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stands and made his way up Lower Belgrave. At Eaton
Place, he flagged a cab.
"Hotel Bnstols Berkeley Street near the square. You
know it?"
"Righto, guv."
At Hyde Park Corner they drew abreast of a police radio
car. The officer at the wheel had his uniform cap tipped
back and he looked bored. Carter wondered if Interpol had
his picture out. If they did, that meant he had to dodge
bobbies as well as Longbone's hordes.
He slouched further down in the seat.
"'Ere ya are, sir."
Carter paid and took his time walking across the street
to the hotel. Through the first set of double doors he waited
until the cab had driven off. When it was out of sight he
retumed to the street, zigzagging his way east to Old Bond
Street where he hailed a second cab.
"British Museum, please."
"Ihey moved and Carter scanned other cars. Past the
Ritz, the cab slowed in the crawling confusion of Picca-
dilly Circus. The driver was good. He maneuvered through
the smaller streets and even managed to avoid the conges-
tion nea.A4aymarket.
From there it was clear sailing.
"You can let off here."
The driver ncxided without turning his head and reached
back with a gnarled hand. Carter paid and jumFEd from the
cab, just avoiding a bus on his way to the curb.
He skirted the museum, and when he wassure there was
no one behind him, darted into Blcx)tnsbury Way. The
Avondale was in the middle of the block.
Carter checked in, using the third set of documents he
carried, under the name of Field.
In the room, he dropped the bag and headed for the
KILLING GAMES
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141
bath. Striprxd, he took the cold needles of the shower with
gratitude, rubbing the weariness from his eyes and tem-
pies. Once he had shaved he felt alive again. Again he
dressed in the plain brown tweed and rather shabby jacket.
There were two small airline bottles of Pinch in the bag.
He popvkd one of these and sat down with the phone direc-
The closest television repair shop was in Russell
Square, akx)ut ten blocks away.
"Universal Telly."
"Do you make service calls?"
"Yes, sir, we do. Mileage beyond two miles."
"Excellent. And how late are you open?"
"Nine this evening, sir."
'Wlhank you, I'll ring you back." He flipped the direc-
tory until he found the number of the Strand Palace. "Miss
Jova Kalen's room, please. "
He let it ring ten times and was about to hang up, when
Jova's breathless voice answered.
"Jova, this is Nick Carter. "
"Nick, I'm so glad to hear from you! Are you in Lon-
"Yes, but I don't want anyone to know it. Do you un-
derstand?"
"Of course."
' 'How are things?"
"Fine. Amold and his wife have teen We're al-
most finished with all the paperwork. Did you know I'm
"Yes."
"I'd rather have Lilly back."
"I know, Jova. Just enjoy the money Lilly would
have wanted you to. I want you to do me a favor."
"Anything."
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NICK CARTER
"Jot down this number: 441-579."
'Got it."
"I want you to call that number. A woman will answer.
Identify her as Caroline Minor. When you do, tell her that
her package at is ready and ask her if she
would like to have it sent around. Have you got that?"
"Yes," Jova replied, repeating it.
"Good. I want you to call me back at 949-771 and tell
me what she says. Okay?"
"Will do."
Carter hung up and picked up his drink. By the time he
had finished it, the phone rang.
"It's me, Nick. I just talked to her."
And
"She said that that would be fine. She'll in the flat all
evening."
"Terrific. See you
Carter hung up without allowing a reply and left the
hotel. Staying with his maximum security ritual, he took a
full twenty minutes to cover the ten blocks to Russell
Square.
Numt*r 18 was just off the square in a tiny, alleylike
street. It was a five-story building with yellow bricks and
ugly stained glass in the first-floor windows. An old van
was parked in front. Lettered on its side was UNIVERSAL
TELEVISION.
But where was Universal Television?
Carter mounted the single step and litted the door
knocker. It at once, as if the woman had been hid-
ing behind it. She was gray-haired, flat-chested, fifty, and
she wore a mustard-colored dress three sizes t(X) large for
her.
"Yeah, wha' is 't?'
"Universal Television?"
KILLING GAMES
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143
"He's me 01' man, got his shop in the basement aroun'
the side." The door slammed in Caner's face.
He walked around the side and down into an even nar-
rower alley. The sign could barely deciphered through
the dirt on the glass. It said: UNIVERSAL TUEVISION,
MONTE BABCXEK, EST. 190
Carter entered. "Anyone here?"
"In the back!"
He wound his way through the piles of old TV sets,
cables, antennas and tutrs to a smaller rcK)rn. He found a
large round man in blue coveralls sitting at a worktEnch.
"Mr. Babcock?"
'Ihe man turned on his stool and stared at Caner with
eyes that amxa.red abnormally large trhind thick metal-
framed glasses. "Yeah?"
There was something about the man and the shop that
told Carter he need look no further. "What's your normal
charge for a service call, Mr. Babcock?"
"Twenty punds plus parts."
"How would you like to make three hundred punds for
two hours' work?"
The moment BabccEk pulled the van into the narrow
street Carter spotted them. lhere were two of them,
slouching in the front seat of a Jaguar sedan.
'SHere," Carter said, and the van halted.
It was barely stoppd when Carter jogged up the
and ran his eye down the mailboxes. Caroline Minor was
in 5B. There was an L. Hastings in 3B. He slouched back
to the van, his hands shoved carelessly into the long side
pockets of the blue coveralls. He opened the passenger side
door and removed a heavy tool box.
"If they asked, we're answering a call to Three-B, name
of Hastings."
"Right you are."
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NICK CARTER
"You wouldn't lose your nerve on me, would you, Mr
Babcock?"
The man's round face split in a grin. "Laddie, for
hundred pounds I got nerves of steel."
Back in the building, Carter raced up the five flights an
knocked on the door of 5B. •mrough the hall windows
could see St. James's Park, even make out the ducks on th
water.
From the other side of the door he could hear a woman'
heels clicking on a hardwood floor, and then the door bu
She was tall, thirtyish, with a face, dark hair, an
deep blue eyes. She wore a tailored beige dress and sensi
ble walking shoes. On the floor of the hall behind her we
four suitcases.
"Caroline Minor?"
"Yes, but I didn't order service
"I've got your package from Carter said
and stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.
'*Who are you?"
"My name is Nick Carter. Cory is in Paris, Caroline; h
couldn't risk coming to London. You can trust me."
"You have to. Do you know you're being watched?"
"Yes, I spotted them this morning. Come in."
Carter followed her past the four packed bags into
room bright with color. "Why the bags?"
"My holiday starts in the morning. I'm visiting my au
in Scotland."
Her face fell. "I was told this morning that my holida
had been changed. It started today."
"And were you told to go to Scotland?"
"No, but we have to let our know where
KILLING GAMES
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145
are all the time. It's company policy. How is Coryo•s
Just from the way she said it. Carter guessed she had
more than a helping-hand interest in Howard. ne boy was
a char-men
"Alive. Both of us are. for now. "
"Penny Collins and Margery Driver have also had their
holidays changed. The three of us are the only ones left at
M16 who worked for Cory."
"Figures. Are they in this, too?"
"No, Cory only asked me for help."
Carter thought for a minute and then said, g *Get on the
phone and call your hairdresser. Set up an appointment for
the day after you return."
"My hairdresser?"
She grabbed the phone and started to dial. Carter moved
to the window and delicately parted one comer of the drape
until he had an unobstructed view of the Jaguar.
He paid no attention to the woman's words. When he
heard her hang up he paned the drape a little more. Sec-
onds later, one of the men leaned forward and took a hand
microphone from the dash. The man spoke, listened, nod-
ded, spoke again, and hung the mike back on the dash.
"What is it?"
Carter tumed, moving from the window. "Your phone's
pped. Sit down, Caroline, and let's get to work."
Her grave, handsome face was expressionless as she
efted a briefcase from the floor and set it on a table be-
een them. Silently, she removed reams of computer
rintouts and carefully laid them out.
"Oh, God," Carter moaned, "I don't think a service call
ill take that long."
"Don't worry, I have most of the material in
y head. God, I hope Cory appreciates all this. I had a
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NICK CARTER
hellish time smuggling all this out."
With a restless swing of her dark hair she started ver-
bally leading Carter through the maze.
At the end of a half hour he went down to the van,
supposedly to get a replacement part.
"Which one of these is big and bulky enough to be seen
by the Jag?"
"Picture tube, there," Batxock gestured.
Carter grabbed it. "They ask you?"
He ncxlded. "Major repair, Hastings in Three-B. They
seemed satisfied."
"Good show, Mr. Babcock," Carter said with a grin.
Carrying the new picture tube, he returned to the flat.
"Okay, let's finish it off," he said, taking his chair
again.
"That's about it, really. The information from 'Klon-
dike' has been invaluable to tk)th M16 and your CIA."
"And Klondike has never paid a dime?"
"No, and his identity is known only to Sir Phillip
Avery."
Carter picked up one thick sheaf of printout. "But this
rundown on Sir Charles's corporate acquisitions matches
perfectly with M16 incoming intelligence on economic
conditions, precious metal finds, and so forth."
"Yes, it's obvious Sir Charles had inside information."
"Proof enough," Carter said. "But faced with it, Sir
Charles could claim two dozen sources other than Sir Phil-
lip for his source. What about Wolf LongN)ne?"
"His having access is highly irregular, Vf course, but not
enough to bring more than a reprimand. However, when I
cross-referenced everything he had access to or had his
name on, I carne across a strange thing."
"Yes?"
"The complete and research development fil
KILLING GAMES
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147
on a man named Anthony Hobbs-Nelson is gone. Even his
security clearance and that of his wife, Nanette, has disap-
peared from Records. It is as though neither of them ever
existed. I only discovered it when I came across one of the
ld sign-out sheets."
"Wolf Longbone signed it out?"
"Yes. I did some checking through Scotland Yard.
hortly after Hobbs-Nelson resigned from M16, he and his
Te were killed in an auto accident. Their Land-Rover
ent off a cliff in Wales. They were both drowned."
"Any sign of foul play?"
"Not according to Scotland Yard. But it d(ES seem odd,
oesn't it, that everything about the man should
Records?"
"It sure as hell dcrs," Carter said, "What did
obbs-Nelson do?"
"He played games."
"I your pardon?"
"In a think tank," Caroline explained. "Your rEople
ave a whole crowd doing exactly the same thing in Wash-
ngton. You know, 'what if' games. What if there were a
amine here or there? What if all the oil in the world were
ontrolled by one company? What if there were a crop
ailure in the Soviet Union? What if... t?"
"Okay, okay, I've got it. Just what kind of games was
obbs-Nelson playing?"
"That's just it, I don't know. Everything he had or was
orking on is gone from Records."
"Shit," Carter hissed. "Sorry."
"My sentiments exactly," she said, laughing for the first
me since Carter had entered the flat. The movement made
lacy shoulder strap slip from under her dress. She pushed
out of sight with a blush.
Carter kept staring at where the strap had been on her
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NICK CARTER
white skin, a long-ago memory tickling his brain.
First you see it and then you don't.
An aftemoon in the War Room at the Pentagon. War
games, the results flashing across computer screens and
disappearing.
"Caroline, when our people play these games, no matte
the outcome, it's automatically transferred in all stages to
computer storage dem)t in Langley. Do you have the same
process?"
Her face was vacant for a moment, and suddenly she
shuffled through the printouts and selected one. Sh
flipped through it until she found a number and color
coded index. She studied it and looked up with a b
smile on her face.
"Portsmouth."
"Do their coding readouts to yours i
Records?"
"Yes."
"So you could dig out Hobbs-Nelson's stuff no matte
how deep it's buried?"
"I could, but I couldn't get inside the Portsmouth com
plex without the very highest authority."
'SIYI get that. In the meantime, how do you get to Scot
land in the moming?"
"BritRail, the ten o'clock train from Paddington."
"Okay, here's what I want you to do
For the next fifteen minutes, Caroline Minor listene
and nodded avidly. By the time Carter left her apartment
she was glowing with the excitement of being a real spy a
last.
"How did it go, laddie?"
s 'One hundred percent, Mr. Babcock. How would yo
like to make a few hundred more rx»unds?"
"Telly repair is slow this time of year. Answer yo
question?"
KILLING GAMES
149
149
'*I'll need a motorcycle tonight, something fast and
powerful, like a BMW
"My nephew has one. Go on!"
'*Can you get a sign painter?"
' 'My brother. Go on!"
"Can you and your brother make this van look like one
of those BritRail catering vans that service the trains?"
Suddenly the old man broke into gales of laughter.
"Don't need to do that, laddie."
"Why not?"
"My brother-in-law is a dispatcher at Waterloo Station.
We'll ask him for a little loan!"
THIRTEEN
Carter paid off the cab just a few blocks from the
Thames and walked through the decaying sprawl of South-
wark. After two wrong turns he finally found Ihlbien
Street and numtrr 12.
The garage was in the rear, more a lean-to shanty than a
solid building. But inside everything was as Batrock said
it would
The BMW was a big, black with the key
in the ignition. Laid out carefully across the tank and seat
was a set of men's leathers, boots, and a visored helmet.
He found another set, slightly smaller. in the saddlebags.
Babcock and family were earning their money.
Carter stripped, stored his clothes in the empty saddle-
bag, and put on the leathers. He wheeled the machine from
the garage and pushed it about a block before firing it up.
Minutes later he was on Lambeth Road and heading
south. On the edge of the city he picked yp the Mll and
wound the BMW up to 110 miles hour. It was a dry,
star-filled night with little traffic other than slow-moving
u-ucks.
It seemed that •no time at all had passed when he
150
KILLING GAMES
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151
zoomed through Harlow and crossed the M25 near Epping.
At Redbridge, where the Mll ended, he for cof-
fee.
What he was doing was far from kosher. ne instruc-
tions were specific: contact no one, wing it, report only to
Sir Phillip Avery or John Hutchins.
Well, instructions be damned. They went out the win-
dow with Sharon Purdue.
Carter had worked closely with Jonathan Hart-Davis of
M16 many times in the past. Theirs had been not only a
good working relationship, but the Killmaster also knew
that he had the old intelligence warhorse's friendship and
oust. If anyone could open doors and work a miracle or
two, it was Jonathan Hart-Davis.
And, Carter he would do it without asking too
many questions.
This was the reason for Carter's late-night ride to Hart-
Davis's country place outside Epsom. Because the Kill-
master wanted no one to know of the meeting, he had not
called M16 in London first. He had just assumed—because
it was Saturday, a weekend—that the man, like all Lon-
doners of his class, would be in the counüy.
Outside of Redbridge he caught the A24. Now it was a
straight shot south on an excellent, lightly traveled road.
Carter had the impulse to push the big machine to its
150mph top, but held it in check. With half the B)lice in
the world on the lookout for him, it was no time to be
arrested for speeding.
Just outside the village of Epsom he had to stop and
study a map. He had been to Hart-Davis's country place
once, years t*fore, but the maze of tiny, hedgerow-sided
lanes in the area could lose a local if he weren't careful.
At last he found what he hoped was the right lane and
he was off again. He passed open fields cultivated like
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NICK CARTER
children's blocks, farms with the moving shapes of cattle
and horses.
fien, about 2 hundred yards ahead. he spotted the two
stone pillars that marked the drive he remembered. A shin-
gle on one of the pillars pointed the way,
Carter cut the engine and rolled txtween them. When he
had glided as far as he could, he jumped off and pushed.
Near the house he pushed the BMW into the heavy
shadows of some trees and checked his position.
It was a million-to-one chance that they would have
Hart-Davis staked out, but by this time Carter knew he
could count on nothing.
Everything looked normal. ne house was three stories,
a farmhouse made over into mock Tudor. There were lights
burning on the first and second
He emerged from the trees and walked up the wide ave-
nue toward the house. There were two Carter rang
them both. The maid or housekeeper who answered was
narrow-eyed and the door only a few inches. Alarm
flashed through her eyes when she saw the ominous figure
in black leather.
what is it?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Hart-Davis," Caner said. Past the
woman, the hall was dark. A suit of armor and helmet
stood improbable sentry at the foot of a staircase.
"At this hour?"
"It's very important. I've just ridden down from Lon-
don."
Suddenly a tall, lean man with distinguished gay at
his temples appeared behind the woman. "What is it,
Louise..
Carter sighed with relief. "Jonathan, it's me."
The door was pushed open so that what light there was
fell across Carter's face. "Nick, what in God's name .. v"
KILLING GAMES
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153
Carter slipped inside, his eyes moving from the man to
the woman with caution. The M16 man caught Carter's
meaning.
"It's all right, Louise."
The woman looked oddly at Carter but scurried away.
Both men watched her go, and then Hart-Davis turned to
the AXE agent.
"Now, what the hell are you doing down here?"
"It's a long story. But first, can your housekeeper be
trusted? don't want anyone to know I'm down here, let
alone in England."
"Lord, yes, man, she's tEen with me for twenty years."
"Your family?"
"They didn't come down this weekend."
Carter sagged against the wall. "Jonathan, as we so
crudely say in the States, I'm in deep shit."
ne other man chuckled. "Not surprising, for you. Sup-
we chat over a brandy?"
