room.
"Oh, but I do, I do!" the big man roared. "In Paris,
Rome, New York! But not here. Here, I am a poor man.
Prosit!" He drank and wiped his mustache with his
fingers.
*'What have you got for me?" Carter asked, draining
his own glass.
"You have my fees of course?"
"Of course," Carter replied, withdrawing an enve-
lope from his jacket and dropped it in the big man's lap,
"There's a little extra in there. I'll need a few things on
the other side."
"No problem." As if by magic, a passport and a fist
of papers appeared on the table in front of Carter. "For
the time you are there, you are Emil Bunder, a relief
lorry driver. I used one of your photos from the last
time. Here is your union permit, your driver's license,
RUBY RED DEATH
31




31
and your visa for three days of holiday. I assume your
business will take no longer than that?"
"Let's hope not. I'm going over in a lorry?"
Gunter Forbin nodded. "As a relief driver. You're in
luck, I have a shipment going over legally at midnight
. seed and packaged manure."
"In the dead of winter?" Carter said.
The big man shrugged. "My Communist customers
like to look ahead. "
"What's under the seed and shit?"
Forbin grinned. "Perfume, cosmetics, blue jeans.
rock and roll tapes ... just more shit. Come along, my
friend, and we'll wardrobe you."
From a closet and drawers in the bedroom, Carter
outfitted himself from the skin out in used, locally Ia-
beled clothing. The pants and shirt were worn denim,
and the old fur-collared leather jacket was cracked with
age.
"What will you need over there?" Forbin asked.
"I'm going skiing, Everything should be used. Oh,
and a gun something local to the country."
Forbin nodded. "Check into the Pension Galpi, on
Lenin Korut. It will all be waiting. Will you be shooting
anyone?"
hope not," Carter said.
"Then you won't need extra clips. What about
"I'll rent a car there."
"Good. Let's have another schnapps and talk about
women."
An hour later, a knock came on the rear door and
Forbin admitted a man nearly his own size, with long,
32




32
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
lank black hair and a simian forehead that practically
covered his eyes.
His name was Klaus, and he would drive the lorry
over.
There was little traffic on the main road east out of
Vienna to the frontier, much less than Carter had hoped
for. It would be a lot easier to move across a busy fron-
tier than a deserted one. Most of the traffic was trucks.
Carter hoped they would blend in and he passed across
like so many ants.
About two miles from the border, the trees disap-
peared and the road narrowed. A little farther on, they
slipped into a long line and moved forward in fits and
starts.
"How long d(ES this usually take?" he grumbled.
Klaus shrugged. He was a man of no words. He
hadn't said one since they had left Gunter Forbinis cha-
let.
Eventually they reached the Austrian bamer: The
bills of lading were scarcely glanced at and they were
waved through.
The second barrier, into Hungary, was a different
story. The two trucks ahead were surrounded by a score
of armed border guards. Carter glanced across at Klaus,
hoping for some sign of assurance, some indication that
that number of guards was not unusual. He was hunched
forward, his thick arms crossed on the steering wheel,
staring straight ahead. His phlegmatic expression said
nothing.
The thin arm of a wooden bamer lifted and the first
truck moved slowly ahead. Carter would have given a
year's earnings to have been sitting in that truck. Klaus
RUBY RED DEATH
33



33
eased forward a length and pulled on the brakes and
switched off his engine. *Ihe guards in greatcoats and
fur hats watched them approach incuriously, their hands
dug deep into their pockets, their nfles slung from
shoulder straps. When the lorry stopped, they sauntered
toward it.
Klaus buttoned up his leather jacket. opened the
door, and with a short, curt "Kommen," sterpi out.
Carter climbed down his side and the guards moved
back to give him room. Klaus strode stolidly toward the
large building constructed of rough-cut, unpainted
planks. Carter tailed along him.
A guard at the door nodded to Klaus and greeted him
by name. Inside, there were four civilians standing be-
hind a counter and an officer in a gray-green uniform
sitting at a desk behind them, reading a newspaper.
Klaus unfolded his manifest and stacked the truck's
papers and his passport on top of it.
One of the civilians turned them around and began to
check the documents. Carter took out his phony pass-
port and, matching Klaus•s brusque manner, dropped it
onto the counter, then turned and looked the place over
with a nonchalance he was far from feeling.
Two men, apparently the crew of the first truck,
were slouched over the counter a few feet away, pa-
tiently waiting for their clearance. They glanced at
Klaus, but they didn't speak.
Ihe man checked everything including the fine print
in Klaus's papers, then carried them over and laid them
on the desk of the officer. He glanced at them casually,
hammered the manifest with a rubber stamp, and turned
back to his newspaper. Carter's blood pressure went
34



