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ONE
She was quite a woman. And every inch of her
looked good. So good that I knew it would be a lot
easier to bed her for the cause than I thought it
should be.
In fact, bedding the beautiful Cora Lee would be
a cinch compared to confronting her boyfriend af-
terward. Yet that confrontation was really my
main objective.
"You like what you see, honey?" Cora asked
throatily, twirling the ice around and around in a
glass of bourbon.
"So much so," I replied, "that I'd like to see
more." I found it hard to keep from looking at the
low cut, cream-colored sweater that tightened
around her breasts, leaving no doubt about their
size and perfect structure. "But you know if that
mountain you call a boyfriend finds us up here to-
gether he'll grind us both into hamburger."
"Let's forget Tiny Tim," Cora said, pulling her
legs under her on the sofa. The tight slacks seemed
to squeeze around her wide hips and firm thighs.
Her eyes flirted with me, just as they had each time
we'd met during the past week. "l didn't think
you'd noticed me," she purred, sipping her drink.
' 'I noticed," I laughed, eyeing her perfectly pro-
portioned five-feet-eleven-inch frame.
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NICK CARTER
"I was hoping you'd drop up some time for a
drink .
. or something."
"Why me?" I asked, not really caring.
"Because you're big, you're handsome, and
you're a gringo. That's just the right combination
in this godforsaken place."
She was referring to Taxco, a picturesque village
sprawled over a rugged hillside in the heart of
Mexico's Sierra Madre mountain range just south
of Cuernavaca. Once an Indian village rich with
silver deposits, it was now a sleepy hamlet that
woke up only for holidays and the tourist season. It
certainly didn't have the action that a lady like
Cora Lee would want.
Our eyes met for a long moment, carrying on a
silent conversation, sending intimate promises,
quietly exploring each other's thoughts. I saluted
her with my half-empty glass. "Always ready to aid
a lady in distress."
She smiled, then stood tall above me, looking
down, challenging me with her eyes. "We'll see
about that. I think I'll get into something else.
These slacks are .
. confining." She caressed her
ample thighs to emphasize her point. "Help your-
self to another drink," she said, gliding across the
room with smooth, catlike grace. Every movement
of her body, every ripple under the tight clothing,
was pure, animal sex.
I sat there, finishing my drink, and decided that
the last five days of playing cat-and-mouse with her
in the cantinas, the hotel restaurant, and even on
the streets, was about to pay off.
At the bar I poured a neat one, downed it, and
refilled my glass again. There was a pole lamp be-
hind the bar, with colored bulbs. I reached around
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NICK CARTER
"I was hoping you'd drop up some time for a
drink .
. or something."
"Why me?" I asked, not really caring.
"Because you're big, you're handsome, and
you're a gringo. That's just the right combination
in this godforsaken place."
She was referring to Taxco, a picturesque village
sprawled over a rugged hillside in the heart of
Mexico's Sierra Madre mountain range just south
of Cuernavaca. Once an Indian village rich with
silver deposits, it was now a sleepy hamlet that
woke up only for holidays and the tourist season. It
certainly didn't have the action that a lady like
Cora Lee would want.
Our eyes met for a long moment, carrying on a
silent conversation, sending intimate promises,
quietly exploring each other's thoughts. I saluted
her with my half-empty glass. "Always ready to aid
a lady in distress."
She smiled, then stood tall above me, looking
down, challenging me with her eyes. "We'll see
about that. I think I'll get into something else.
These slacks are confining." She caressed her
ample thighs to emphasize her point. "Help your-
self to another drink," she said, gliding across the
room with smooth, catlike grace. Every movement
of her body, every ripple under the tight clothing,
was pure, animal sex.
I sat there, finishing my drink, and decided that
the last five days of playing cat-and-mouse with her
in the cantinas, the hotel restaurant, and even on
the streets, was about to pay off.
At the bar I poured a neat one, downed it, and
refilled my glass again. There was a pole lamp be-
hind the bar, with colored bulbs. I reached around
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
3
and flicked it on. Yellow and red light danced over
the wall and up to the ceiling. I wondered if we
would start out here or go directly to the bedroom.
What the hell, I shrugged, and walked around
the living room switching off the rest of the lights.
Then I went back to the sofa and waited.
In the other room I heard the soft, whispering
sounds of clothing being removed. A drawer slid
open and shut.
"I killed some of the lights," I called out.
"Good," was her only reply, but I thought it was
followed by a giggle. It was hard to imagine a gig-
gle coming from Cora.
I waited, feeling the blood begin to race. In my
mind, I tried to picture what her well-equipped
body would look like naked. The image made me
sweat.
"Like me?" Cora's husky voice asked from the
bedroom doorway.
I looked up. Jesus was all I could manage to
blurt out.
She was standing there, one arm high against the
door frame, her body draped in a sheer blue negli-
gee. The dim lighting cast pale shadows against
darker, more suggestive ones.
I gazed at the points of her jutting breasts and
the huge, dark circles of the aureoles beyond the
nipples. The flimsy garment stopped at her hips,
revealing fluffy panties that displayed her assets in
an enticing manner.
She oozed onto the sofa beside me, smiling. Her
eyes were half closed over the amusement they
held. "You act as though you've never seen a wom-
an dressed like this before."
. at least, not a woman like you."
"I haven't .
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NICK CARTER
"I hope you don't think I'm too forward. I fig-
ure, why waste a lot of time with bullshit. We both
want the same thing, don't we?"
She touched my arm and sparks seemed to fly
from her fingers. The subtle scent of some exotic
perfume wafted from her body and found its way
to my nostrils.
"My sentiments exactly," I managed to crack
and reached for her.
She yielded, sliding into my arms in one easy,
fluid movement. Her tongue darted out, searching
and finding my lips. It eased between them, driving
deeply, greedily, into my mouth.
Cora's breasts thrust against my chest; they were
warm, passionate, the body behind them already
throbbing with desire. The nipples were like hard
stones embedded in pillars of soft flesh.
"Nick . ," her lips moaned against the muscle
of my shoulder. "Nick, take me. Take me now."
Her lips trailed moistly across my cheek and found
their way back to mine.
She became a soft sea of fire as she wrapped
herself around me. Her hands seemed to be ev-
erywhere as her lips feasted on mine and her
spreading breasts added fuel to the flame that was
about to explode inside me. We strained together
for a full two minutes and then broke apart, our
lungs sucking air in great gasps.
' 'Let ... let me help you," she said, reaching for
the buckle on my belt.
It was a series of caresses, of barbaric searching,
until I was naked. Luckily, I had left the general
accoutrements of my trade in my own room. It
would have been awkward in that position of pas-
Sion to explain, and get rid of, a stiletto, a 9mm
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
5
Luger, and the tiny gas bomb that usually nestled
where her hands were now groping between my
thighs.