The long hall curved left and right, Square in its center,
a large framed picture of the Queen hung on the wall.
Carter followed Hart-Davis through an door. It was a
man's study, with heavy leather furniture, a battered desk
littered with pipes and tobacco tins, and an OERn
ban
Carter fell gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs
and Hart-Davis moved to the bar.
There was a small, cheery fire in the fireplace that lifted
Carter's spirits. Over the mantel were faded pictures of
husky young men with bony knees. In the front row of
each, a younger version of Han-Davis crouched with a
rugby football.
Han-Davis retumed with the drinks, passed one to
Caners and took the opposite chair. "Well," he said slowly.
"you wanted to see me. I'm listening."
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NICK CARTER
It was an hour later. ney had finished a second brandy
and Carter had just about wrapped it up. When he fell
silent at last, Jonathan Hart-Davis released a long breath as
if it were the only one he had taken in the last hour.
"Anyone but you, Nick, and I would call this whole
thing prerxhterous."
Carter n«ided with a wan smile. "I know. But now I'm
sure Cory Howard is telling the Üuth, and I'm sure Caro-
line Minor's findings directly to collusion."
"I've known Sir Charles Martin for twenty-five, thirty
years. It's hard for me to rationalize that he's tehind the
whole thing."
Carter shrugged. "There is a rx)ssibility that he isn't. It
could that Avery and Hutchins are just using him. That's
why I need the Hobbs-Nelson material from Portsmouth.
Will you help?'
It was an agonizing two minutes txfore the M16 man
rose and walked to his desk. He a and wrote for
another two minutes. Then he made a quick series of phone
calls. Then, taking a ring of keys and a map, he retumed to
the chair oppsite Carter.
"Here is written authorization for this Minor woman to
get into the complex. Once inside, the call I just made will
give her access to records with her own personal code. You
know, of course, that if they have anyone down there in
security, they'll all over you."
Carter nodded. "That's why need a place close by."
Hart-Davis spread a map of the south \oast out on the
table between them. "The Records complex is here, at
Southsea. My wife owns a little cottage on a small lake,
here, near Stoke. It's off the beaten path, and there are no
other houses for miles. Here are the keys. Take the map as
well."
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KILLING GAMES
"Thank you, Jonathan. And Harold Jansen?"
155
just reached him at Oxford. He'll meet you at the
cottage at nc»n tomorrow with his equipment."
Caner flopped back in his chair. "Great. And there are a
few things you can find out for me when you get into your
office Monday morning. "
Using a white. red-tipped cane, Carter tap-tapped his
way down the platform at Paddington Station. nie mus-
tache, dark raincoat, smoked glasses, and wide-brimmed
hat had been the best he could do on short notice, but
any disguise was than none. lhere was no safe
way he could contact Caroline Minor, so the only way
to make sure she got safely on the train was an eyeball con-
tact.
He found a partially vacant bench across from the train's
only "A" sleeping car, and sat. In his hand a Stratford
ticket could be seen by anyone passing.
It was nine-thirty Beyond (he gates for the northbound
train, a long line was forming, mostly family groups with
bawling children. And then, out of the mass. he saw Caro-
line.
She was striding down the ramp with her head up,
checking her ticket against the numbers on the sides of the
coaches. She wore a blue and white dress, a navy cardigan,
and carried a single bag.
As she passed Carter. her eyes moved in brief recogni-
tion, but her head never turned. A lady going on holiday
without a care in the world, Carter thought. Good girl.
He eyeballed her into the coach and watched her
through the windows into her compartment. She had barely
disappeared when Caner spotted the tail. He was a stocky
little guy with a bull neck and wise, cynical eyes. He en-
red the coach and took a tour through, noting that Caro-
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NICK CARTER
line was in her compartment, At the other end he stepped
off and spoke to a tall, thin one in a trench coat.
Carter held his breath until the thin one nodded and
moved away.
There would be only one of them staying on the train.
The stocky one got back on and took a seat in the second
class coach ahead.
Carter rose and tapped his way to the very last coach on
the train, boarded, and took a seat.
Moments later the train jolted ahead. For the next fif-
teen minutes it rocked west through London. At the Ealing
Broadway station, Carter waited until everyone had
boarded and the doors were about to be closed trfore he
stepped off.
Still using the cane and adopting a faltenng step, he
made his way down the steps and through the parking area.
Babcock was parked on the street with the motor run-
ning. Caner dived in and the white van lurched ahead in-
stantly.
ney had scarcely hit the highway north before Carter
was in the back, pulling off the raincoat and dark trousers.
Beneath them he wore a pair of white pants and a white,
smocklike shirt with the green insignia of BritRail on the
left breast
Back in the front passenger seat, he lit a cigarette.
"Good show, Mr. Babcock. "
"lid say that, laddie," the old man chuckled.
"How's our time?"
"We should hit the Stratford station five minutes
before the lady."
They were waiting on the loading dock, the rear of the
van facing the trairi as it pulled in. Through the small panes
in the van's rear doors, Carter could see Caroline Minor
KILLING GAMES
157
157
sitting at a table directly by the kitchen door of the dining
car.
'Ihe sight brought a smile to his lips. The timing would
be perfect. Atx»ut five minutes outside Stratford they
would clear the first class passengers out of the dining car
and it to the rest of the train for lunch.
Horrfully, when the stocky man entered the car he
would assume that he had missed Caroline in the passage-
way returning to her compartment. Even if he didn't make
that assumption, it would another hour or so before an-
other stop was made and he could check her compartment
from the outside.
"Here we go, laddie!" Batw•ock said.
Carter threw the doors wide as the train ground to a halt.
Babcock was already out of the van, pounding on the
train's matching dc»r and shding the walkway out.
A gigantic man with a florid face dressed in cook's
whites stood in the opening.
" 'Ere, what's this?"
s Off-load, bread and ice cream," Babcock said, mount-
ing the walkway and waving a piece of paper in the man's
face.
"What ya say? We're not due 'til Birmingham."
"Change," Babcock barked, maneuvering the cook so
that his back was to the dining car. At the same time, he
was blocking the view of the salad chef with his own body.
Carter was already scooting past them all with a tray of
bread on his shoulder.
"What change, mate?" the chef insisted. "We got too
much as it is!"
Babcock shrugged. "Order out of the bakery, I s'pose,
too much. Gotta put the bleedin' stuff somewhere."
lhe argument continued as Carter returned for another
tray. Short-and-Stocky was on the platfom, smoking. He
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NICK CARTER
was turned away from the train. It was obvious that all he
was concemed with was the people getting off to check the
Bard on his home turfe
Fourth tray set. Out of the comer of his eye he saw a
flash of color as the dining car dcx»r orrned and quickly
closed. Caroline darted between the tall bakery trays.
"Next time," Carter hissed. "Ice cream!"
She r«ided.
Coming out of the vant Carter Ten one-gallon
containers of ice cream spewed across the kitchen
The cook and salad chef went bananas.
Babcock apologized profusely and Carter Caro-
line on the shoulder. "Go!"
She did, into the rear of the van like a streaking hum-
mingbird.
Carter came up behind Babcock, slapping him on the
shoulder. "Better get on with it, mate. We got two more
pickups, ya know."
"Righto, lad. Sorry about the mess, IX)YS!"
While the ccx)k screamed at his subordinate to 'Get this
bloody mess cleaned up!" Babccxk hit the starter. Carter
slammed the dcx»rs and the van pulled away.
Short-and-Suxky was just tossing away his cigarette
and pulling himself up into his coach. He never once
looked their way.
"How'd we do, laddie?"
"Like a Swiss watch. You should have tren an actor,
Mr. Babcock. How long?"
"There's a pullout up here, runs douv by the river.
About fifteen minutes."
'Good enough," Carter replied, and tumed to Caroline
Minor. "How ... ?"
He didn't have to ask. The lady had already pulled the
tarp off the BMW and emptied the saddlebags. At the mo-
KILLING GAMES
159
ment, she was in lacy bra and panties, pulling on the
leathers.
"Scared?" Carter asked, changing his question.
"Lor', no, I've never had so much bloody fun!" came
the laughing reply.
FOURTEEN
It was just after dusk when Carter roared off the A3023
at Stoke and barreled down a tiny lane. It was a narrow
secondary road, black macadam, patched and hump-
backed. Beside it were hilly fields and gnarled, brown-
leafed trees.
"Where are we going?" Caroline asked from her perch
behind him.
"It's called Laura's Pond," Carter called back over his
shoulder. "Belongs to the wife of a friend."
He had memorized the map, and now he spotted a nar-
row, rutted dirt lane. A mailtx)x beside it said Laura's
Pond..
He turned in. A mile up the road they crested a hill and
dipped down into a clearing carpeted with pine needles.
Carter glided to the side of the cottage and parked the
BMW in a gardening shed.
Together they walked around to the front dc»r.
"Isolated enough?" Caroline commented drily.
"That's the idea," Carter said, unlockfrig the door.
Inside, it was dark, dank and musty. Caroline immedi
ately went around windows, while Carter check
the kitchen. By the time he returned to the living room,
sweet breeze was wafting through the windows.
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161
"It's lovely, just like a honeymoon cottage," she said
with a grin.
Carter ignored that remark and opened the doors to the
bedrooms. "This one's yours. 'Ihe lady of the bouse is
about your size, if you want to change. Also, you'll need
something of hers to enter the complex tomorrow."
Caroline bathed while Carter whipped up a meal. ney
ate, and then took their coffee down to the edge of the
r»nd about fifty yards from the cottage.
He sat with his back to a tree. She dror:Bi down in the
pine needles beside him, a pair of black slacks taut over
her rounded hips.
Immediately, Caner launched into a detailed, moment-
by-moment recitation of the next morning's exercise.
When he was through he went over it all again.
"Of course. Really, I'm quite bright."
He grinned. "I know you are."
"Pretty, isn't it?" She threw a small stone into the pnd,
making circular, ever-widening ripples in the still water.
"Don't you think?"
"Yeah."
"Not very romantic, are you."
"Too busy being worried."
"About what to do with what we find tomorrow if it's
what I think we'll find?"
"That's tomorrow."
Suddenly her hands reached out and drew Carter's head
ward hers. She kissed him. Her lips were soft and fra-
ant and clinging.
When he felt himself sinking. he broke it and stood.
'It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
Caroline sighed and felt in step behind him. "Looks like
t's going to tr a long night tonight."
In the housé she moved away to her bedroom.
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162
'Good night."
"Good night."
Carter found the phone and direct-dialed the Pari
number given him by Cory Howard. He was twenty min-
utes ahead of the designated time, but Howard was the
and picked up.
"It's me. How're we doin'?"
"I've found him. He's staying in a fleabag over i
Montmartre, the Verdun. And guess why?"
"Haven't the foggiest," Carter replied.
'They tried for him, blew his pretty new Citroen all t
hell."
"And he lived through it?"
"He wasn't in it. His girl friend was taking the car ou
of the garage to meet him in front of his flat. ne gir
friend ended up all over the garage and Liard went under
ground. I had one hell of a time finding him."
"If he thinks it's his playmates, he might talk easier t
you."
"I'm hoping so. I'm going in tonight."
"Watch your back, Cory," Carter growled. 'They wan
everypne out of the picture. They'll be looking for him
well."
"Don't worry about that. Where are you?"
Carter gave him an update and the of the cot
tage.
"Let you know how I fare this fine night."
"You do that," Carter said.
"By the way," Howard added, "anytiing more on ou
little lass, Sharon Purdue?"
'Got a man working on it first thing in the morning."
"Got a feeling, Nick, she's in up to her pretty head
Later."
"Soon," Carter replied, and hung up.
"Was that Cory?"
KILLING GAMES
163
163
Carter tumed. She was in the doorway. He was sure
Laura Han-Davis's white Fignoir and negligee never
looked so good on Laura Hart-Davis.
"Yeah. He thinks he's on to Henri Liard. Between what
he can get from Liard and what you get in the morning, we
should nail it."
"If your computer man can make sense of it."
"Harold Jansen is the best in the business."
"Mind if I use the phone? My aunt in Scotland is going
to worried sick."
"Sure."
Carter moved past her into his bedroom. He to
the skin and lay on the in the dark without tuming
down the covers. He lay there for several minutes, but
sleep wouldn't come.
He heard the low murmur of her conversation through
the closed tkdrcx)rn door, and then the receiver hit the cra-
dle.
He waited to hear her dcx)r close. It didn't. Instead, his
orrned softly.
She stood in the doorway. The peignoir floated from her
hand. The moonlight was directly behind her, shining
through the negligee.
"I don't t*tieve you've got a damned thing on under
that," he groaned.
"I don't." A rustling sound and the negligee joined the
dropped EEignoir.
"Persistent, aren't you," he said.
"Is that what you call it?" She moved to the foot of the
t*d, then
'C'mere, dammit."
She floated to the bed and then down to his side. She
wound her arms around his neck and drew him close. 'Ihe
eagemess of her lips and fingers lit a blaze inside him. She
moved one silky-smooth leg close to his, and the familiar
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NICK CARTER
ache began throbbing in his groin.
"How long have you thought about this?" he asked,
closing one hand over her breast.
"Since you came to my flat. You didn't think I was
going to let something like this pass without getting it all,
did you, after months in stuffy Records?"
"Like I told you, it's going to a long day tomorrow."
In reply, she laughed and rolled upward to straddle his
body.
"I don't give a bloody damns as long as you make it a
long night tonight."
In the heat of sexual battle Carter thought he heard a
sound outside the cottage. But the desire steam-
ing from her body drove the thought from his mind.
A heavy mist had rolled all the way up to the hills of
Montmartre from the Seine. A block from the Hotel Ver-
dun Cory Howard stood in the shadows of a doorway, a
cigarette in his lips, its glow dimmed by a cupped hand.
He had been there for a half hour, and for the half hour
before that he had stood in the alley tEhind the hotel. Both
spots looked clear.
He had gotten Liard's room number with a phone call
during the shift of desk clerks, a lot of gobbledygook about
one room and then another and then the name that
Liard was using, Dupré.
It was a corner room, fourth floor. The lights had gone
out about twenty minutes earlier.
At last Howard buttoned the flap of hixtrench coat up to
his neck and walked slowly down the narrow street. At the
alley he darted in and picked up his pace. A fire escape ran
up the side of the hotel. At the first-floor platform he dis-
covered what he had already guessed.
The place was a firetrap. The windows were so painted
shut, they were impossible to open.
KILLING GAMES
165
165
He moved on up to the top floor and used the iron Iad-
der bolted to the side of the building to reach the roof.
Above the street there was a heavy breeze that blew
yellowed newspaper and other light debris from one end to
the other. As much by feel as by sight, he moved away
from the stone paralkt guarding the flat roof. To his right,
about dead center in the roof, was a chimney stack. Just on
the other side of it he found the trap leading down.
A short flight of wooden stairs t'»k him to a storage
room. Several aprons hung by the door, as well as a white
cupboard. He pulled the handle. The d'X)rs were locked.
He put a knee against the wall and heaved. The doors
swung orrn. lhe tongue of the lock was still out, but ren-
dered useless by a forgotten bolt. Passkeys, one for each
floor and a master linen room key, hung on nails inside.
Howard took the key for the fourth floor and one of the
masters. The latter opened the door to the room he was in.
The hall was empty and barely lit by a low-watt bulb.
He used the stairs, avoiding the center treads that creaked.
and moved down co the fourth floor. Using the butt of his
Walther, he popped the bulb, putting the comdor into inky
darkness.
At Liard's door he crouched and listened. From the
other side came a wheezing sound, interrupted now and
then by a cough. Howard couldn't sure, but the sounds
were very much like a knocked-out drunk gasping for air in
his sleep.
Cautiously, he inserted and turned the key. He lay on his
belly and opened the door only far enough to see into the
Henri Liard lay on his back in the middle of a messy
bed. He was fully clothed. Beside the bed on the floor
were two brandy tx)ttles, one empty, the other nearly so.
Howard slithered into the room. closing the door softly
behind him. As he wriggled across the floor, he took a pair
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NICK CARTER
of handcuffs from his pxxket and pulled his tie free.
Liard was sprawled like an X. In seconds one wrist was
handcuffed to one side of the and his other wrist was
tied to the headboard. When this was done. Howard
the contents of a water pitcher into the man's face and sat
on the rail.
He came out of it slowly, sputtering, until he saw the
figure on the t*d.
"No! Oh, dear God, no! Why? ... I have done every-
thing you asked .. ."
'Calm down, Henri." Howard lit a cigarette, holding
the flame long enough so the other man could see his face.
Liard stopped struggling to free himself, and
"Howard, you—
"Did you think I was dead by now, Henri? No matter. If
I .can find you, they can. It's only a matter of time."
"What do you want?"
"Information. Lots."
"No! Mon Dieu! They'll kill me!"
"You damned fool, they'll kill you anyway. They al-
ready tried once."
Suddenly Henri Liard could take no more. The good life
he had envisioned from his treachery had become a night-
mare. His whole body trembled, and then he began to
whimper. Seconds later he was weeping openly.
Howard was unmoved. He sat, quietly smoking his cig-
arette, until it was a butt that he dropped to the floor and
ground out with his foot.
"l can get you out of here, Henri, andYrobably to Por-
tugal or South America. I'm sure you've got funds stashed
to live on once you get there."
ne crying tapered off. "You'd do that?"
"Yeah. But I won't do it for nothing,"
Liard's eyes 01xned wide and his mood shifted. "What
do you want to know?"
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"Everything. You fingered us, didn't you?"
A hard swallow. "Yes."
"Who?"
167
don•t know, swear it. only spoke to them on the
telephone. It was always a man or a woman."
"Accents?"
"British. The call was always to an exchange in Lon-
don, a dead number routed through. The man's voice was
low, raspy, very hard to understand."
Wolf Longbone, Howard thought. "And the woman?"
Liard shrugged. "A woman's voice, British. What
else?"
"How were you recruited?"
"A telephone call, years ago, right after I went with
StarFire. It was the same woman. We met in a Geneva
hotel I walked in, there was a lamp in my face, she
was in the darkness. I never saw her, but it was the same
woman. I recognized the voice."
'Good, Henri. Now, trsides fingering me and getting
Longchamp blown to hell, what else have you done for
Howard lit another cigarette and managed to keep his
face calm as it out of Liard.
It was hard.
Liard had tren privy to almost all of StarFire's dealings:
ew mineral finds, potential lease purchases, dirt on for-
•gn leaders in Third-World countries they wanted to Frne-
te, even industrial espionage StarFire had gleaned from
eir
All of this had tEen passed on to London.
My, my, Howard thought. If they had a man like Liard in
very major mining and precious metal refinery conglom-
rate in the world, they could bring the world to its indus-
ial knees!
He ground out the second butt. "Why do you think they
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NICK CARTER
decided to dump you, Henri?"
ne man's face paled even more and the twitching in his
face and txxiy returned. "You'll help me get away?"
will."
"StarFire was taken over by a Geneva company, Hol-
derstraf. I went into the computers and started digging. I
traced ownership back and found other companies they
have taken over."
"Like they did StarFire?" Howard asked.
Liard ncxided. "For some time, we've had a key man in
Geneva. He works for the govemment, in the registration
office for foreign corporations. "
"He could trace the lineage tEtween companies?"
"Yes. I have it all. in my briefcase in the closet."
Howard slid from the bed and got thebriefcase, lifting
out the contents. It was eighty pages of compute
printout. He only had to l*ruse a third of it to know that, in
the hands of a smart intelligence analyst in international
business, the printouts could tell the whole story and prob-
ably reveal narnes.
Howard put the printouts back in the briefcase, lock
it, and faced Liard. emey caught you snooping?"
Another long swallow. "Yes."
"You were going to blackmail them for a bigger slice o
the pie."
"No. It was only insurance e"
"Merde, Henri. But no matter, let's get out of here."
As he untied the wrist attached to the headboard, How
ard asked casually, "You said you alwaysscalled London?"
"Yes, always."
"What was the nurnl*r?"
"Four, four, nine, eight, eleven."
Howard froze,' a chill raising the hair on the back of hi
head.
KILLING GAMES
169
KILLING GAMES
169
'Ihe nurntrr. A contact numtkr. A number he knew so
well. Had used so often himself.
Jn a trance, he moved around the bed toward the hand-
cuffed wrist.
He never made it.
There was the single reverberating thud of bone and
muscle against wood, and the door shattered inward.
Three of them, two men in front and a woman backup.
The men came through first and dropped to their knees. In
a split second they had positions, and the high-caliber si-
lenced automatics in their hands started spitting flame.
One man was firing point-blank at a paralyzed Henri
Liard on the bed. The second man was leveling at Cory
Howard.
They both fired at the same time. Howard felt a burning
sensation inside his left leg too near his crotch for comfort.
It spun him around and slammed him against the wall,
knocking the Walther from his grasp.
His shot had hit home, dead center chest. The shooter's
body had fallen backward into the woman's legs, knocking
her to the floor.
The second man was jamming a fresh clip into his auto-
matic.
Howard had no time to paw for the Walther. He ran
fonvard and threw himself at the shooter.
His right hand was taut over his left shoulder. Like a
snake it moved out, his elbow straightening, the muscles in
his forearm contracting.
His target was the promontory of the larynx atx)ve the
man's Adam's apple.
The blade of his hand struck with a dull thud. It
smashed the thyroid cartilage through the wall of the man's
throat, killing him instantly.
ne txx:ly went down with Howard on top of it.
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NICK CARTER
He sensed, and then saw, that the woman had extracted
herself from the first shcx.)ter and gotten to her feet. With-
out pausing in his movement, Howard rolled the dead man
over him.
Even as the slugs from the woman's gun slammed into
the corpse, Howard was painfully pushing his shield to-
ward her.
Then he threw the lifeless, blo«xiy body at her and fol-
lowed.
She the dead missile, but didn't bring the
gun up fast enough to stop the live one.
He came up from his crouch, bringing his fingertips
together and ramming them swiftly up into her neck. Her
feet left the floor with the force of the blow that separated
her skull from her spinal cord.
Howard didn't even check. He knew all three of them
were dead.
lhe slug had riPIEd the hell out of his inside thigh. He
would make it if he didn't lose t(X) much
In the bathroom, he stopped the flow with a washcloth
and two towels. His trench coat would cover the mess until
the towels were saturated and the started running
down his leg.
Back in the bedroom, one glance told him Henri Liard
would never cry again. The had emptied a whol
magazine in Liard, starting at his head and ending at hi
groin.
Howard grabbed the briefcase, found his Walther, an
hit the stairs. With his leg, there wouw be no going u
over the rcx)f. He went down, taking the steps three at
time, dragging the leg behind him.
The only real noise had been the shot from his unsi
lenced Walther. But it was enough. He heard
ping open and running feet.
KILLING GAMES
171
The night clerk in the lobby was frantically dialing the
phone when Howard hit the bottom step.
Howard put a slug in the wall a foot from his head. The
phone went one way, the man the other, out of sight.
The four blocks to his car seemed to an hour:
Thankfully, the streets hadn't come alive with the new day
as yet.
He knew a safe doctor in Pigalle, less than a mile Nway.
He would phone from there.
He managed to get the car started and moving. A film
was starting to cover his eyes, so the streetlights all came
together. Out the driver's side window he his
off the spire of Sacré-Coeur.
It worked. Minutes later he was passing the gaudy
neons of Pigalle. Minutes after that he went around the
Place de la Chapelle and down St.-Denis. At Rue Cail he
turned left and jolted to a stop in front of number 47 with
two wheels on the curb.
He looked down. In the illumination of the streetlight
through the windshield he could see his lap, all blood down
to his knees.
Dragging his leg and clutching the briefcase, he made
it up the steps. The was answered on the third ring. Dr.
Valjean Reschard was used to late-night callers.
"Monsieur le docteur, I h0iE you me
"Monsieur Howard.. i"
"A telephone... I need your-—
It was all he got out. He fainted in the dcrtor's arms.
FIFTEEN
The building was unobtrusive, sitting in the center of
others much like it on Queen Street up against the vastness
of Her Majesty's vast Portsmouth naval base. One word
was engraved in the stone above the door: MARITIME.
What went on in the four floors above ground had noth-
ing to do with the three floors below ground, where all the
vast daily input from foreign intelligence, M16, was stored.
Carter stood at the bar of a small pub, the Port Sea,
across the street, An hour earlier he had let Caroline Minor
off at a public restroom in Victoria Park four blocks away.
Inside, she had changed from the black leathers into a
green dress and light jacket. The leathers were now in the
saddlebags of the BMW parked in front of the pub, and
Caroline was in the building.
"Another, sir?"
"Yes, please, and do you have a public phone?"
"In the rear, right beside the men's 100."
"Thanks."
Carter camed his beer to the rear of the pub and fed
coins into the phone. The phone rang in Jonathan Hart.
Davis's private office only once.
"Central
172
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KILLING GAMES
"Hart-Davis, please."
173
"One moment." She was gone two. "Who's calling,
'Carter."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Caner. There are two messages' here for
you. One, Purdue clean, have contacted. Will cooperate.
Subject is under constant surveillance."
"And the second?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. In checking other items of our
conversation I ran across odd obstacles. Will call back if
you call first."
"Your boss didn't say what the 'odd obstacles' were, did
"No, sir. He's still down in the Records computer room.
Do you have a number?"
Carter gave her the pay phone number. 'Tell him to ask
for Smiley, but I I won't be here very much longer."
He hung up and went back to the bar.
Fifteen minutes later he saw a flash of green at the
and then she was on the street.
Carter waved the bartender over. "Do me a favor, mate.
Name's Smiley. If I get a can on your pay phone, tell my
friend that I've gone back to the rx}nd."
do it."
By the time Carter reached the BMW, Caroline Minor
was just turning into Victoria Park. He cranked up and
followed.
She was waiting at the 100. Carter pulled up, let the
machine idle, and handed her the leathers.
"Nick..."
He followed her stare over his shoulder. Two men in a
small sedan had pulled into the street from the side of the
maritime buildings. One of them pinted at Carter and the
woman and trgan frantically waving.
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NICK CARTER
"Get on!" Carter hissed.
Caroline drew her skirt to her hips and swung one leg
over the seat. The instant Carter felt her arms slide around
his middle he released the clutch and the B)werful machine
lurched forward.
'Vlhey're coming after us!" Caroline said when they hit
the street. "Fast!"
Carter checked the sideview mirror. Ihe sedan was
gaining rapidly.
'*That won't last," he growled.
He leaned the machine over until their knees were prac-
tically on the ground. Behind him he heard the scream of
tires. When he righted, he saw the sedan backing up franti-
cally to make the turn.
It was the last he saw of them. Four turns later he
headed back to the harbor and the A3.
Dr. Harold Jansen was definitely a lower-case-thk per-
son, the kind who becomes invisible when not speaking.
Behind inch-thick glasses he had the washed-out look of an
underdeveloped photograph.
But he was a genius.
He'had been waiting in the cottage when they arrived,
his equipment all set up.
During his tenure at M16, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson ha
worked on six "games." Caroline had brought the discs fo
all six. All but one of the "games" had tEen completed.
"It has to be this unfinished one," Caroline said.
"Figures," Carter agreed. "Precious meals."
Jansen went to work, with Caroline over his shoulder
Every few minutes she would nervously ask, "Can yo
finish it?"
'Ihe answer was always the same. "I'm sure of it. Com
puter science has come a long way since this young m
devised it."
175
lhe phone rang. Caroline dived for it, but Carter beat
her to it.
"Yeah, Carter here." In the comer of his eye he saw her
move into the
' 'Nick, it's me ... " Carter could hear the strain in How-
ard's voice.
"What Cory?"
"They got Liard and put a slug in me. I screwed up,
must have led them right to him. But I got the Nick.
And that's not all."
"Yeah?"
"Liard's contacts were a man and woman in London.
NO doubt the man was Longt»ne
"We knew that already," Carter said.
"Yeah. But the woman, Nick ... recognized the con-
tact numlxr. Nick, it's Caroline, Caroline Minor..
Ihe Killmaster felt the hard muzzle just tæhind his right
ear, and then heard the low whiqrr. "Turn around,
slowly."
He did. She had an earplug in one ear with a tiny an-
tenna sprouting from it. In her left hand was a powerful
walkie-talkie. And in her right hand was a Webley .45 au-
tomatic. Ihe hand holding it was steady, r»inted right at
Carter's gut.
"Nick? Nick, are you still there?"
"Yeah, Cory, I'm still here."
"It's Caroline, Nick. She must have just been careless
and given me the same contact number to use that she gave
Liard and God knows how many others."
"Ask him where he is," she hissed.
Calmly, Carter hung up the phone.
"That's too bad," she sighed, bnnging up the walkie.
"Wolf, are you there?"
"Yes. We'll have to move at once, just in case. I'm
coming in."
176
NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
"There were two men in a dark sedan following us o
the motorcycle."
"I know," said the raspy voice over the walkie. "W
intercepted them on the road. They are now in the pond."
"Ihe walkie clicked off and Carter's hands balled in
fists. He tensed, ready to spring.
"I wouldn't," Caroline said icily. "From this distance
could empty the clip before you get to me."
She was right and the Killmaster knew it. He forced th
added adrenaline from his body.
"Miss, just what in God's name is going on?" It w
Jansen, still sitting at his computer.
"Shut up, old man, and start breaking down your equip
ment. You're going to finish the game somewhere else."
"I don't suppose you have an aunt in Scotland," Carte
said drily.
"No."
"And you're not on holiday."
am on a long leave of absence. So long that I doub
that I'll ever return to musty Records. You were a wonder
ful coincidence, Carter. Without Cory making his silly ex
tortion demand on Sir Charles, and you tring brought in
we might never have gotten the rest of Hobbs-Nelson'
little game."
The rear door (pled behind Carter. The woman nod
ded, and hands bent his arms up his back
Then a damp cloth was pressed to his face and he fel
his knees turn to water
The room was stark, with paint-rreling walls, d
high beams, and a rugless floor. Blankets were piled neatl
on the foot of the cot where he lay, and there was a s
table and two chairs.
All this came to Carter as he slowly came awake.
There were two doors. One was ajar. Through it h
KILLING G
177
could see a bathroom. Something he desirrately needed.
He half walked, half crawled until he reached the tx)wl.
Nothing came up, no matter how hard he tried. But the
pit of his stomach still felt as though it held seven helpings
of very hot and very bad Mexican chili.
He turned on the faucet, got it ice cold, and drank and
drank from his hands.
That worked. The water came right back up, and along
with it the feeling that he was dying. More cold water, this
time over his head, and he was able to walk back into the
room and check the rest of it out.
There was a tall arrnoire with drawers. Empty.
He up at the single window. It was glass, iron
bars, and then shutters, The heavy grillwork made the
room as secure as a cell.
He checked the door. It was cut in lateral planks, inches
thick and joined on the outside. Short of battering down
two or three hundred pounds of solid walnut, there was no
way out of the room through the door.
Carter was about to upend the cot and check out the
exterior, when a key hit the lock. The opened and
Caroline Minor came in can-ying a tray of food. Right be-
hind her was 250 pounds of bull mastiff sporting a machine
pistol. Carter guessed that was Wolf Lnngt»ne. He was
sure when the man spoke.
"Food, wine, eat. It will keep you alive a little longer."
e laugh that followed the words sounded like the wheeze
f a ruptured
"Where are we?" Carter asked, holding his seething
ger and showing far more calm than he felt.
"Scotland," the woman replied. "Dr. Jansen is coming
ong quite nicely. By tomorrow we should have it
l."
"Wonderful, I'm glad for you. Could I have a ciga-
tte?"
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NICK CARTER
"Of course, but you'll have to smoke it while we are i
the rcx)tn."
Carter smiled, accepting the cigarette and pouring som
wine. It was all his stomach could handle.
"Just what will you have 'all' of?'
The two of them exchanged looks. The mastif
shrugged. The woman lit a cigarette for herself and too
one of the chairs.
"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out for yourself.
few years ago, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson came up with
game to first subvert and then control the governments o
ninety percent Of the Third-World countries' economie
through minerals and precious metals. Oil, gold, uraniu
are all valuable, but without the precious metals for in
dustry, worldwide business would grind to a halt."
Carter nodded. "I've already figured that much out."
"Wolf was doing research for Hobbs-Nelson. He ale
me to the game. I began lifting his research and prognosti
cations and sending them to my surkriors."
Carter's head came up alertly. "Your superiors?"
Her laugh was jamng. *'Ah, I see you höe realize
very little. have been a rising star in the KGB since I w
seventeen years old, Carter, and saw my father die of blac
lung and my mother scrub the homes that I could ne
enter."
Carter shook his head. "I've heard all that crap befo
What about you, Wolfie? Your old man have black lung?"
The woman answered for him. "No, Wolf is only
product of our Western society. His drivbis greed."
lhe mastiff nodded and showed a gold tooth in a smile
"My superiors saw potential in Hobbs-Nelson's gam
but for obvious reasons it could not Soviet-impl
mented."
"So you had Sir Charies Martin implement it."
KILLING GAMES
179
179
"Sir Charles was intrigued with the plan. Once again,
greed. •mat same greed had already pushed him into our
tent."
Caner pured more wine. "Are you telling me you con-
Sir Charles's wealth?"
"From the beginning," she admitted with a smug smile.
"However, Hobbs-Nelson never got over his anger at M16
turning down his brainchild. He was going to take the final
game to the Americans."
"so Wolfie killed him." ne mastiff grinned even more.
He had skin like an elephant. "How did Howard and I get
into all this?"
S Coincidence, pure coincidence. We had given up any
chance of getting our hands on the final two phases of the
game, because the variables and Hobbs-Nelson's conclu-
sions were in Portsmouth where we couldn't get at them.
We had gone as far as we could go. But then Cory Howard
sent his extortion demand and contacted me. It was all
made to order if I could get Cory or the agent sent after
him to get me into Portsmouth Records."
Carter sat back with a sigh and mashed out the tasteless
cigarette. "Which I so conveniently did."
"To my undying gratitude," Caroline said with a smile,
standing and moving to the door.
"One big flaw," Carter said. "I've told Jonathan Hart-
Davis everything. My guess is he found out something
about you. Those two men were chasing you in Ports-
mouth."
"Perhaps," she said. "But by tomorrow night it will
make no difference. I have already sent two coded mes-
sages to Sir Phillip Avery and your CIA man, John Hut-
hins, in your name. Tomorrow night you will meet with
em and all three of you will die. Proof will be found that
t was Sir Phillip and Hutchins who planned all this to
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NICK CARTER
further their careers. You, Carter, will die a hero for uncov
ering their plot. Hart-Davis may rant all he wants. No on
will believe him in the light of what will be found, and
will be his word against a powerful and wealthy patriot,
Charles Martin."
Carter pured the last of the wine. "And I suprx)se yo
go to Moscow?"
"At last."
She said it with her head high, her lips parted, and
odd, gleaming light in her eyes.
Carter felt sick to his stomach again.
"What about Cory Howard?"
"He's nmning, but he'll caught. With you go
Carter, he has no one left to call." She moved to the d
and paused. "By the way, there is no way you could get
of this room. But even if you could, there are two ve
nasty Dotrrmans prowling the grounds."
The two of them left and Carter threw up again in th
bathroom.
SIXTEEN
Carter ate only because he knew he had to keep his
mental and phystcal strength as close to as B'ssible.
But it was a strain. Whatever they had knocked him out
with had also created a longer term debilitating effect than
just sleep.
He surveyed his situation. He was in Scotland and, ten
to one, he was probably in a desolate area of Scotland.
They had brought Harold Jansen along and were at that
moment forcing him to fill in the gaps of Anthony Hobbs-
Nelson's deadly ecM10mic game.
nat was the key
Once the old man did his job and gave them the final
guidelines they needed, the waiting would be over. Caner
guessed that Jansen would meet with an "auto accident" to
further confuse Jonathan Hart-Davis and the M16 boys.
It was neat. Too neat,
The fact that the KGB was involved in the mess through
Caroline Minor was a monkey wrench the Killmaster had
not counted on, had not even taken into consideration. He
cursed himself for that, but there was a bit of consolation
in the fact that much of what had occurred was, as Minor
herself had said, pure coincidence.
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NICK CARTER
But it was coincidence that had worked in the woman's
—and her Moscow superiors'—favor.
Now he knew what he had to do. The question was,
could he do it... and do it in time.
They had emptied his ixxkets, even taken his shoes. He
hadn't so much as a nail file to use as a lever or digging
tool. Though, God knew, it would take a jackhammer to
dig through concrete and stone a foot thick.
Upending the cot, he crawled atop it to the window.
Once there, he the two sides of the window inward
and reached through the iron grillwork. The latch on the
shutters was tricky, but he managed to get it The
shutters swung wide and he pushed his face against the
grill to recon the exterior.
Directly beneath him, a stone B)rtico over a court-
yard. ne courtyard spread left and right, and led to a
graveled drive that ended in two huge wrought-iron gates.
Spreading each way from the gates as far as he could see
was a thick stone wall. Carter guessed it went all around
the estate.
If he could get out, how many were in the house tBide
Caroline Minor and Wolf Longbone? And were the
armed guards patrolling inside the walls along with th
dogs?
From the slanted across the courtyard and th
wall, it looked as though every light in the mansion spill
from windows. There were no searchlights outside, bu
light spilling through those windows from the inside woul
serve to illuminate any runner.
He checked the casement around the grillwork: wrough
inn, embedded deep in the stone enclosure.
Dropping from the cot, he got the fork they had left hi
to eat with. Back on top of the cot, he scratched at
cement around the bars with the prongs of the fork. I
183
cmmbled. Ihe cement was old, very old, and had become
brittle.
But, nevertheless, it would take hours with only the
fork, and that tool wouldn't last.
Again he checked the door. Not a hinge was visible. All
were set on the inside of the jamb. The lcrk itself had been
inset inside the dcxyr. There were no screws to work on.
For several seconds he stood in the center of the room,
willing his mind to evaluate any possible weakness in his
prison.
There was only one.
But how?
Getting through the the flCK)r, or the ceiling was a
job for a man doing life plus twenty
The window was his only chance.
Quickly, a plan formulated in his mind. It would make
noise. but if it worked, he would through the window
before they could move against him.
He went to work on the cot after pulling the mattress
from it. Canvas-covered wooden mattress supports.
Quickly, he riPIEd it off. The sides were sturdy, inch-thick
planks, sending his spirits soaring. The ends were mitered
and secured with screws.
He tore a strip from his shirttail and wraprrd it around
the fork until it became a handle. Then he went to work on
the screws.
It was a slow, agonizing process, but one by one he got
them out. He broke the glue on the comer wedges and
extracted the two side planks.
Bound together, they would make one hell of a lever.
Sweating, he tore the blankets into strips. These he used
to tightly bind the two side planks together so the stress
would always be on both of them together.
nen he set to work on the fork, honing it against the
184
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NICK CARTER
stone base of the wall. This, too, was slow, but patience
and bleeding hands soon paid off
Finally the handle edge of the fork was sharp enough to
cut the canvas into strips. From these he made a sling that
went around his butt and his shoulders across the upper,
stronger part of his back. When the sling was tied together
in front of him, there was still a long tail to tie to the grill.
Then he began to whittle on the ends of the planks,
sharrpning them. This, too, took an eternity. The wood
was stubbornly hard and he had to stop every few minutes
to rehone his fork/knife. All of this broken by trips to the
door to make sure there were no footsteps in the corridor.
It was the first faint gray light of dawn and his knuckle
were bleeding and skinless when he finally had a point h
was satisfied with.
He dragged the table over to the window and, standin
on top of it, went to work with the sharp end of the fork.
Surprisingly, it was only minutes until he had enough o
the cement away so he could get the sharp end o
the plank in the crevice.
Using it carefully, he IX)ked, probed, and chipped awa
until the plank passed easily between the grill and the case
ment.
Ignoring the pain in his bleeding hands, he strung th
canvas tail of the sling through the bars, back and forth
until the pull would equally distributed.
Despite the need for haste. he his time choosing
point for leverage with the bound planks. With the noise h
would make, he would have time for luck
three—strong wrenches at the most.
He made a final check.
The planks were in place and they hardly bent fro
pressure.
Using all the strength in his body, he tested the sling
KILLING GAMES
185
185
•me grill actually gave a little from just that amount of
pressure.
The fork, now razor sharp, was in his back pocket.
"Okay, genius," he said aloud, "let's see how much
physics you remembered."
He a deep breath and wrenched, twice. He levered
with his arms and pulled with all his might until every
muscle ached with the strain.
In the quiet dawn, the noise of the grill pulling from the
stone was sudden and loud.
He paused, getting his wind and renewing the strength
in his aching muscles.
ne grill was a third free. It had bit deeply into the
planks, but the wood was holding.
He wrenched again,
Over the clatter as he heaved, he heard running feet
outside the door.
The grill sagged, the two horizontal bars its only sup-
ports. Jerking out the planks, he battered the grill with the
butte
"C'mon, dammit!"
It worked.
The grill fell to the floor. He cut himself free of the
sling and, carrying the planks, hoisted himself to the sill.
He crouched there on his heels, framed in the window.
Behind him he heard a key in the door. Below him, the
barking of the two Dobermans and running feet accompa-
nied by shouts.
The portico roof was six feet below. Carter dropped
lightly, hoping he wouldn't break an ankle.
He didn't, and he was off and running toward the front
of the house.
"He's out! There he is!"
lhe chatter of a machine pistol was simultaneous with
186
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NICK CARTER
the chipping away at the stone of a chimney just to his left.
Carter ignored it leaped up to the main roofl Every
thing now was mass confusion, noise, and chaos A
the front edge of the main roof, shielded from view of th
courtyard, he swung the planks as hard as he could over hi
head and heaved.
They lit on top of the outer wall, tx)unced, and wen
over.
"He's over the wall!"
' 'Get the gates, bring the dogs!"
Carter crouched down long enough to see two men a
the gates. Both had Mauser machine pistols slung to thei
sides with leather straps. One held the leashes of two hug
Dobermans.
From the direction of the window he had just exited h
could hear Longbone's raspy voice directing the search.
Toward the center of the roof, he saw a small woode
enclosure and ran for it. There was a wooden hatch inside
He reached for the steel ring and tugged. If there was a bol
or padlock on the other side, he was finished.
It gave.
Pushing the heel of his hand under the hatch cover, h
shoved. It moved, noisily, but moved. Only its weight hel
it down.
In front of the house they still ran around, shouting en
couragement to one another. Carter crawled to the blin
side of the hatch. He turned on his back and used bo
hands to heave up the cover. nen he propped it and pee
cautiously into the hole. The corridor yas a dozen fee
below. He could see the caqrting in the dim light from th
open door of his own room. He took the weight of th
hatch on his shoulder and swung his legs over the hole. F
a second he hung by one hand, using head and free arm
prop the cover again. Then he dropped to the floor.
KILLING GAMES
187
He inched along to the head of the staircase. In front of
the open door, lights burned in the hall. Shouts and the
noise of running men came from all around the house now.
Past the white glare of the hall, the shadows of the.passage
were a refuge. With luck, all of them would in the
grounds. It was a chance he had to take.
He went down one flight. Nothing. Another. Still noth-
ing.
Then he was on the ground floor in a long, brightly lit
hallway loaded with doors. One was open.
Cautiously, he peered in. It was a massive library with a
huge stone fireplace, Atk)ve the mantel were two shotguns
in a rack.
Caner fairly dived for them. Neither was loaded.
"Shit, shit, shit," he hissed, and charged to the end of
the room where a trhemoth desk squatted in front of a pair
of French dcors.
One by one, he yanked open the drawers. In the very
last one he found a yellow and red box of ammunition.
There were two shells inside. Better than nothing, he
decided, and loaded one of the shotguns.
Outside the French doors, a stone r»rch ran around to
another room much like the one he was in. Ihrough the
French doors of the other room, Carter saw Harold Jansen
sitting at a desk with his equipment trfore him. He was
sweating like a pig and glancing back and forth from his
computer screen to a guard who over him with a
machine pistol.
Carter wanted that machine pistol.
He glided out to the balcony on stocking feet and made
his way around.
Just as he was reaching for the knob, Jansen looked up.
He saw Caner and his eyes went wide.
lhe guard saw the change in the old man's face and
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NICK CARTER
whirled, bringing the machine pistol up.
lhe Killmaster fired the shotgun, both barrels.
Glass, fragments, and steel Fllets burst into th
room. most of the stuff ending up in the guard's body.
Carter was on him in a second. He slung the machin
pistol's leather strap over his shoulder and turned to Jan
sen.
"HOW
"He's d-dead," the old man stuttered.
"Besides him, dammit!"
'*The woman and three others."
"You're sure?"
"Y-y-yes. Ihey've all been in and out of here all night.
"Come on!"
Carter hustled him across the room and shoved him int
a closet.
"Stay there, don't move, and don't make a sound."
"You'll come back for me, won't you?"
"God willing and the creek don't rise."
He slammed the door and headed for the one leading t
the hall. There were stairs front and back. He headed up.
It was a sure thing the sound of the shotgun would brin
them back inside.
He sprinted the length of the house to the front stair
case. Just as he hit it, he heard the front door open and the
the sound of quietly padding feet on the carpet.
He waited until they were some distance down the hall
and then padded down the stairs himself.
They were moving toward the room had just left, on
on each side of the hall, their backs to him.
"Here!" Carter shouted.
ney whirled to face him, making themselves a
target.
Caner sprayed back and forth, cutting both of the
practically in half.
KILLING GAMES
189
189
The machine pistol clicked on empty. He threw it away
and staned forward to get one of theirs, when he sensed
movement on the stairs to his right.
He droprrd to his belly and rolled just as Longbone's
rifle fired. The slug hit the carpet inches from Carter's face
and he came up with a shoulder in the man's gut.
There was a raspy grunt and the rifle hit the floor.
Carter made the mistake of going for the rifle instead of
Longbone.
Like a human battering ram, the big man shot his head
into Carter's midriff, putting all the strength of his back
and legs into the suicidal plunge. Its full force struck with
deadly power, and Carter went back against the wall with
the crashing and breaking of a table, his head smashing
against the wall so hard that his mind went dead and his
vision shorted out.
He rolled just in time to avoid the big fist that came out
of the air aimed at his face, and gathered his legs to lash
out at LorÜ)ne's knees. He caught the man too low to
cripple him, but felt his feet grate across a kneecap, know-
ing it would cause pain sufficient to cramp the other man's
style for a moment.
Carter remained on the floor. From there he could roll
from any blow with more facility than if he were standing
up, and cxldly, Longbone was more vulnerable than he, if
he attacked.
He tightened his muscles for a roll that would allow him
to get up trfore came to grips with him.
He made the roll, but not quite in time. The big man
was in midair, hands out like claws to gouge for Carter's
eyes, but he adjusted as he fell, throwing one long leg out
to entrap the smaller man. Lightning reflexes, Carter rec-
ognized, and he lifted his own foot to catch Longbone's
belly or crotch.
There was a numbing weight on his leg, and a painful
190
190 (202 of 212) — + 110%
190 NICK CARTER wrench at his knee, but Longhorn's breath came out in a groaning mar. and he fell like a sack of sand. Carter was on him in an instant. All in one movement he pulled the honed fork from his back pocket and plunged it through the big man's right eye into the brain. Caroline Minor. He saw her in the doorway at the other end of the hall. The Webley in her hand exploded. but the slug went wild. Even a marksman couldn't hit a moving target at that dis-tance. She disappeared. Carter ran, picking up a machine pistol on the way. At the end of the hall he heard a roaring engine. and reversed. Out the front door, he took all six steps in one leap and ran for the gate. He slammed it closed just in time to stop the rush of the two dogs toward him from the woods out-side the wall. Then he ruined just as a big Mercedes lurched around the comer from the courtyard. The twin headlights hit Carter and the machine pistol. He could barely see her eyes behind the windshield. But he could see enough. She was going through him. Or she was going to try. He was thankful that the shanered windshield of the Mercedes obscured his view, so that he never saw the sl from his machine pistol take off her head.
T
SEVENTEEN
Greed. Carter sat in Sir Charles Martin's massive great room listening to it chapter and verse. Caroline Minor had come to him when she was Sir Phil. lip Avery's assistant. She had offered him tidbits that would expand his empire. When he was well hooked. she had put him together with Army in person. Through her, Sir Charles was able to pass selective Soviet secrets that took Avery and, in tom, Hutchins, in. By then Sir Charles knew about Caroline Minor's Mos-cow ties. But it was too late. Army and Hutchins didn't know, but their greed for power in their own agencies made them do whatever Sir Charles asked. And by that time Caroline Minor controlled Sir Charles completely. Even to far as to getting her transferred to Records, when her ac-cess to material would be ten times greater. When the Hobbs-Nelson game came along. it was her Chance for the grand coup. As the broken old man droned on, Carter looked around the room. A stenographer was taking it all down. Beside her was Jonathan Han-Davis, his face a mask.
191
192 NICK CARTER
192 1 (204 01212) — + 110%
192 NICK CARTER In a chair behind him, Sharon Purdue sat, her eyes va-cant. Now and then she glanced up at Carter. But when he would meet her gaze she would look away It wasn't really her (auk. She just blindly did what she was told. Caroline Minor wanted a progress report on Carter and Howard, and Sharon gave it through Avery, and, in tum, Sir Charles. Tough, Carter thought. An agent must have logic and common sense, not blind faith. In a comer, near the bar where he could keep refilling his glass, Cory Howard steed on crutches. Caner could are the hatred in his eyes as he listened to Sir Charles. Now and then he would shift his crutches, but his eyes never left the old man's face. The Killmaster wondered. Some day, when it had all blown over, when her Majesty's government had quietly transferred Sir Charles Martin's wealth and power to the crown, would Cory Howard come back and exact his re-venge on the old man? Perhaps. But even if he did, it would matter little. He would be killing a corpse. Caster didn't want to hear any more. He knew how it would all end. Avery and Hutchins had already been fired. Sharon Pur-due had handed in her resignation. Sir Charles Martin would continue to be a puppet, with another master pulling his strings. Hobbs-Nelson's deadly little game would be put back in the vault. The Don Quixotes who made up the govern-ments of the West were too humane to bring down a super-power by crippling a lot of little powers. Quietly, Carter slipped from the room. In an adjoining foyer he found a Phone and called the Strand Palace Hotel. lova was in her room.
VII I TV, C.I.A., 101
T
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KILLING GAMES 193 She would be ready in an hour. Where? Why, as far as her v., wealth would take thorn. That is until Carter's hands healed and another call I came from Washington.
T