34
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
down another few degrees ... despite the tense buildup,
this was a routine crossing.
ne civilian gave Klaus his documents and picked up
Carter's passport, fingered it and glanced at him
with flat blue eyes. "Where's Foss?" he asked.
'The regular man, Foss? Where is he?"
Ihe uniformed officer looked up and frowned. Carter
did the same toward Klaus.
"Drunk," Klaus said, and shrugged. ' 'I wasn't going
to take a relief driver, but Bunder here wanted to take
his holiday in Budapest."
By this time, the officer was on his feet examining
Carter's passport. "Ihree days? Where will you stay in
Budapest?"
S 'Galpi, the Pension Galpi on Lenin Korut."
"Wait."
He crossed the room to a telephone. He had to dial
three times in order to find the right person. When he
did. he talked for a full three minutes, scowling now
and then at Carter.
Finally he returned and tossed the passport on the
counter. "Ja," he said, and returned to his paper.
Outside, Carter said in a low voice, "Was that
"No," Klaus grunted, and climbed up into the cab.
Great, Carter thought, just great.
A few seconds later the bamer was raised and they
were on the road to Budapest.
Well, rm in. Now the trick will be to get back out
when the time comes!
RUBY RED DEATH
35




35
ne Pension Galpi was in the old part of Buda, close
to the Danube and the downtown section. But it was
also remote, in that it seemed a town within a town,
bearing little resemblance to the newer part of the city.
The streets were narrow, most of them cobblestoned.
"You have a reservation, mein Herr?"
"Ja," Carter replied, pushing his passport across the
desk toward the concierge, a gaunt man with wavy yel-
low hair.
The man took one look at the name on the passport,
and a key appeared from tEneath the desk. "Number
Seven, second floor, rear."
He tumed away as if he were afraid he would catch
something, and Carter headed for the stairs.
The room was small, neat and clean. Piled in the
center of it was Carter's gear, all used with local labels,
just as he'd asked for. It took him fifteen minutes, but
he finally found the gun, a Frommer 7.65 Stop Model
19. The seven-shot clip in the butt was full. Carter put it
back in the heavy lining of the ski parka, undressed, and
fell into the bed.
He slept the sleep of the dead until just after ten, and
called around for a car until eleven. An hour later, he
picked it up and parked in front of the pension. In no
time he was packed and on the road north.
It had stopped snowing, but the fresh wind, which
was breaking up the clouds, also whiprEd up the snow,
kiting it crazily into drifts. All the way to Hatvan he
could see snowplows in action on the main and second-
ary roads.
Just north of Hatvan the road began to climb into the
Bukk Mountains. It was there that Carter spotted the
36





36
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
tail. It was a small, two-door Volga sedan, black, with
one occupant.
In the village of Nearing, he stopped for lunch. The
Volga raced on by before he could get a good look at the
driver or get a read on the plate number.
Over pork smothered in onions, Carter tried to reason
it out. Lorena's instructions to him from her brother
were clear and precise. He would have to enter Hungary
on his own. From Budapest he should drive northeast
into the Bukk Mountains. There, he should check into
the Cozamor ski resort, where he would contacted.
By whom?
That would be determined by Vinnick at the last
minute. If possible, he would come into Hungary to
meet Carter. If not, a way would be found to get Carter
over the Romanian frontier.
Just t*fore Eger, Carter saw the Volga fall in behind
him again. This time the car was close enough to spot
the driver, a very pretty blonde somewhere in her twen-
ties.
Just to make sure, Carter speeded up. The blonde
speeded up. When he slowed, she slowed.
Well, Vinnick, it's your move, Carter thought, and
then took a deep breath. At least I hope this move is
yours!