She lay back on the sofa, pulling me down on
top of her. At the same time she thrust my hand
under the negligee top, giving me the freedom of
her warm, fleshy breasts.
Then the negligee top was off, and I forgot what
part she played in my current mission. She became
just a woman, and my mouth devoured those pend-
ulous mounds, kissing the rising nipples until they
were hard. I made circles with my tongue, teasing
with my lips until she pulled my head between
them.
Somehow her panties disappeared and her hands
pulled me into her. We churned together; the pre-
view had built us to the peak and it was over quick-
ly. She was still breathing hard, still at the summit,
as she moved from the sofa and took my hand.
"Bedroom," she croaked.
Some kind of woman, I thought, padding along
after her, my eyes intent on her jiggling buttocks.
The second time was better, slower, not so de-
manding on both of us. Afterward, Cora slept
while I sat, propped against the head of the bed,
smoking. My body was totally relaxed, until the
real reason for being with Cora crept back into my
thoughts.
I blew smoke toward the ceiling and watched it
hang there. The big-bladed fan above the bed re-
volved so slowly, it barely disturbed the air.
I dragged a finger through the film of per-
spiration on my chest. It was hot in the room. It
was hot in Mexico. But it was going to get a lot
hotter.
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NICK CARTER
Through the open window across the room I
could hear the sounds of the small Mexican village
at night. Mariachi music floated on the heat waves
from the cantina across the street. It blended with
the musical sounds of the language, and the occa-
sional light, high-pitched laughter of a woman.
Move it, Carter, I told myself. You can't wait for
him here.
Gently, without waking her, I rolled off the bed
and padded into the living room. At the bar I
found a bottle with enough left in it to fill half a
glass. I added a lot of cubes and drank it as I
walked around the room, making sure that there
was sufficient sign of my being there.
The table was set for two, the meal half eaten,
several ashtrays prominently displayed butts of my
special brand, with my initials, N.C., embossed in
gold on the filter. I had even brought Cora some
Mexican posies. The card I had withheld, till now.
I retrieved it from my jacket and set it open beside
the flowers: For tonight Nick. No one, not even
a big dumb clod like Tiny would miss that.
When the drink was finished, I climbed into my
clothes and left the suite. My own room, one floor
above, wasn't quite as elaborate as Cora Lee and
Tiny's, but then I did very little entertaining.
I took Pierre from his special hiding place in my
bag and placed him where he belonged—as the
third jewel in the family treasure. Hugo and
Wilhelmina I left in the bottom of the bag. They
wouldn't be needed where I was going. At least,
not right away.
With my trousers back on and my shirt sleeves
rolled to my elbows, I went downstairs to find a
bar and wait.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
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The cantina was small and noisy. B-girls flitted
from table to table and the mariachi band I had
heard from Cora Lee's room was a lot louder in
person. I ordered a drink from an obese
mustachioed bartender who resembled Pancho Vil-
la and wore an apron that hadn't seen soap and
water since its creation.
For my part, I was a bleary, red-eyed swiller of
mescal and tequilla. I had also, in the previous
weeks, gained quite a reputation as a barroom
brawler and, as in Cora's case, a coveter of other
men's women.
The charade was in keeping with the mission
that had started some two months before at AXE
headquarters in Washington.
I had been skiing in Vail. The powder was fan-
tastic, the air clean and crisp, the women beautiful.
I still had four good days and five long nights left
to my vacation when the call from DC. came.
Hawk's voice was sharp, with no mincing of words.
"Come home NOW!"
I caught the first ride I could find to Denver and
the next plane out for D.C. Still weary, with little
sleep, I waltzed into Hawk's outer office at eight
the next morning, wondering what the hell was up.
Ginger Bateman, Hawk's girl Friday and a lady
I had long admired, looked up from the stack of
papers strewn over her desk. I dredged up enough
energy for a charming smile and lightly caressed
her left ear with my lips. At the same time I let my
eyes explore the vast depths between her large
breasts.
"How's my favorite Southern Belle
don't
. you ever wear high-necked sweaters?"
Her head rolled around until her eyes met mine,
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NICK CARTER
and a tiny alarm bell went off in the back of my
head; something was wrong, very wrong. There
was no flash of those perfect teeth, no deep breath
to tease me with the outward thrust of those bos-
oms and, worst of all, there was no hint of veiled
invitation in those usually flashing eyes.
"What the hell have you done?"
Every word came out composed of at least two
syllables. It was a throwback to her Atlanta
heritage, and only occurred when Ginger was in-
volved in some form of very emotional stress.
"Your accent's showing. What's up?"
"Honey, I don't know," she said, with real
worry in her eyes."But the man is already on his
third cigar, his second pot ofcoffee, and your file is
the latest topic of his blood pressure."
I let my brow crease and tried to think about my
last job. Nothing in a job that could get you killed
every hour of the day is routine, but I couldn't re-
member anything out of the ordinary about the last
mission.
"Well, announce me," I said still puzzled.
Ginger lowered her eyes and, too studiously,
started going through papers again. "His orders
were, 'Get his ass in here the second he hits the
door.' In you go," she said, activating a button be-
neath her desk that unlocked the door to Hawk's
office.
I donned my most serious face and -walked in.
He was indeed on his third cigar. Smoke was thick
in the air like the sky over Pittsburgh on a calm'
day.
The instant he saw me, David Hawk heaved
himself to his feet and tossed a sheaf of papers to
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
9
my side of the desk. "Carter sit down! Read
that
The chief only used last names with employees of
AXE like Ginger or operatives without Killmaster
designations. Our meetings were usually less for-
mal. Suddenly, the situation became more serious
and I felt very cold inside.
Hawk ordered Gingerto take an early lunch—it
was only 8:30 a.m.—then he evaporated with a sigh
into the well-worn leather chair behind his desk. I
didn't look up. I couldn't. The contents of the pa-
pers he had handed me held me spellbound.
About two years before, I had handled a rather
sticky situation in South America. We had learned
that certain powers had instigated the overthrow
and assassination of a banana republic dictator.
And, to make matters worse, they had twisted the
situation around to make it appear as though
agents of our intelligence service were responsible.
Through bureaucratic snafus, we had been able
to stop the actual assassination, but there was a
chance that we could shift the blame to the real
parties. State had been the boss; I had gone along
as background muscle and chief ferret.
My end had worked out, but, as usual, State and
their diplomats had not moved fast enough. A cou-
ple orother people had expired before it was all
straightened out, and the wrong party got in
power.
At that time I had filed a report, naming names
and laying the whole situation on the line. I was
reading an analysis and conclusion on that report
now, and it didn't resemble the original in any way.
I finished and looked up. Hawk's face was grim.
His teeth set so hard around the cigar that I
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NICK CARTER
thought it would snap in half.
"l don't get it."
"It's simple," he growled. "You screwed up and
it's just now coming to light."
"But this isn't even—
He cut me off with a look and continued to
speak. "That report has already gone to the Hill
to a committee. As you must know, things
aren't exactly cushy right now. Everybody in this
town is being investigated for something."
I sat back, lit a cigarette and let him continue
without any more interruptions. There was more to
this than I was hearing, and I hoped I would hear
it all if I waited long enough.
"This kind of thing could ruin AXE. I've made
this organization practically untouchable. But
something like this is hard to keep completely un-
der wraps. Look at this ... page four."
I opened the Post to page four.. It was just a tiny
piece about an agent failing to comply with stan-
dard procedures. He was currently under investiga-
tion and it was alleged, from informed sources,
that some degree of complicity with a foreign
power in the execution of his duties might be the
case. It was also expected that disciplinary action
would be taken..
The hair on the back of my neck started rising. I
tossed the paper back on Hawk's desk.
"I haven't known very many 'standard pro-
cedures' since I joined AXE," I said, in a tone I
rarely used with Hawk.
He paid no attention. "In other places, if an
agent blew something like this, he'd be off to
Siberia. We don't do things exactly that way... ."
I couldn't believe it. It was impossible.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
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The cigar started moving now, from one side of
his mouth to the other. He didn't mince words. The
eyes were cold, they went clear through me as he
fixed them on mine and, in a clear, dead monotone,
pronounced sentence.
"You will, of course, have your pension. That's
due you. A private citizen's passport has already
been issued in your name. There are no restrictions
on your movements. I suggest you use it."
It was mind-boggling. For one of the very few
times in my life, I was totally speechless and
without a course of action. There was no one
beyond Hawk to turn to, and no way to appeal my
case or situation. For all intents and purposes,
AXE didn't even exist.
He was speaking again. This time his tone
seemed a little softer. "Sorry it had to happen like
this, Nick. But consider yourself lucky in many
ways. When one of our men stumble, they usually
end up dead." He stood and walked to the window.
With his hands behind his back and smoke
billowing around his head, he stood immobile,
looking down at the passing traffic on Dupont Cir-
cle.
I finally found my voice. "Should I see Phil
Ramsey?"
' 'Of course." There,was a tone of dismissal in the
voice.
I still couldn't believe it. But I knew it was use-
less to talk about it. No trial, no jury, no appeal;
not in our business.
I left the office in a trance, took the elevator to
the main floor and headed for the exit. Just as I
passed the coffee shop, Ginger came out.
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NICK CARTER
"What oh
uh hi." I felt stupid.
Her tone was hushed."' You look like a ghost."
"l feel like one."
"What happened?"
She knew better than that. Outside the fifth floor
inner sanctum of AXE, one didn't discuss everyday
business. But there was real fear and consternation
in her eyes. I liked that. She was a hard gal, wise
and always cool, maybe even emotionless. That's
why she had the job she did. Her eyes told me now
that I was something special, and she was worried.
"You don't know?"
She shook her head. "Nothing .
. except that
you're on the front burner."
"Not anymore," I said, plastering a weak smile
on my face.
"Tell me."
I pulled her around the corner into an empty
hallway. 'SYou know what I've always said .
about you and me?"
She smiled. God, she had a nice smile. She even
breathed a little for me. "You always say, every
time you go out, that one of these times, if you get
back, we're going to get it on."
"And what do you always say?"
The smile got wider.
"If you can stick around
long enough ... maybe."
"Well, honey," I said, bending my face very
close to hers, "I didn't make it."
Her face went stark white as I kissed her. It was
the first time, other than a few pecks on the cheek.
The full, firm body, the soft lips, the scent, the feel
of her breasts against my chest all combined to
make me curse the fact that I had ever waited at all.
I left her there, leaning against the wall in an
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
13
empty hallway, staring vacantly off into space.
I exited the building, walked completely around
the block, and entered the underground garage. At
the far end I passed through a door marked Tele-
type Room.
Inside, I growled, "Phil Ramsey," to a fresh-
faced, bright-eyed young law student who proba-
bly had no idea what really went on upstairs,
beyond the fact that it was shady.
He disappeared, and seconds later came back
with the number two man in AXE. Phil had started
out with Hawk and was probably the only man
who knew the inner workings as well as the old
man himself. When Hawk briefed a man for a mis-
sion, it was Phil who set him up with everything he
would need and sent him out.
It was also Phil who debriefed a man when, and
if, he got back. Phil had known a lot of them who
never got back.
I followed him through a maze of corridors,
rooms and secured doors until we settled in an of-
fice deep inside the bowels of the AXE operation.
His tone was crisp, businesslike, as he went
down a checklist of doodads that I had been issued
over the years for use in the field. It ended with a
special issue 357 Magnum and fifty rounds of am-
munition which I had never used. From the begin-
ning I had preferred Wilhelmina.
"It's all in my locker on B level," I said. "Just
clean it out. There's nothing personal in it."
1
hadn't used the locker in years.
"Sign these." He spread three sets of papers out
in front of me.
One was a copy of the British Official Secrets
Act. The second was the Oath of Secrecy, the
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NICK CARTER
American counterpart of the former. I had signed
both a long time before, but these particular copies
had an added designation: On release.
The third set gave me a bit of a start, and my
hand shook as I scrawled my name across the bot-
tom line. I was probably making history. They
were Request for Retirement forms. I was probably
the first N-man to sign such a set of papers.
"That's it," Phil said, gathering them all into a
pile when I'd finished. He handed me an envelope.
"Passport, etc., etc. You're a private citizen,
Nick."
I nodded, turned on my heel and walked to the
door.
"Nick."
I paused but didn't turn.
"I'm sorry. You're far from a lamb, but you're
probably sacrificial."
"Yeah," I mumbled. "And I didn't even get it on
with a secretary."
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Back on the street I hailed a cab and drove
directly to my apartment. For the next three hours
I worked on a bottle of scotch and arrangements—
in that order.
The furniture was no problem; I'd bought it in
one afternoon spree. As a bachelor who was half-
way around the world ninety percent of the time, I
figured a fancy pad was pretty meaningless. A
dealer I knew bought it whole, just as I had.
I told him where to send the check, had a few
more drinks and packed all my personal things in
two cardboard boxes. Most of my clothes went
into two bags: the special one with the false end
and bottom for transporting Wilhelmina and Hugo
on airplanes, and a large flight bag I had gotten
many years ago from a lady in Berlin.
I thought about her as I packed and considered
looking her up. There would be a lot of time for
looking up old friends now. But a deep scowl came
over my face when I realized that I didn't really
have any friends. That was one of the drawbacks in
my profession.
I poured another drink and sat looking out the
window at the Washington Skyline. I don't know
how long I had sat there, before the phone rang.
"Hello."
"Mr. Carter?"
'S Yeah."
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NICK CARTER
"My associate and I are down in the lobby. We
have been sent to pick you up."
"To go where?"
"The Hill, Mr. Carter. Just a few questions." He
went on to mention a very prominent senator's
name and something about a closed committee
hearing.
While waiting for them to come upstairs, I
checked the clip in Wilhelmina's butt, unlocked the
door and returned to my seat by the window.
"It's open," I called out as the doorbell chimed.
They were both big, brawny football types, with
short hair and dark suits. The suits were cut wide
on the left side to make room for the holstered
hardware beneath them.
"Nick Carter?"
I didn't feel like being friendly or cordial. "You
know damn well who I am. ID?"
They were pros. The leather cases were already
in their hands. I told them to slide the cards across
the floor and scooped them up quickly,
Wilhelmina at the ready.
Treasury Department. I knew the number classi-
fication by their names. They were both foreign
field agents and they had been around for a long
time. That made them part of the elite corps.
"How do you guys jibe with me and a senate
committee?"
"Beats us, Mr. Carter. We're both supposed to
be relaxing in Jamaica right now. Instead, we're
messenger boys. Shall we go?"
I knew better. Messenger boys they weren't.
Maybe another department was raiding the AXE
castoffs for new talent. I decided it was well worth
a look-see.
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I shouldered Wilhelmina and finished my drink.
"After you.".
"We'd appreciate it if you'd leave your piece
here, Mr. Carter."
I smiled. "No way! I might get naked after I
go into a whorehouse, but I never go in that
way."
The next few hours explained a lot. I was es-
corted by the two fullbacks into a deep, under-
ground conference room in the Treasury Depart-
ment.
I was surprised when I saw Hawk sitting at the
head of the table. He was amiable as he introduced
me to the others.
There was indeed a senator, graying and stern-
faced. The way he declined to shake my hand told
me that he knew some of my Killmaster back-
ground.
Across from the senator sat a dapper, wiry little
man who studied me with the unmistakable look of
a cop. His hair was shiny black and combed
straight back from a broad, intelligent forehead.
The eyes, as they appraised me, were moody but
all-seeing. The thin lips spoke my name with a
heavy Spanish accent. The only movement, other
than his hand when I shook it, was a quiver in his
moustache; a black, pencil-thin job that looked as
though it would never need trimming. His name
was Emilio Veraquez.
The fourth person was a voluptuous black-
haired beauty. She had dark, piercing eyes and
slightly resembled Dolores Del Rio.
"Buenas noches, Sénor Carter. Yo creo que el
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NICK CARTER
Senor Hawk dice acerca de ti. Me llamo Lorena
Segovia.
She was a blunt lady, I answered in kind, in
Spanish. "Si Hawk dice que yo soy malo, usted
puedo creirlo. "
The senator sputtered, Veraquez smiled, and
Hawk coughed as he told me to sit down. I sat and
lit up.
"You've probably already figured out that
you're still on the payroll," Hawk continued.
"That came to me when I saw you here," I re-
plied, trying hard to keep my eyes averted from
Lorena Segovia's chest, where it rose and fell be-
neath a bolero jacket.
"There was good reason for what we did,"
Hawk explained. One—you're a lousy actor.
Someone at Amalgamated would have picked up
on it if we hadn't made your dismissal appear genu-
ine. Two—you've got to have a whole new life if
you're going to pull this one off."
I decided to push a little. s 'I take it that the sena-
tor here is the one responsible for uncovering my
deviousness, and leaking it."
"I only wish I could have done it for real, Carter.
Men like you are a blight on the country."
"Scandal is in the eyes of the beholder, and the
perpetrator, senator. You kill people with kind-
ness. I do it other ways."
"Now, see here... ."
"Gentlemen!" Hawk hissed. He only had to say
it once. He had that air about him when he wanted
to use it. "You can glance over this, Nick, while I
fill you in."
He slid a sheaf of papers across the table. I
picked it up and looked through it while he re-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
kindled his cigar and started talking.
19
"A year ago the only heroin coming into this
country from the south was Mexican Brown. And
ninety percent of the illegal drug traffic in this
country was supplied through Mexican sources.
Last month that changed."
"How so?" I asked, momentarily glancing up
from the paper in my hands and seeing Veraquez
and the girl still studying me intently.
"Nearly all of the powder coming into the States
now is pure and white. Very high-quality stuff,"
Hawk continued, leaning back and staring at the
ceiling. I knew he was already mapping out a plan
of attack even before he told me who the hell I was
attacking.
"Yugoslavia?" I ventured.
"Hardly. We still have a tentative agreement
with them to suppress the poppy crop. No, this is
Chinese
or at least we think it is. Sefior Ver-
aquez?"
"My agents have narrowed the distribution out-
let down to one man, Jack Saber. The details on
him can be found in the papers you're holding. At
first we thought he was just the distributor. Now
we're almost certain that he is only an underling
for the processor."
"You mean, they're processing that much raw
opium into heroin right in the country?"
"Precisely," Veraquez replied. "But it is a highly
organized operation. Saber ran a lot of low quality
dope for years. Suddenly he's got a first-class oper-
ation."
Hawk took over again. "And, as I'm sure you
know, Nick, once the quality goes up, the number
•of addicts rises accordingly."
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NICK CARTER
"Yes, sir," I said, immediately falling back into
the old mold of total respect around the home of-
fice.
"Last week, Mexican agents intercepted a small
shipment of raw opium. It was taken from a fishing
boat about thirty miles at sea, off Punta Escon-
dida. There were four men aboard. They fought
back and all of them were killed; two were Chi-
nese."
"Submarine?" I offered.
"We think so," Veraquez said. "One of the men
tried to swallow a message. He was shot first. The
paper mentioned the latitude and longitude of the
rendezvous. There was also a message in number
code which your CIA has managed to break down.
It reads: REDOLMO PICK UP 15 0200."
He paused as if I should make some comment,
but I was too busy leafing through the papers
searching for a mention of Redplmo. Thére was
none.
Veraquez lit a cigarette from the one in his
holder and went on. "The fifteenth was yesterday.
The name Redolmo seems to refer to the person or
persons above Jack Saber running the show. We
can assume this because when Redolmo is out of
the country the operation comes to a stop."
"How do you know when Redolmo is out of the
"We don't. I mean, we don't know for sure. But
when everything goes dormant and Saber is still
aröund ... and then there's a trip across the moun-
tains and certain people—I'll call them the palace
guard—start showing up again ... well, we figure
they're guarding something. Or someone."
"Couldn't Saber just be a courier?" I asked.
"We don't think so. According to the two agents
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
21
I've managed to work into the organization, the
name comes up quite often. His recent trip would
correspond to the raw poppy season in southeast
Asia."
"So now that he's back, they'll be all set for an-
other big refining push?"
"Yes," Veraquez said, and looked back to
Hawk.
"That's the reason we're bringing a man of your
talents into it, Nick," Hawk said, leaning forward
now and placing his arms on the table. The way his
eyes fastened on mine, I knew we were going to get
to the meat.
"We don't know who Redolmo is, but we have
created a profile. He must be something of a scien-
tist or chemist, in order to set up the refining proc-
ess the way he has. He also must have both a busi-
ness and a military sense of organization to take
Saber's minor league operation and, in one year,
expand it into the efficient proportions he has."i
"Sounds like a well run, one-man corporation,"
I said.
"Close. And getting bigger. Senator."
The senator drew himself up and looked as
though he were about to make a campaign speech.
I gave him my blandest smile and turned my atten-
tion back to Lorena Segovia's chest as he started
talking.
"Intelligence figures that there must be more to
Redolmo's aspirations and connections than a
mere dope smuggling operation. Small shipments
of the nearly pure stuff that he's known for have
shown up in Great Britain and a few of the NATO
countries. Defense thinks that there is far more
•than just a profit motive behind it."
I turned back to the senator and fixed him with
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NICK CARTER
a cold stare. He might disapprove of AXE methods
or agents, but he wasn't above using them if the
situation warranted it. "So this Redolmo wants to
undermine the free world, and you want me to kill
him before he gets it done."
I'd gotten my little dig in, now it was time to get
down to business. I turned back to Hawk. "What
are the exact objectives, sir?"
He answered me in clipped, precise terms around
the ragged end of his cigar. "To find out the meth-
od of transportation of the raw opium juice and
straw, so it can be plugged up. To find out the ex-
act location of the refining plant, so it can be de-
stroyed. And to find out who Redolmo is."
"And when I do?"
Hawk smiled the thin-lipped smile I had seen so
many times. "If all else fails, you already said it
eliminate him."
Veraquez chimed in, "The organization is so de-
pendent upon him that if he is gone I think we can
handle Saber and the rest."
Everyone nodded except Lorena Segovia. I de-
tected a shudder running through her body as we
casually plotted a man's extermination. It set her
aside. At least from Veraquez, myself and Hawk.
The senator was expediciously neutral.
I wondered how and where she fit in. But, before
I could ask, Hawk was wrapping up.
"Saber operates a ranch between Cuernavaca
and Taxco, raising fighting bulls. We think the re-
fining plant is somewhere in that area. Word has
been put out to every agency and operative in the
world on you, Nick. You are totally discredited.
That word is bound to get to the other side. They
could use a man like you, especially if you've gone
to hell. 'Nuf said?"
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
23
"Yes, sir."
"Sefiorita Segovia will be your contact and
liaison with us," Veraquez said.
I hesitated, and then said, "Is she one of the two
agents you mentioned who are already inside?"
"No," he replied. "They are dead."
It was getting a little heavier already. "Then
where do I contact the senorita?
"At the ranch, It actually belongs to me,"
Lorena answered.
A' Then you must be pretty close to Saber."
She raised her head and those wide, dark eyes
seemed to challenge me. "Very close. Jack Saber is
my lover."
I spent the next week and a half working my
way across the country toward Brownsville/
Matamoros, where I planned to cross into
Mexico.
Along the way I picked up a series of speeding
tickets, got into a number of brawls, and spent two
nights in as many jails for drunk and disorderly. If
anybody was watching me, they would see an ex-
cellent example of a disreputable character. In
Matamoros, I started a fight in a cantina and,
when a local cop tried to break it up, I slugged him.
His pride was wounded but healed over fast the
following morning when I slipped him fifty bucks
to change his story. I made bail and headed down
the coast.
Before leaving D.C., I had made a phone call
answering an ad recruiting mercenary soldiers. The
contact was a General Jones in Mexico City.
"We're like the Foreign Legion, Carter," the
general told me when we met. "Other than a man's
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NICK CARTER
ability to fight and handle weapons, we don't give
a shit about his background."'
That part of it was easy. I had just done a jig-
time breakdown on an M-16, explained the full
use, range and firing capacities of three types of
mortars, and shot a perfect score with an Mel and
a forty-five. Those qualifications, plus the fact that
I had no family ties and a nonchalant attitude
made me a prime recruit.
"Can't tell you where we're going. Shouldn't
make any-difference."
"Good," I growled.
"Pay is a thousand a week in a Swiss bank. All
your gear and expenses are furnished. If we get a
full complement, we should shove off in a month,
six weeks at the most. You in?"
"Where do I sign."
"Right here." He pointed to a line on the bottom
of a form in front of me. "And fill out the space
underneath. Tells us where the body is to be
shipped in case."
"Does that come under expenses?" I sneered,
signing.
"Of course," he smiled and tucked the paper in
a briefcase.
"Do I just kill time around here?"
"You'll like it. Parts of Mexico City are wide
open."
"Any place close where my cash will stretch a
little farther?" I was fishing, and he came back per-
fectly.
"There are some good watering holes just south
—Cuernavaca, Taxco, Chilpancingo. Same booze,
but cheaper."
"That's where I'll be."
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25
The contract to join Jones's outfit would be the
final cap on my present allegiances should anyone
ask. I had a hunch that a man like Jones would be
well known to Saber.
I checked into a medium-priced hotel in Taxco
and, for the next few days, managed to make my-
self fairly obnoxious around town.
I ran into Cora Lee several times, but paid little
or no attention, until I found out that her
boyfriend was Jack Saber's head muscle man and
overseer. I couldn't find out what he oversaw, but
that didn't matter. If he was close to Saber, that
was all I needed.
From the first chance meeting, Cora Lee had let
me know she was available. When I found out
about Tiny, and then about his jealousy, I re-
ciprocated. We'd had a couple of minor skirmishes
in the hotel dining room and the bar when he'd
caught the drift between myself and his lady friend,
but nothing big.
Tonight would be different. I'd made sure of that
by leaving my calling card all over the place after
the wrestling match with Cora Lee.
I was slowly sipping my third mescal when,
through the cantina's wide front window, I spotted
his monstrous bulk rushing into the hotel across
the street.
I knew he would be coming back out twice as
fast.
Tiny Tim Hawes was far from tiny; about six-
five and close to three hundred pounds of fatless
meat. He was tough enough to play middle guard
for a pro team back in the States for a few years
until league officials found out about his gambling
-connections and ousted him. When the trial was
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NICK CARTER
over and the hoopla had died down, he quietly
went to work for one of his old friends, Jack Saber,
in Mexico.
Tiny charged through the hotel doors like a rag-
ing bull. His momentum carried him clear to the
potholed center of the street before he stopped to
take stock. Then he took off running toward a can-
tina about three doors down from the one I was in.
I ordered another drink and waited. It would be
only a few minutes until he worked himself up the
street.
'SCARTER!" he bellowed, bursting through the
doors behind me.
I finished the mescal as his heavy boots plodded
across the room toward my back. Those on either
side of me at the bar began moving away. Chairs
squeaked from behind as others got out of Tiny's
path. Most of them had seen the big man in action
before, and they obviously had no desire to be in
the way when the bomb went off this time.
When the footsteps stopped, I put down my
glass and slid my left hand, palm and fingers flat,
along the bar where the glass had left wet rings.
"I ain't gonna talk to your back for long,
Carter!" Tiny's voice was thunderous.
At the inside of the bar there was a wooden
bowl full of margarita salt. I flattened my hand
across the bowl, closed it tightly and swung lazily
around on the stool to face him.
"I'm gonna kill you, Carter. You woman stealin'
son-of-a-bitch, I'm gonna beat that handsome face
of yours into mush." His face was a red, contorted
mask of anger and hate under the heavy black
brows and shaved, bullet head. Veins, cords and
muscles stood out in his neck till it looked as
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
though he would explode.
27
I settled back with my elbows on the bar and
gave him my best sneer. "What's your bitch,
He stood there clenching and unclenching his
fists while- his face grew an impossible shade
darker. Suddenly he reared his bald head back and
roared with laughter.
I decided to dig a little. "Tiny, you've got a thick
lip and bad breath. Either do something or let me
return to my drinking. You're fouling the air."
He blinked a few times, trying to assimilate what
I'd said. and then took another step towards me. I
tensed, waiting for one of those hamlike fists to
move.
Instead, he leaned over until his big, broken nose
"I'm gonna break every
was level with my eyes.
bone in your body," he hissed. "Then I'm gonna
kick your ass clear out of the country!"
"You're drooling on my shirt."
"0K, wise ass. There ain't gonna be nothin' left
for General Jones when I get done with ya!"
That simple comment told me a lot. It meant
that Jack Saber had been in touch with my
jmercenary friend in Mexico City; probably one of
a lot of inquiries about who I was and what I was
doing in Taxco.
I figured Tiny Hawes couldn't, or wouldn't, be
letting loose with any other bits of information I
could use, so I decided to move.
His leer became a blank stare as •I rocketed my
knee up into his crotch. While the big ape stood
there flat-footed, I got in a second kick, a right to
his jaw that cracked like a rifle shot in the room.
-The only thing that kept him from falling was a
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NICK CARTER
table two steps behind him; he sat right down on
top of it, a surprised look spreading across his face.
I crossed over to him and put everything into
another right that burned my shoulder when it
glanced off his cheekbone and burst his nose.
He came off the table bellowing like a bull,
blood streaming from his nose and whipping from
his chin as he threw his massive head from side to
side. "I'll kill you
I'll kill you..
He lunged at me and I saw the white knuckles on
a roundhouse right making for my face. I managed
to shake off some of its power by twisting my head,
but it still landed with the force of a 16 mm shell
and sent me sprawling down the bar like a rag doll.
I rolled along the edge of the bar and spun off
just in time to see his monstrous bulk blot out the
light above me. He swung but I managed to duck
and get a good one in just under his heart. It didn't
have the stopping power it should have had; or
would have on a normal man. In fact, he did little
more than grunt.
Then he let out another bellow and his arm came
around like a log, with his big body as its fulcrum.
His elbow caught me behind the ear hard enough
to slam me up against the bar. again.
His speed, for a big man, was amazing. He was
on me in a second. His arms felt like two hunks of
corded steel as he wrapped them around my body
where my ribs gave way to my belly.
"Now, you som'bitch," he spat into my face,
"I'm gonna kill ya."
He meant it; the arms tightened and the air left
my lungs in a whooshing sound. I levered my
elbows against his shoulders hard enough to get a
fresh breath. At the same time I tried to reach his
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
crotch again with one or both of my knees.
29
No go. All he did was loosen his hold a little so
that I slid down in his arms. Now those two meat
hooks were directly around my rib cage. I had
enough respect for his strength by then to know
that if he got the leverage he'd snap me in half like
a twig.
I looked down into his face as I felt the pressure
mount. He was laughing. Grabbing his ears, I used
his head like a yo-yo, back and forth, while I
butted my forehead into his face. Between blows, I
watched his eyes for some glazing effect.
There was none.
Then I realized something: Slowly but surely, he
was maneuvering me, in mid-air, toward the bar.
That would do it. If he got me against the bar rails
he could bend me back like a slab of wet spaghetti.
I got the heel of my hand under his chin and
pushed. Up until then I had wanted to keep it a
straight barroom brawl. With my years of training,
I could probably have killed him already. But that
wasn't the idea. I had wanted to use Tiny Hawes as
an example to Jack Saber of how bad I was; killing
Saber's best man might have the kind of re-
percussions I didn't want.
I fell the bar against my back.
"Now you're a dead man!" he growled, and
took a deep breath in preparation to send me on
my way.
The margarita salt I'd hidden in my hand earlier
was a last resort. I got my right arm all the way
around his shiny, sweating, bald head and yanked
his face toward the ceiling. Then I ground palm
and fingers of my salty left hand into his eyes.
It had instant results.
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His arms released me and his fingers went im-
mediately to his eyes, trying to grind away the
burning pain. He was hurting now, but he wasn't
giving up. He kicked me as he backed away: "God-
dam you... e"
I avoided his flying feet and stalked him like the
animal he was. "Over here, Hawes," I taunted.
Still blind, his thumbs in his eyes, he came for
me. I grabbed a chair and brought it down on his
back with all the force left in my arms. As he fell to
his knees, I got in front of him and drop-kicked
him in the groin. Screaming in pain, his hands went
to his crotch. While his guard was down, I im-
mediately smashed my fist into the bloody hole of
his face, knocking him unconscious.
I staggered to the bar, found a pitcher of water
and poured it over my head.
Only then did I notice that the cantina had be-
come a free-for-all during my fight with Tiny.
Fists, feet and bodies were flying all around me. I
heard ribs cave in. The whole place was a bedlam
of yells and curses and breaking glass.
The fat bartender was under the bar, dialing the
police.
I looked around to see Tiny crawling to his
knees. Then I saw another American; dark suit, Ol-
ive complexion, scar on his right cheek and a bulge
on his left side. He kicked Tiny full in the face.
Somebody else swung the big man around and hit
him across the back o! the neck with a chair leg.
I started for him, but never made it. A heavy
blow slashed across the back of my head and, as
my knees collapsed under me, I saw the Chail leg
come down on Tiny's neck again.
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THREE
Slowly, I swam my aching body and foggy brain
back into the real world. The sumvas in slats over
my face. I moved my head until both eyes were in
the shade and then opened them. I was on a hard
bunk in a dingy cell, and the sun slats were caused
by rusty bars on the windows. I touched my head
and felt a bloody bandage.
Somewhere outside the cell I heard noises: pails
clanging, faint voices and the sound of a wet mop
splashing over the concrete floor.
Well, I had accomplished what I set out to do: I
was in jail. Now all I had to do was wait and hope
that Jack Saber would have enough curiosity to
spring me. I tried to sit up and promptly passed out
again.
I must have slept clear through the noon chow
period. When I finally did get it all back together,
I started banging on the cell door demanding a
lawyer and something to eat.
A fat guard, with the lower half of his face ob-
scured by a fat mustache, wandered into the run-
way outside my cell. White teeth showed through
the mustache as he idly ran a billy club back and
forth across the bars, just below my clutching fin-
gers. He spoke in halting English until I informed
him that I spoke Spanish.
He quickly brought me up-to-date on the ac-
quisition of rights in Mexican jails—they cost mon-
ey. I could be transferred to a more comfortable
31
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NICK CARTER
cell, I could have my choice of food, and I could
have a woman now and then—for a nominal sum.
"I don't have any money."
"Friends, sehor? ... who could bring you mon-
"None."
"That is sad, very sad. I am afraid, senor, that
without money you will eat beans, sleep with the
r.oaches and work until you come to trial."
"And when will that be?"
' 'Who knows?" he said, with a shrug that made
the ends of his mustache bounce. ' 'In such a serious
case as yours it may take a month, perhaps two. Or
it may take a year."
"A year? For a barroom brawl?"
His laugh came from the gut, but the gut didn't
move; just the mustache. "No, sefior, for man-
slaughter. The gringo, Hawes. He is dead."
He waddled away and I sank back to the cot.
The pain returned and centered itself just behind
my eyes. I closed them and the scene in the bar,
seconds before I went down and out, flashed back.
There were three of them: the one who slugged
me, and Scarface and his friend who put Tiny away
—permanently. Obviously somebody wanted Tiny
out of the picture and I had been made a conve-
nient patsy.
My head hurt too much to worry about it.
Stretching out; I let sleep take over again.
Moonlight was filtering through the barred win-
dows when the fat mustachioed guard woke me.
Behind him were two men in uniforms of a dif-
ferent color and with a different insignia. Another
difference was the stern, no-nosense look on their
faces and the lean, no-fat bodies. They were proba-
bly federal.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
33
"Come, sefior, you are being transferred," the
fat one informed me.
' 'To Mantilla Prison to await trial."
"l go to prison before I go to trial?" He started
to speak but I raised my hand. 8'1 know ... I don't
have any money."
All countries do things strangely. Mexico is no
exception. I was told that if, at my trial, I was
found guilty, the time already spent at Mantilla
would be chopped off my sentence. If I was found
innocent—well, that's the way it goes.
From the sound of it, there wasn't much chance
of an innocent verdict. I soon found out that,
besides sending Tiny on his last trip, the authorities
had also found two ounces of pure heroin on me.
Nice set-up. Either charge would keep me out of
circulation for quite a while.
Mantilla was more a stockade than a prison. I
quickly found out that the prisoners were divided
right down the middle: those that could pay and
those that couldn't. There were no cells, only long
dormitory rooms sleeping up to thirty men—the
ones without money. The others were assigned to
one or two men bungalows.
I went to a dormitory.
On the surface, security was lax. I figured I could
break out if nothing happened in a week or so. I
knew I could also get word to Veraquez as a last
resort. But that might mean blowing the cover if
there was a leak. And my aching body had worked
far too hard to set up the cover without using it.
I vetoed both ideas for the time being and found
out what the guard had meant when he said,
'work.' The mountain roads around Mantilla are
little more than graveled lanes over deep mud.
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NICK CARTER
They are in constant need of repair.
I labored hard, acquiring a set of blisters and a
sore back. By the fourth.day, I was determined to
put some kind of escape plan into motion. That
decision changed abruptly when two guards pulled
me out of line as we filed across the compound af-
ter the evening meal.
"Sefior Carter, your wife has paid for a private
bungalow."
I was sure it was Lorena Segovia but, at that
point; I really didn't care. There was a shower, a
clean bed, shaving gear and even cigarettes; not my
personal brand but nearly as satisfying as a good
woman. The new status also ended the road work,
cutting off that means of escape.
If Lorena had gotten money to me for the
bungalow and the luxuries that went with it, there
was probably more to come.
Every Sunday was visitors day. Husbands were
allowed conjugal visits from their wives. I shaved,
donned my clean suit of prison denims and made
my way to the picnic compound to await my 'wife.'
I was wrong. It wasn't Lorena Segovia.
It was big, beautiful Cora Lee.
I stuck a cigarette in my lips and fired it as I
watched her move along with the tide. In that
crowd of dark, weary faces and bent, tired bodies,
she stood out like a beacon. No one could miss her,
especially the guards.
They barely searched the basket she carried. All
of them had a different search on their minds. They
went over every inch of her body with care. I could
see her bite her lower lip as she endured in silence.
Watching every movement of her perfectly pro-
portioned frame as she came forward, made me re-
member that I had been locked up for a week.
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"Nick, this man came—"
35
I shut off her words with a kiss. Her body was
tense against me, yet I could feel its warmth.
"Wow," she breathed when at last I broke the
clinch.
I smiled. "Isn't that the only way to greet a lov-
ing wife?"
"I don't know. I've never been one, but it's fun
finding out. Don't you want to hear—
"Yeah, but not out here." I grabbed her hand
and tugged her toward my bungalow.
"Jeez, what a dump."
"You should see what it replaced. What's in the
"Wine and some bread and cheese." She sat on
the cot and crossed her long legs. The skirt opened
and a smooth slice of fleshy, tanned thigh popped
into the open. "Did you really kill Tiny?"
I dived into the basket and started uncorking the
wine. I didn't want to look in her eyes and I
couldn't look at that thigh; at least not until I
found out why she, and not Lorena Segovia, was
here. "Does it matter?"
"No," she shrugged, "not really. I guess. He was
he is dead." She
a bum and a crazy. But .
'shivered.
I didn't think Tiny meant that much to her. But
unnatural death isn't too easy for civilians to take.
That is, if you knew the person who got it.
"But he was a meal ticket, right?" I poured two
paper cups of wine and handed her one.
"Yeah."
"If it helps ... noa didn't scorch him. I was set
up. I had him down and the fight was over, for
both of us. Then somebody laid a chair leg on the
side of my head. Before I went out I saw two suits
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NICK CARTER
giving Tiny last rights. One of them had a long
scar, jagged, running from his left ear to his nose."
She nearly choked ona swallow of wine. Her
eyes opened all white and she looked right at me.
But she didn't see me. It was as if she were looking
clear through me and Scarface was right in back of
my head, about to jump her.
s 'Danny Santini," she whispered.
"Danny Santini,"
she whispered again. This
time with even more reverence. "He's an enforcer
for Jack Saber, but he hardly ever comes 'down
here. He usually works the big cities up in the
States. "
"Doing what?"
"Keeping the distributors in line. If they don't
pay right on time, Santini drops around. They
always pay. He's a killer. I mean a real killer. He
scares me."
"Yeah," I nodded, sipping the wine and study-
ing the rim of the paper cup. "He scares me too."
I was putting it all together, fast, before I got
back to her. Santini was Saber's man and, from the
sound of it, a special one. If he came down to snuff
Tiny, then Saber had evidently wanted the big man
out of the picture in the worst way. Or, Tiny was
expendable as a means of getting rid of me.
In any event, Saber went to a lot of trouble to get
me put away. It wasn't likely that he'd take any
pains to get me out again.
That meant that somebody else was behind Cora
being there. I was about to ask when she got up
and walked across the room. She stood like a
quivering Amazon, staring at me with those
saucerlike eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" There was no smolder-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
37
ing desire in those eyes now, only stark, unreason-
ing fear.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. Who the hell are you?" Her
voice was climbing the scale, going toward hyster-
ia: "If Jack Saber set you up and Danny Santini
did the job, you gotta be somebody."
"Cora. . . e"
"Somebody hot, somebody I could get burned
even bein' with. I thought you were a classy bum,
someone who could relieve my boredom with Tiny.
But you're more ... ain't you?"
Another two or three decibels and half the
guards in the compound would be in the bungalow.
"Cora, I swear, I don't know what's going on."
"Bull! You're lying!"
"Cora, if Saber set me up, I swear I don't know
what for." I lied, of course, but it didn't do much
good. Her hands were shaking so hard now that
she was crushing the cup. Wine, like thin blood,
• ran down her arms and dripped to the stone floor
from her elbows.
She saw it and must have made the same
analogy, because she headed for the door.
"I'm
gettin' outta here!"
"Cora, wait!"
"You guys can keep your money. It ain't worth
I grabbed her bare upper arms and twisted her
around to face me. "What money? What guys?
Who, besides me, Cora?"
"Lemme go. Lemme go, you bastard!"
She was screaming now, fear her only thought. I
fiat-handed her, from right to left. Not hard
enough to knock her head off, but hard enough to
move her. She landed across the bed on her back.
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NICK CARTER
The skirt ended up around her waist.
The white panties under it might as well have
been non-eiistent Tor all 'they covered. That, plus
the fact that one heavy breast had escaped the
halter and was now spreading like a ripe melon
over her chest, made me change my style.
i sat (in the bed, folded her in my arms and did
some cooing in her ear. It worked, at least partial-
ly. The dam broke. Her pent-up fear came out in
tears and sobbing gusts that shook every inch of
her big body.
"Nick oh, Nick," she blubbered through the
sobs. "I'm so scared. I was scared of Tiny, but I'm
even more afraid of Saber and Danny Santini.
They kill people."
It was an understatement. I wanted to ask her
how much she knew about Saber, and •what Tiny
had to do with the operation. But when her face
tilted up to mine and I detected something in her
eyes besides fear, I decided to continue the tender
love and care.
"Nick, I'm afraid of people who kill people."
"Aren't we all, baby .
. aren't we all."
My mouth came down to meet hers and that
bare breast started burning a hole on my inner
arm. The other one was like a soft pillow against
my chest. Our lips parted and, without my help,
she shrugged the rest of the way out of the halter.
She breathed deeply and squeezed her breasts to-
gether with her arms. I headed for the nearest one
and her fingers curled in my hair. It was what she
wanted, what she needed. She was a passionate
woman, a woman with a burning nature. Again my
lips crawled up to hers.
"Let me get undressed," I said, after a scorching
interval.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
"Is it all right? I mean, is it safe .
39
"It's a conjugal bungalow," I smiled. "Just a sec-
ond."
"I can't wait," she moaned.
I pulled away from her and got rid of my clothes.
Her body was twisting as though she were with
an invisible lover. Back in bed I started on her
thighs, went up to her flat, smooth stomach, and
back down to her thighs. She whispered to me, beg-
ging, demanding more.
I crawled over her body, separating her inviting
thighs as I moved. Her eyes were half shut with
desire, her hair loose around her face. Slowly, sure-
ly, I moved in.
Her body stiffened and her back arched as her
fists beat a tattoo on my shoulders and back. "Yes,
yes, Nick, make it all right! Please, make it all
right."
She whimpered like a hurt child. Then her
mouth opened and I saw her even, white teeth. I
buried my face in her neck and bit at her perfumed
flesh. She moved under me, slowly at first, then
faster and faster. I moved with her, our bodies like
one, trembling with passion.
"Now, Nick," she cried, her body as taut and
straining as a pulled bow string.
It came with a rush, surprising us both with its
ferocity. And when it was over it left us drained,
empty. I rolled away from her, exhausted but
enormously satisfied. The way she moved in to
cuddle against me told me that she felt the same
way,
After two cigarettes and a glass of wine I man-
aged to get the conversation back to business.
"Who's the man, Cora?"
"What man?" She was nibbling on my ear. I
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NICK CARTER
rolled over so I could face her, eye to eye. If
the sobbing started again I wanted to cut it off
quick.
"The man who came to you."
"Oh." She paused, choosing words, breaking up
thoughts. "He was a big man, as big as you, with a
cruel face and black hair. It was graying at the
temples."
I knew before she said it. "He said his
name was Jones and that you worked for him. Do
"In a way."
"What do you do for him?"
"He's a soldier."
That seemed to settle her down, as if Jones being
a soldier made me a soldier, too. Ergo, security.
"What did he tell you?"
"He said that you were too valuable a man to his
organization to let rot in a Mexican jail. He wanted
me to help get you out of here. He, well, he...
"Offered you cash."
"Yes. But I'd do it for free. Honest I would."
I gave her a reassuring smile and a' peck on the
end of her nose. "How much am I worth?"
"A thousand dollars and a trip back to the
States." I didn't tell her that Jones got her cheap
considering all the stakes, but urged her to keep
talking. "He's got a plan. He gave me the names of
three men in here and some money to give to you
to bribe them with."
"Guards?"
"No, inmates. Two Americans and a Mexican.
They're here on some kind of a dope charge. Next
Sunday, at the end of visiting time, they're sup-
posed to start a fight at the other end of the com-
pound, away from the gate."
"As a diversion."
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
"Is that what it is?"
41
Sweet. The lady was sweet, and sexy, but not the
brightest. "That's what it is. Then what?"
The rest of the plan rolled out in a rush of dis-
jointed sentences. It was bizarre.
"Do you think it will work?"
"It's crazy enough to work perfectly. But we'll
change a couple of things to keep you in the clear.
In the meantime, honey, get the thousand in ad-
I lay back, thinking in silence. How close was
Jones to Saber? If Saber put me in, did Jones really
want me out? I hardly thought so. There's no
shortage of mercenaries, even a few with quali-
fications like mine.
I was still sorting it out when the sounds of
voices and moving bodies reached us from the
compound.
"Time to go," I said, rolling to a sitting position.
"Nick?" