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Three on one, and the odds
are just right
They came for him, all three at once, the one
on the right the closest.
Carter caught him flush in the face with the
bottle and rolled away from a roundhouse right
thrown from his left. Just as Carter hit the
ground the baseball bat came down across his
back. He was already rolling so when it hit it
wasn't a killing blow.
Carter made it to his feet with Number One
coming on strong, his big paws opening and
closing in anticipation.
One hand went for Caner's throat. It was a
decoy. When the Killmaster went for the huge
fist, the other hand crashed into his ribs.
He knew something was broken or cracked
even as he smashed back into the car . . .
Carter nailed him two good ones in the kneecap
with his right boot and brought both fists into
his face.




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ONE
Moscow, February 1984
From the window of her apartment on Leninsky
Prospekt, Angelina Galadin gazed out through the
semidarkness at early-morning Moscow. Snow had been
falling all night and it was still coming down in tiny,
shimmering flakes.
Shivering, Angelina wrapped her robe more tightly
around her and narrowed her eyes. Fourteen blocks
away she could barely see the two massive, ornate,
semicircular buildings that rose like monoliths. One of
those housed the wire service where Angelina worked.
And, on that morning, as she had every morning for the
past two years, she would have to walk to work.
But only for a few more weeks. Then she would






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NICK CARTER
return to the warmth of her beloved Spain. She had en-
joyed her years in Moscow as cultural affairs editor for
the service, but she was going to enjoy being a wife and
mother more.
Still shivering, she entered the tiny bath and
showered. Finished, she took a terry-cloth robe and
dried her long, taut body. As she did so, her gaze
wandered to the full-length mirror on the door and she
giggled with delight. She hadn't yet told Luis that she
was pregnant; it had only been confirmed a few weeks
earlier and she'd decided she would wait until she saw
him. She wanted to see his face when she told him: such
announcements should not be made on the telephone,
she felt.
She hoped a six-month baby would not be too embar-
rassing to her small-town, conservative, religious par-
ents. She was sure her fiancé would be ecstatic at the
news and they would be married as soon as she returned
home.
At that moment, Angelina Galadin was the happiest
woman in the world.
How could this beautiful, dark-haired Spanish
woman from the village of Cordona possibly suspect
that in two hours she would be dead?
Even as big and as powerful as the black Chaika
limousine was, the chauffeur had trouble navigating it
over the narrow lane in the heavy snow. He cursed to
himself, low enough that his superior in the rear would
not hear.
The chauffeur, a low-ranking KGB officer, had no
idea why every morning for the past week they had
driven from the warmth of Moscow into the forests of
Valentinovka. There must be something big afoot.
Perhaps at last they were planning to invade Western
Europe?





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Europe?
THE ANDROPOV FILE
"Itek .. ."
"Yes, sir?"
"Can you go no faster?"
g 'Faster, yes, Comrade General faster."
3
For the next five minutes he pushed the big car up to a
dangerous speed on the slick road. Then, when he was
sure the general had fallen back into his own deep
thoughts, he slowed back to a crawl.
It is I who will get shot, Comrade General, if I wrap
this lumbering piece of shit around a tree!
The uniformed man in the rear of the Chaika was
General Ivor Yuryevich Shalin, and the last thing on his
mind was war or the weather, or the well-being of his
chauffeur.
General Shalin was thinking about the many years it
had taken to amass the power he now held, and what he
must do to hold on to that power.
The car lurched to a halt in front of a massive wooden
gate between two stone pillars. A uniformed sentry
stepped from a tiny warming house and approached the
car. He spoke hurriedly to the driver and leaned for-
ward to shine a powerful light on Shalin in the rear seat.
Immediately, he snapped to attention and saluted.
Shalin returned the salute and the gates swung open.
Beyond the gate the lane turned into a wide avenue. It
was bordered on each side by tall, majestic trees. At the
end of the avenue, lights blazed in the sprawling, two-
story dacha. It was dark green with lighter green trim
and shutters, and nearly every window of its twenty
rooms was bright.
How different was the opulence of this country house
from the drab blocks of apartment buildings populated
by the masses in Moscow.
But then it was bound to be more opulent. The dacha
was the residence of the most powerful man in the
Soviet Union: the former head of the KGB, and now the






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Soviet Union: the former head of the KGB, and now the
4
NICK CARTER
Chairman of the Politburo, Yuri Vladimirovich An-
dropov.
The Chaika stopped between a Zil and a Volga KGB-
licensed sedan. The door was immediately opened by a
shivering soldier, and Shalin stepped out. The front
door of the dacha was also opened for Shalin, and he
stepped into a large center hall, the floor of which was
dotted with priceless Oriental rugs, the wood of its walls
polished to a sheen.
On the right was a lavishly furnished parlor illumi-
nated by an enormous chandelier.
In the room were twenty or more men, some in uni-
form, most in civilian clothes—Savile Row suits tailored
in London.
Shalin returned their nods and mounted a wide stair-
case with dark red carpeting and a wide, carved teak
banister. At the top he opened one of two tall double
doors and entered a brightly lit anteroom.
Two junior officers came to attention. A trio of doc-
tors rose from high-backed chairs and quickly ap-
proached Shalin. He noticed that all three of them
appeared shaken.
"Comrade General." said the taller of the three, "he
is very angry. He has been asking for you all morning."
"The storm is getting heavier. It was hell getting out
Of Moscow."
"You are to go right in," growled another of the doc-
tors.
One of the uniformed men opened the door. Shalin
shucked his uniform greatcoat, passed it to the soldier,
and entered.
It was an enormous room, with fifteen-foot-high ceil-
ings, book-lined walls, and a large fireplace in which a
huge log was burning. Placed at strategic intervals
around an enormous bed were easy chairs, sofas, and
several marble-topped tables.





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roun an enormous
were easy chairs. sofas, and
several marble-topped tables.
THE ANDROPOV HLE
5
A heavy-bodied nurse with a prunelike face stood as
Shalin approached the bed. She leaned over the figure
occupying it, spoke a few whispered words, and quickly
departed.
When the door closed behind her, the figure spoke.
"Comrade General Shalin. ' '
He stepped forward as the white head managed to roll
its sunken eyes in his direction. "Yes, Comrade Chair-
man."
"l have made my decision."
"Yes."
g 'I see no need to retain the files ." Shalin started
to object, but an upraised, bony hand stopped him.
' 'They have served their purpose. I have been an in-
fluence on the party and on my country because of
them."
How well I know, thought Shalin. Wasn't it I, start-
ing out as a young KGB lieutenant, who did all the
dirty work to amass them?
"Power will shift without upheaval. I have made sure
of everything."
You have made sure of nothing, Yuri Vladimirovich.
Even now they are jockeying downstairs along with
others in Moscow for the power you think you have
passed on so easily.
' 'As for you, my old friend, I have taken pains to en-
sure your safety and your continued place in the scheme
of things."
You only think you have, Yuri. Your corpse will
barely be cold before the jackals will gather to devour
me.
' 'Give me your key and the magnetic card, Ivor
Yuryevich. I will have the box brought to us when the
time comes and destroy the roll of microfilm. It is the
best way ... now
' 'You are sure, Comrade Chairman? "






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best way ... now
' 'You are sure, Comrade Chairman? "
6
NICK CARTER
"Positive. Only now, near death, do I fully realize
what harm that microfilm could reap. Too many heads
would fall should all that information slip into hands
unable to wield, with discretion, the power it carries. S'
The two men's eyes met and held. The inference was
clear. The dying man was telling his old cohort—liter-
ally his partner in crime and potential blackmail—that
he. Shalin, was the wrong man to hold such power.
Andropov had been, even in the days before becom-
ing head of the world's largest and most powerful in-
telligence organization, an astute political strategist as
well as a survivor.
As he gained power within the KGB, he forgot noth-
ing and used everything. When he became head of the
agency, he catered to those above him in power while,
all the while, recording definitively their foibles and
their mistakes.
These vast records held by a man with vast power
proved their worth when Brezhnev gave up the ghost
and the jockeying for real power began.
Shalin chewed his inner lip, trying to make his mind
work, trying to conjure up excuses not to pass over his
share of the power he had helped create.
"Comrade General .
Keeping his face expressionless, the general withdrew
a gold chain from beneath his tunic. From it he took a
key, and placed it in the shaking hand.
"The card, Ivor Yuryevich."
From his wallet Shalin took a plain white card with
magnetic wires embedded in its face and placed it over
the key. The white head came up, the eyes blinked and
focused on his hand, and then the fingers closed over
key and card.
"Tired now. old friend, very tired. I must rest. I •ill
call for you when my strength is better, and we will have
the box brought to us."