FOUR
The Cozamor Lodge was a sprawling, attractive-
looking place nestled against the backdrop of snow-cov-
ered mountains and black forests.
Carter took a turn around the parking lot before head-
ing for the entrance. There were several two-door Volga
sedans, several black, so it was impossible to tell if the
blonde—who had disappeared somewhere in the village
below—had preceded him.
•n)ere was valet parking, and the young man in-
formed Carter that all his gear and bags would be deliv-
ered to his room.
Inside, a sloe-eyed beauty behind the reception desk
gave Carter a nice smile, a room key, and copied down
all the details from his passport. Two bellmen appeared
with his belongings and led him through a man of cor-
ridors.
Ihe cell-like people's luxury room had bare, un-
38
37




38
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
painted cement walls, a single, narrow bed, a chair, a
washbasin, and sound-deadening wall-to-wall rubber
matting on the floor.
Carter tipped the two bored bellmen and succeeded
in wrestling the window up an inch to let out some of
the stiflingly excessive heat.
He built a drink from a bottle in his bag, and shaved.
At seven sharp, sporting a change of clothes, he walked
back out to the lobby. He was passing the desk, when
the girl with the sloe eyes called out to him.
"Herr Bunder. there is a message for you."
She handed him a small white envelope. The alias,
Emil Bunder, was scrawled across the front of it along
with his room number. The hand was definitely femi-
nine, and the flap was tightly sealed.
He tore it 01En. The message, in the same hand,
read, I am in the bar.
Carter turned to the receptionist. "Who left this?"
"I really don't know, mein Herr," she replied with a
shrug. s was in the rear at the switchboard, and when I
returned it was here on the counter."
"Danke. "
He pocketed the envelope and the note and moved on
through the lobby. At the entrance to the disco, he
paused and glanced inside.
The music blasted through the small, darkened room,
amplified by several hundred watts of electronic equip-
ment. The crowd was varied, men in suits and ties and
women in clinging dresses, dancing hip to hip with
young boys in jeans and child-women in tight sweaters
and untrlievably tight stretch pants.
Carter couldn't spot the Volga-driving blonde, and
RUBY RED DEATH
39




39
moved on through the nearly empty dining room into
the bar.
There were three men at the bar and two others at a
nearby table. But what caught Carter's eye was the
woman who sat alone at a table next to the windows.
She must have just come in because she still had snow
in her dark brown hair. She was wearing dark corduroy
slacks and a short leather jacket.
She glanced up just as Carter stepped through the
Her eyes seemed to leap at him from clear across
the room. He was about to move forward, when he sud-
denly color and movement out of the corner of
his left eye.
*Ihe color was red, a matching sweater and slacks
outfit. The movement was the Volga-driving blonde.
She curled an arm around Carter's neck and came up
on her tcrs to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Emil, you
got my note," she breathed. 'Over here, I already have
a table."
Carter darted a last quick look at the brunette, and
followed the blonde with a light sigh. He had almost
made a very real blunder.
You will be contacted, Lorena had said.
He had almost tried, mistakenly, to do the contact-
ing.
He moved around the table and held the chair for the
blonde. She sat down, and he found himself staring
down over her shoulder. It was quite a view. A long
mane of honey-blond hair and firm, full breasts filling
the front of the sweater.
There was a carafe of wine and two glasses already
on the table. She poured as Caner the opposite
chair.
40




40
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"Since we're such old friends," he murmured,
"you'd better give me a name to call you."
"Jarvia."
"And you drive a black Volga sedan," he said, taking
the envelorr and a pen from his jacket pocket.
s did t(xiay, all the way from Budapest. I almost
contacted you at the pension, but decided to wait until
you got here."
"Yes. What's this?" she asked, as he slid theænve-
lope and pen across the table toward her.
"Would you mind writing on that? Something like, 'I
am in the bar."'
Her smile was magic, wide with white, gleaming
teeth, as were her eyes, blue and bright. "Of course."
She wrote. Carter checked it against the note. They
matched perfectly. "Satisfied?"
"For now," he replied. "When do we go skiing?"
"We don•t have to. He is here, close by. Go to your
room and get a coat. Meet me just over the hill there,
beyond the tennis courts." She ncxlded her head to the
window.
Carter followed her gaze and saw a swimming pool
covered for the winter, and a line of snow-covered
tennis courts surrounded by tall fences.
"There is a path just beyond the courts," she contin-
ued. "Follow it to the top of the hill. I'll meet you
there,"
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Just
whom am I meeting?"
"Still testing me?" The toothpaste-ad smile hadn't
left her face.
"Just answer the question. "
RUBY RED DEATH
41




41
The table was She bent forward and
breathed hard on it. Then she printed with the tip of one
finger. VADIM VINNICK.
Caner erased it with his sleeve, and stood. "Five
minutes."
The lane was steep and icy in spots, It was also nar-
row, with mid-grown fir trees lining the way. Every fifty
yards or so there was a dim yellow light mounted on a
pole.
About halfway up, she stepped from the shadows of
two trees. She wore a knee-length fur coat now with a
white scarf knotted at her throat.
"There is a road at the view-top leading down the
other side. I left my car up there."
She started off, and Carter her with his
voice. "Where are we going?"
"To Lillafored. It's about—
"I know where it is," he replied curtly, "Isn't a teem-
ing village a little dangerous for a meeting like this?"
For the first time, the beauty-pageant smile disap-
peared and her lips became a tight line across her face.
"l have my orders. only do as I am told."
"How close are you to Vinnick?"
She tr•ied to smile again, but it was a weak effort.
"How close can a man and woman get?"
' 'Then you should tR able to tell me who sent me
over, shouldn't you?"
Her hesitation was enough. Carter started forward.
but stopped when her hands came out of the pockets.
Held steady, its barrel not wavering from Carter's chest,
was a Rommer exactly like the one under his belt in the
center of his back.
NICK CARTER
42




42
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
"Herr Bunder... or whatever your name is I have
no tirne--—
Ihat was all she said. The gun from her
hands. Shock filled her face and she pitched forward
into the snow.
The only sound had been two muffled like
champagne corks coming out of their tk)ttles. Ihe sound
had been very near, somewhere in the darkness of the
trees.
Ihe woman had barely hit the ground when Carter
dived back into the shadow of the trees, dragging his
own gun into the clear.
"If you are armed, don't shoot. I will show myself,"
came a voice from the shadows.
"You do just that," Carter hissed.
The tall brunette in the leather jacket stepped into the
light. A silenced revolver dangled from the index finger
of her left hand. Her right hand was held far away from
her body.
"My name is Ilse Beddick. You are an American
agent. Your name is Nick Carter. You were sent here by
Lorena Zorkova. This—she nodded at the body on the
ground—"is Jarvia Karoly. She is an agent of the Hun-
garian SSB."
Carter stepped out into the light himself, slipping the
Rommer back into his belt.
'*Why?" he said.
' 'Ihey probably saw Vadim and myself slipping
across the border last night. ney know Vadim has
made contacts in the West, but they want proof to unseat
him."
*4The Hungarians?"
RUBY RED DEATH
43





43
"Vadim will explain it all to you. This one didn't
realize that I recognized her. Help me!"
Carter took the shoulders and she the feet, They
dragged the lifeless form a good fifty yards off the trail
before the brunette called a halt.
"Clear the snow away enough for a grave. There's a
maintenance shed down by the tennis courts. I'll be
right back."
By the time he had cleared an area down to the
ground, she had returned. She was carrying a small
spade and two buckets of water. Carter saw the intent at
once, and went to work.
Trying to get through the crust was like trying to dig
through cement. He had to jam the shovel against it
with all his strength and then jump straight-legged on
the upper edge. It mk him fifteen minutes to break
through. The rest was relatively easy going. He dug a
pit more than deep enough for the body.
Then, after shoveling the crusty snow in firsts he
turned and dragged the body to the hole.
"Wait."
Carter watched as the brunette went through the
rx)ckets of the fur coat and came up with the keys to the
Volga. She also tCH)k the blonde's purse. Then she liter-
ally kicked the body into the hole.
Carter shook his head. This was one very cold lady.
He shoveled the snow in and stamped it down with
his boots. Carefully, he smoothed the top layer with the
back of the shovel. He turned to the buckets of water. A
thin layer of ice had already formed over the top. He
broke it with the shovel and poured the water evenly
over the grave. In an hour, the top layer would freeze
and it would meld with the rest of the snow.
44




44
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
' 'Good, that should confuse them for a while."
"What now?" he said.
"I'll get rid of her car. You drop the buckets and the
shovel off in the shed."
"And then?" Carter said,
"You're going skiing. Here's a map of the number
Two run off the north side. Right about here, there will
be a sign on your right, DANGER. TRAIL CLOSED. Take
that trail."
He glanced at her. "l take it the trail isn't danger-
She nodded. "I put the sign up myself. I'll meet you
halfway down the alternate run, about here."
"Where is Vinnick?" Carter asked.
g 'In an old farmhouse about two miles farther on. I
was not supposed to bring you down until tomorrow
night, but they have forced a change in plan."
"Just who are 'they'?"
She started to reply, then stopped. think it better
that Vadim explain all this to you."
Abruptly, before the Killmaster could ask her any-
thing further, she started up the trail.
Carter picked up the buckets and the spade and
started down.
It all fit. Or at least he hoped it did.
The blonde, Jarvia Karoly, had followed him from
the Pension Galpi in Budapest. It stood to reason he had
been made at the frontier by the SSB officer. That was
how the blonde had picked him up.
Ilse Beddick, being with Vinnick, wouldn't know
what name he was traveling under. or where he would
be staying in Budapest.
He remembered the look on the brunette's face when
RUBY RED DEATH
45




45
he'd walked into the bar. He could see now that it had
a look of recognition. He also remembered the
snow in her hair. Obviously she had just entered the bar
from the outside. That probably meant that she had just
arrived at the lodge.
It fit, he thought.
He just hoped that Vinnick, when they met, could
answer the rest of the questions rambling around in his
mind.






FIVE
Carter walked along the freshly plowed street toward
the lift station. The snow was piled high on the sides,
soft and powdery.
At the lift station he was relieved to find he was not
the only guest who had decided on a midnight run.
There were about fifteen people lined up for tickets.
Carter studied them carefully as he waited in line.
They were young, the men tall and athletic, and the
women attractive in snug-fitting ski outfits.
Ilse Beddick was not among them.
He got his ticket and walked along the railed corridor
toward the cars. Again he looked at the sky. There
would be a moon before long, not a full one, but it
would be too bright for comfort. He decided to remain
in the shadow below the big wooden platform until his
was called. He could hear the shuffling feet and
laughter of the IEopIe above him. Most of the conversa-
46
RUBY RED DEATH
47



47
tion was in Hungarian, with a sprinkling of German.
Carter waited for the last seat and droTBI into it
while it was still moving. There was no one behind him,
and no one who had gone t*fore him had given him a
second glance.
At the top, there was a large sign directing skiers to
the five runs and indicating their degree of difficulty.
Carter smiled to himself.
NurntEr Two on the north was by far the most diffi-
cult. Ilse Beddick had made a good choice.
To a man and woman, the group in front of Carter
fanned out to the easier runs. Carter found himself alone
at the top of number Two.
He killed a little time by crouching and coating his
skis with oil from a hand roller. When he could hear no
more chatter from the others, he discarded the hand
roller and poled his way over the precipitous lip.
Then he was plunging downward, gathering speed
into the first bank. Startled birds exploded from the
neighboring pines as he accelerated. He felt the exhila-
ration of taking the course as fast as he could. A line of
trees came up quickly, a flat area unexpectedly dark,
shielded from the brightness of the moon.
And he felt ice suddenly under his skis and the sud-
den burst of speed that came with it. His legs bent lower
and he felt the pull on his thigh muscles. The jump, as it
came up, was not so high as it was unexpectedly fast,
and he made a mental note of it. He sailed into the air,
came down on a flat slope that immediately became a
traverse of steep bumps and rolls. A right turn came at
him and he felt soft snow, leaned into it hard, and took
it without slowing.
A line of trees again, longer, the shadows deeper,
48





48
+ 100%
NICK CARTER
and hard, blue ice. He saw the green shapes hurtling
past as another traverse came up and he went airborne
and down, airborne and down again in a twisting path
where a single error would mean crashing into the trees
and almost certain death.
Coming out of it, the slope flattened, rose, and went
into a long schuss that looked deceptively simple as he
gathered speed only to find it dotted with bumps and
rolls.
Then he saw the sign and leaned into a hard righl
turn that sent powder swirling in a twenty-foot arc.
The aitemate trail was narrower and the snow softer,
slowing his descent.
In seconds he saw her figure on a rise in front 01
him, When she was sure it was Carter, she turned and
sped off. He fell in behind. Not more than two
later, she left the trail and wove dangerously through thc
trees.
Caner had to admire her skill. It was all he could dc
to keep up with her, and his heart was m)unding like
trip-hammer.
Then he saw the farmhouse, light in the downstair
windows. It was steep-roofed and loomed large in thc
moonlight.
The woman slid to a halt and Carter came up besidi
her. They unbuckled their skis and mounted the steps tc
the porch. Carter expected some kind of watchdog,
when no one appeared, commented on it.
'Too risky," she replied. 'Only the two of us knov
about this meeting. Come this way."
He followed her around to the side of the house. Shi
rapped twice on a pair of French doors, and they entere'
RUBY RED DEATH
49




174