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call for you when my strength is better. and we will have
the box brought to us."
THE ANDROPOV FILE
"Of course, Comrade Chairman."
7
Shalin retreated two paces, bowed slightly, and left
the room. The nurse immediately took his place, and
Shalin motioned to the chief physician.
"Tell me, Comrade Doctor," Shalin asked in prac-
tically a whisper, "how long? "
g 'I am sorry, Comrade General, but I am not al-
"Damn you for the pompous zhopa you are, man.
The Chairman has given me a delicate piece of state
business which must be timed perfectly. I must know!"
The chief physician bridled. He was the most re-
spected physician in all Russia and the private doctor to
the Chairman himself. He was not used to anyone call-
ing him an ass.
But the gruff intensity in Shalin's voice warned him
not to push his position. The eyes boring into him also
warned him. Shalin's look was menacingly dangerous,
ominous.
The doctor knew the man, Shalin, knew that he had
come up through the ranks with the former KGB chief.
He also knew that Shalin had carried out more than one
assassination for his superior, and probably a great
many more on his own.
"Well?" Shalin demanded.
"He has a few days ... three at the most."
"You could be mistaken," Shalin replied. "He looks
bad ... as though it could happen within the hour."
The doctor shook his head. "Not likely. His vital
signs are still fairly strong. It is a slow, insidious thing."
. two or three days?"
"You're sure
A shrug. "As sure as I can be."
' 'Does he know?"
' 'Not really. J see no reason to predict the time of a
man's death to his face."
There was a trace of a smile on Shalin's lips. g 'Good,






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' 'Not really. I see no reason to predict the ume o a
man's death to his face."
There was a trace of a smile on Shalin's lips. ' 'Good,
8
NICK CARTER
very good. Make sure that he rests comfortably."
Without waiting for a response, Shalin left the ante-
room. But instead of turning right toward the front
staircase that would lead him down to the others, he
turned left. At the end of the hall he entered a study.
Without turning on a light, he moved to a bookcase and
felt until he found a hidden button.
A section of the bookcase swung silently open on
well-oiled hinges. Behind it was a steep flight of stairs.
An overhead light had come on automatically. At the
foot of the stairs was a solid steel door with a small slit
where the knob and keyhole would normally be.
Again Shalin fished in his wallet, and withdrew a
card. He gritted his teeth, swearing to himself that he
would personally strangle the young technician who had
duplicated the card if the copy didn't work.
It did.
The door rolled soundlessly open. Behind it were the
secret files and papers of the dying man upstairs.
Shalin knew just which box would be unlocked by the
duplicate key. He had accompanied his superior nearly
two months before, when they had both descended these
stairs and put the roll of microfilm to rest, supposedly
for the last time.
Here is a second key and card, Ivor Yuryevich. We
have achieved our goals, but with these you will be my
insurance policy.
And now, Shalin thought, turning the key and open.
ing the drawer, I will have the insurance policy—and all
the power it holds—all to myself.
Inside the drawer was a black box. It took a combina
tion of the card and the key to open the box.
Comrade General Shalin pocketed the roll of micro-
film and locked everything back up.
Ten minutes later he was back in the Chaika, urging
his chauffeur to drive faster back to Moscow.




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film and locked everything back up.
Ten minutes later he was back in the Chaika, urging
his chauffeur to drive faster back to Moscow.
THE ANDROPOV FILE
9
Andrei Charnovich was dreaming. It was definitely
ne of his better dreams. There was a girl in it who
ooked like his childhood sweetheart, only now she was
II grown up and beautiful.
She was naked, on a bed, and she was motioning An-
drei to join her. His feet were leaden; he couldn't make
them move fast enough. When they began to move at
last, the telephone ruined the dream.
Then he rolled over in the bed and his hand struck his
wife's large, flabby rump.
That, and the shrill telephone. brought him wide
awake. He reached across the mountain of his wife's
body and spoke into the mouthpiece.
"Charnovich?"
The caller spoke in a low, confidential tone. 'S This
morning, Charnovich, we will again have need of your
taxi service. "
"A special fare?"
'iDa. "
"Where?"
The caller gave him the route, and Charnovich
memorized it as the familiar voice spoke.
"How soon?"
"Her light is on now. I would imagine another thirty
minutes."
"I will be there."
Charnovich yawned, replaced the phone, and swung
his thin legs over the edge of the bed. As usual, he
yelped when his feet hit the icy floor. As he stood to
strip off his pajamas, his wife's muffled voice came
from under the quilt.
"What is it?"
"A special fare."





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IS WI e s mu fledvoi
strip off his pajamas,
from under the quilt.
"What is it?"
"A special fare."
10
NICK CARTER
"At this hour? You've only been home three hours!"
"Shut up, woman. I must work long and hard. How
else could you afford to eat so much and live in a private
apartment?"
Charnovich dressed and went out into the cold,
snowy dawn, whistling to himself.
He let the Volga warm up a couple Of minutes and
then backed into the street. He paid no attention to the
dark automobile parked inconspicuously at the curb a
half block away. Nor did he pay any attention when the
parked car pulled away from the curb without head-
lights and swung in behind him.
But he knew they were there. Later, they would be his
witnesses.
Andrei Charnovich didn't get his fat salary, his pri-
vate apartment, and many other perks for just driving
his cab.
He got all those things by having accidents.
Angelina Galadin stepped from her apartment house
and bent her head into the wind and snow. Even though
it was a wide thoroughfare, Leninsky Prospekt was free
of pedestrians and there was very little auto traffic. Part
Of this was because of the early hour in this section of
the city. A second reason was the awful weather.
Every native in Moscow would be late to work this
morning. And if Angelina Galadin were Russian, going
to a Russian job from which she couldn't be fired, she,
too, would probably be late.
But she wasn't, so she pulled the fur collar of her coat
higher around her head and trudged onward.
She took a shortcut through a narrow alley, and
turned left on Makarenko Ulica. It was a long four
blocks to Zukovsk, where she would turn right.
The snow was deep, nearly to the top of her boots,
making her thankful again that in a short time she






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THE ANDROPOV FILE
ould be in her beloved sunny, warm Spain.
11
She was nearly at the corner of Zukovski when she
eard the roaring engine behind her. For a second she
aid no attention.
Then, as it grew louder and seemed to be bearing
irectly at her, she turned.
She saw the two headlights heading straight for her.
She screamed.
And the last thing she saw before she was hurled,
ifeless. through the air was the flickering TAXI sign in
yrillic letters on the roof.
The Malagav on Gorki Street is famous all over Mos-
cow for its spicy Georgian food. It is the favorite restau-
rant of high-ranking party members and the military
who can afford it. Because of the status of its clientele,
the Malagav also sports attentive, jovial waiters, as op-
posed to the usual sullen Moscow restaurant help.
General Ivor Shalin was recognized the moment he
walked into the foyer. The headwaiter made the usual
fuss, and at the general's command led him to a table
already occupied by Gregor Leventov.
Leventov was a short, fat, balding man with a florid
face dominated by a potatolike nose. Leventov was a
KGB colonel, and worldwide liaison for the Soviet na-
tional airline, Aeroflot.
It was because of his position with Aeroflot that
Shalin had long ago brought him into the scheme. No
one would question Leventov's orders about what went
on an airplane, or when. He himself also had unlimited
—and unquestioned—travel abroad at any time.
"Good day, Ivor Yuryevich.'j
"Gregor," Shalin said with a nod, seating himself
and carefully studying the other man.
Leventov's right hand, as he poured vodka for both
Of them, shook noticeably. as did his left using a hand-
12
NICK CARTER
kerchief to mop the constant sweat from his face.
"How much of this have you had, Gregor?" Shalin




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NICK CARTER
kerchief to mop the constant sweat from his face.
"How much of this have you had, Gregor?" Shalin
asked once the headwaiter had left.
' 'A few glasses,"
the man admitted, and smiled
lamely. "l am Russian."
"Today is February eighth, my dear Gregor. Let it be
a day of triumph and not a day of drunkenness."
Shalin's tone was like ice. Leventov feared the KGB
general, but on this day, in light of what they were
doing, he feared his own fear much more. He set the
glass of vodka down without drinking.
Shalin sipped. ' 'Two perhaps three days."
' 'Damn, we must move very quickly."
'iWe will," Shalin replied. "I have the film."
The man's eyes gleamed. "Where?"
"Here." Shalin leaned forward with his right arm
under the table and dropped the small package in th
other man's lap.
"Oh, my God."
"We don't believe in God, Gregor. Put it in your
pocket and stop sweating."
Gregor Leventov couldn't stop sweating. Nor could
he stop his hand from shaking as he slipped the fate of
half the high-ranking leaders of the Soviet Union int
his pocket.
Shalin had told him—only partially, he was sure
what the roll of microfilm contained. But even tha
much was enough to rock the very core of the Politburo
for the next ten years.
"That is our future, Gregor . . . yours, Gusenko's
and mine. With the contents of that file we will have the
power behind the thrones. Guard it carefully." Shalin
paused, leaning forward. When he spoke again, it was
in an even lower voice. "The Spanish woman?"
"Taken care of, a few hours ago. It was declared a
THE ANDROPOV FILE
13
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THE ANDROPOV FILE
accident, even a possible suicide.
public morgue in Kalitnikovskaja."
"And the taxi driver?"
13
The body is in the
"The shock of the accident brought on a heart attack.
He will be buried quietly."
"Good. Nikolai Gusenko has been informed?"
"I will accompany the body to Paris. Gusenko will
take it from there to Madrid and turn it over to the
family."
Shalin chuckled and lifted his glass. ' 'And our little
insurance policy will be in the vault. Na zdorovje,
Gregor. It is a new day."
In the kitchen. a waiter made a note in a small book
that he had observed Comrade Gregor Leventov and
Comrade General Shalin lunching together that day.
Jt was routine. Observation and filing boring reports
were part of his second job ... that of a watcher for the
KGB.
The four aides were amazed. For as long as they had
served the Chairman, spent time in the dacha, they had
not known of the existence of the secret vault.
They took the black box and returned to the Chair-
man's bedi fearing yet another outburst of wrath. An
hour before, his condition had taken a rapid turn for the
worse. Yet, when it had happened, he had somehow
summoned the strength for one last act.
Just minutes before, he had sent for General Shalin.
When he was told that the general couldn't be found in
the dacha and it was presumed that he had returned to
Moscow, the room had erupted.
Shortly after that they had been given a card and a
key and the instructions they were now carrying out.
"Comrade Chairman, the box you requested."
The dying man applied the card and key himself.
When he opened the lid his face regained much of its
14
NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
former color, only to fade quickly to a sickly, greenish
white.
He ordered everyone from the room except the
highest-ranking members. To them he told the story.
And his last utterance before sinking back on the
pillow was, Get it back and ... kill Shalin!"









TWO
Milan, February 1984
The taxi wound its way north from the Piazza del
Duomo to the Piazza della Scala. At last the cab
stopped near the alley running between La Scala itself
and the building housing the museum next door.
"As far as I can go, signore. The stage door is down
there."
' 'Grazie, " Nick Carter replied, paid him with a lib-
eral tip, and stepped from the cab.
Just before he moved down the alley, he glanced at
the posters outside the theater. La Scala is of course
famous for its opera the world over, and has been since
the house was built in 1778 on the site of the Church of
Santa Maria della Scala. But now posters proclaimed a
16
15
NICK CARTER





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NICK CARTER
three-night run of the Ballet de Paris, opening the
following night.
The stage door read Artists Entrance. Not hesitating,
Carter used his shoulder and managed to get inside.
"Signore?" He was about a hundred years old, and
wore a black uniform with a matching billed cap that
hid haif his face.
"My name is Carter, Amalgamated Press and Wire
Services. I have an appointment to interview Nina
Cavetti."
Carter flashed his credentials. The guard bobbed his
bill and ran a gnarled finger down a book of scrawled
names. When he found the right one, he waved a finger
toward a flight of steps.
"Dressing room Three, but they are probably on
stage rehearsing."
"Grazie, "Carter said, but the old guard already had
his newspaper back in front of his face and could care
less.
The door marked "3" was open and empty. Carter
moved on past more open dressing rooms to another
flight of stairs that led down to the vast stage itself.
Everything was confusion. Short, fat women ran
everywhere carrying costumes, while dancers in re-
hearsal clothes warmed up with bored expressions on
their faces. One young man—or at least Carter thought
it was a young man—jumped high in the air, made two
complete revolutions, and came down on his crotch.
"Ouch," Carter groaned.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
The young man began stretching, the pain of his art
evident on his face. Then he practiced his airborne pir-
ouettes once again.
Carter moved on, scanning faces.
Stagehands, carrying scenery, shouted to one another
THE ANDROPOV FILE
17




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THE ANDROPOV FILE
17
•n Italian and at the dancers to get out of their way in
rench. Below, in the pit, an orchestra was tuning up,
nd sounded loud and awful. But Carter wasn't there to
ritique music or dance.
He was there answering a summons for help from a
lovely Russian dancer that he had gotten out Of a very
tight spot in Budapest two years earlier. Her name was
Nina Kovich then, and she had been defecting with her
husband, a physics professor from Moscow State Uni-
versity.
The defection had backfired. They had been fingered,
and in the attempted arrest Kovich had been killed.
The rules of the game concerning defectors—as laid
down by Washington—could be summarized as follows:
if they don't got something we particularly want, we
don't want 'em.
Kovich's brain, and what was in it, Washington
wanted. His wife's pliés and arabesques they didn't
need.
But when the professor was shot, Carter couldn't ex-
actly leave his wife stranded to take the heat.
He got her out, to Vienna and eventually to Paris.
Once there, he pulled a few strings in the French
bureaucracy and got her papers with a new identity.
Nina Kovich became Nina Cavetti, complete with an
Italian passport and a background from one of the best
ballet schools in Rome.
She also got some money, a sympathetic shoulder to
cry on from Carter, and a number to call with a code
word if she ever needed some help.
Two days before, a call on that number had come
through.
Carter always kept a promise.
Six feet of legs in tights bounced by and Carter
stopped her. "Excuse me i"
"Olli?"




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"Nina Cavetti?"
"Oui?"
"I'm a reporter. I'm supposed to interview her."
"tOui.
g 'I wonder if you could tell me where she is."
"Somewhere, here. "
The dervish whirled off, and Carter moved on toward
a group of dancers in tights. T-shirts, and leg warmers,
which seemed to be the standard costume.
"l doubt that you are the new member of the corps de
ballet."
The voice was female and it came from behind him.
The French was pure but with an odd lilt.
Carter turned to find a very pretty young woman
wearing black tights and a white T-shirt through which
gleamed two small, compact breasts.
' UNO, I'm a little too old and beat up for this, I'm
afraid," Carter replied with a grin.
She laughed. It was a nice laugh, even though the rub.
ber band in her mouth did strange things to the sound.
She had been running a brush through her long hair.
Now she stopped, pulled it back, and fastened it with
the rubber band.
Suddenly it hit him . the slight tilt of the head, the
wry smile, the diminutive yet sensual figure
'CMY God, Nina ..
The smile broadened. ' 'Your Dr. Zeissdorf in Geneva
was wonderful, no?"
Carter nodded dumbly.
Aaron Zeissdorf was a plastic surgeon. He specialized
in rehabilitation, only now and then doing a purely
cosmetic job.
In Nina's case he had done a complete makeover.
When Carter had brought her out she had been rather
plain, with a slight hook in her nose, a somewhat
receding chin, and honey-blond hair.




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Now she was a sable brunette with a pretty, pixieish
ace, not beautiful but definitely worth a second and a
hird look.
"I didn't know you went through with it," he said.
"l thought it best, a complete transformation." Here
he paused to laugh. "Of course, being a very natural
londe, the hair poses a constant problem. It must be
done every few days."
' 'And this?" Carter said, rolling his eyes around the
vast stage.
"To be anonymous, I thought it best to be obvious. I
think it has worked out quite well."
"Good." Carter relaxed and lit a cigarette. "Now,
why the call?"
She glanced anxiously toward the other dancers mill-
ing around. The orchestra was still warming up. The
principals hadn't arrived yet. The noise was rising to a
deafening level.
"l think it best we not talk here. We only have one
more number to rehearse. Could you wait? We could go
somewhere out of the way for a drink or something."
Carter nodded. "Sure."
She slipped away and Carter moved out to the rear of
the huge house. He had barely settled into a box when
the dancers gathered on stage. After a few directions
from a tall, big-boned man, the orchestra blared and the
number began. Instantly, all that had been chaos sud-
denly became order and symmetry.
Carter, amazed at the transformation, tried to watch
it with interest, but he'd always found classical ballet
too artificial for his taste. Besides, his eyes kept wander-
ing to the right where the man—Carter wondered if he
was the dance master—stood.
He was about thirty and. for a dancer. rather tall and
muscular, with black curly hair and stark blue eyes.
Even from such a distance, Carter could see a thin scar




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Even from such a distance,
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Carter could see a thin scar
20
NICK CARTER
that ran from behind his right ear, down his neck, and
disappeared beneath his T-shirt.
There was something very familiar about the man,
but no matter how hard the Killmaster concentrated, he
couldn't place what it was.
Eventually the leaping and whirling figures on stage
garnered his attention and the man slipped from his
mind.
It took about a half hour to iron out the kinks to
everyone's satisfaction before a halt was called. The
company was admonished to relax until opening, and
dismissed.
Carter returned backstage just as Nina was exiting,
heading for her dressing room.
"How did you like it?"
g g Wonderful," Carter replied.
"Liar. You didn't understand a bit of it," she teased.
"You're right. Change—I need a drink."
"I'll only be a minute."
She moved away to her dressing room and Carter got
out of the crowd. He lounged in some shadows and
studied the group, comparing them to a program he had
picked up as he came down the aisle.
He wondered just how safe Nina was. At least a third
of the performers had Russian names. Were they all
defectors? And if they were, surely one of them would
recognize Nina, if not by her face, at least by her style of
dance.
Carter knew very little about ballet, but he had read
enough to know that style and technique varied from
country to country, and that Russian training was
unique and highly valued by those in the dance world.
He glanced up to see the tall, blue-eyed man eyeing
him from the edge of the stage. Up close he looked more
like a longshoreman than a dancer. He had shoulder
like a boxer, and heavy arms. Then Carter glanced at hi
hands, and little bells went off.




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like a boxer, and heavy arms. Then Carter glanced at hi
hands, and little bells went Off.
THE ANDROPOV FILE
21
The joints of his fingers were oversize, as if they were
swollen, and there were calluses on the sides of the
palms.
They were not the hands of a dancer, Carter knew.
Carter's own mangled hands had the same appearance,
and it was caused by daily training, pounding his fists
against anything that would harden them. The knuckles
were oversize because they had been broken and allowed
to mend slightly out of joint. Because of this, hardened
scar tissue made them stronger and impervious to pain
. like an artery in the
when they struck something .
neck, crushing it.
They were the hands of a killer.
Then Nina appeared beside Carter. She looked lost in
a dark cotton dress, heavy leggings that came to her
knees, and an oversize fur coat.
Once a Russian, Carter thought, always a Russian.
"Shall we go?"
"Sure," he said, taking her arm. 'SDon't turn
around, but the guy who gave all the directions on stage
. is he the dance master?"
"No, he's the first assistant stage manager. We have a
lazy dance master who gives him orders and he relays
them."
"l didn't think he looked like a dancer."
Nina laughed. "He isn't. But he seems to be a good
technician. I suppose that was why he was hired. "
Carter checked the program. "Duval?"
She nodded. ' 'Henri Duval."
Carter asked her about the preponderance of Russian
names in the program as they hit the street. It brought
another, louder laugh to her lips.
"Stage names. Everyone believes that the only real
training in ballet comes from Russia. So, no matter who
anyone is, they take a Russian stage name when they
look for work."
She took the program from his hand and ran a finger




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anyone is, they take a Russian stage name when they
look for work."
She took the program from his hand and ran a finger
22
NICK CARTER
down the list before raising it to his eyes.
"This one, Boris Charkovsky?"
"Yeah."
"His real name is Francois Lessing. A Paris agent
found him dancing nude in a Marseille bordello. But,
believe it or not, he's a very well-trained dancer."
Carter shook his head. "The vagaries of show busi-
ness."
The rental car was a small Mercedes. Carter handed
Nina in, and went around to the driver's side. He didn't
speak until they were headed north on the wide Via
Brera.
' 'Want to tell me now?" he asked at last.
She tucked her legs beneath her and turned partially
toward him in the passenger seat. Out of the corner of
his eye Carter could see her face become serious.
"I don't think I ever told you, but I still have family
in the Soviet Union. "
' 'No, you didn't."
"l do, a brother. He tried to join my husband and me
when we came out, but he couldn't get a travel permit to
Budapest. He's been trying to get out ever since."
Carter lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before reply-
ing. '%And now he's coming out?"
"Yes."
"When?"
' 'Tomorrow night, through Finland. At least, that is
the plan. "
"Does he have help?"
Carter maneuvered the car through a sudden burst Of
traffic. When they were clear again she still hadn't
answered. He glanced over to see her puffing nervously
on a cigarette, inhaling deeply and almost gasping out
the smoke.
"I didn't know dancers smoked."
"They are the worst smokers," Nina replied, crush-




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esmo e.
"I didn't know dancers smoked."
"They are the worst smokers," Nina replied, crush-
THE ANDROPOV FILE
23
ing out the butt and immediately lighting another.
' 'You haven't answered my question."
"l know. Yes, he has help
... from the KGB."
"What?"
She waved the cigarette in the air. "He's doing some
special job for them. In return, they are giving him
travel papers. When he gets to Helsinki he will just
defect. "
Carter frowned in concentration. ' 'It sounds a little
too pat for me. What kind of a job is he doing?"
"l don't know. Even he didn't know until a day or so
ago, and I haven't been in contact with him since."
"Nina, any kind of job your brother would do for the
KGB is going to be shady as hell. And if it's shady
enough, they won't want him walking around talking
about it, especially in the West."
"I know. Joseph felt the same way. That's why he has
taken some precautions."
"What kind of precautions?"
' 'The KGB is giving him travel papers from Moscow
to the frontier of Finland. He will go by train to Hel-
sinki. But if they try to stop him—or worse—he has an
alternate route. "
She laid out both sides of the plan, and Carter lis-
tened closely as he drove.
Then he spotted the restaurant he wanted, and con-
versation ceased as he parked.
"Quaint," Nina commented, staring at the building.
"And out of the way," Carter replied, guiding her to
the door.
The restaurant was called Bella Marlene. It stood
alone on a street of aging tenements and looked like a
miniature Venetian palazzo. With its chipped stonework
and weathered paint, it had an unkempt look, like the
neighborhood. It had diamond-patterned stained-glass
windows and an old-fashioned post lantern by the door





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and weathered paint, it had an unkempt look. like the
neighborhood. It had diamond-patterned stained-glass
windows and an old-fashioned post lantern by the door
24
NICK CARTER
that cast a weak yellow light.
" You've been here before? " Nina asked.
"Often. The owner is a friend, a Welshman named
Scudder."
g 'A Welshman? In Milan?"
Carter chuckled. "He has the soul of an Italian."
Inside was sedate opulence, with crystal chandeliers
and private, curtained booths. Carter requested one of
these and inquired about Scudder.
"He is in a meeting. It will last ... perhaps an hour,"
replied the maitre d'. "Could give him your name,
signore?"
"Carter. He'll know."
The Killmaster ordered for both of them a Lombardy
stew of pork, sausages, carrots, and white wine, and a
small side dish of polenta.
' 'I never knew your Italian was as fluent as your
French," Nina said.
"So's my Russian," Carter said and grinned. "Let's
speak English. "
They waited until the food had arrived and they were
halfway through the meal before they returned to the
matter of Nina's brother.
"My family name was Kadinskov."
Carter nodded. "So what can I do for you and Joseph
Kadinskov?"
"The same thing you did for me."
"Papers?" Carter said with a wry face.
She nodded. "New papers, for both of us."
"You're leaving the ballet? "
"Yes. I have put aside some money. I have made
some contacts here in Italy. We can start a new life."
"You think that's wise?" Carter asked.
think it is necessary. Alone, I was able to hide.
Together .
. it would be difficult. Can you help? I
know it is asking a great deal. My brother has nothing




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ou think that s wise?" Carter asked.
think it is necessary. Alone, I was able to hide.
Together
. it would be difficult. Can you help? I
know it is asking a great deal. My brother has nothing
THE ANDROPOV FILE
25
your State Department wants, so help from that area is
out. But you know so many people .. ."
Her words trailed off in a plea. Carter pushed his
plate away and refilled their glasses.
"I do have a few people in the Italian CID that owe
me a favor or two. We'll have to create a whole new
background for both of you. "
understand."
"And you want to stay in Italy?"
"Yes."
Carter paused, studying her, and then smiled. "I like
your new look."
Nina returned the smile, moving her hands across the
table to cover his. ' 'Thank you, Nick. Thank you so
very much. "
"I'll have to list an occupation on the papers."
She thought for a moment. "Journalist. That would
be far enough afield."
"Good enough. What does Joseph do now?"
She paused. "You'll laugh ..
"Try me. "
' 'He's a mortician."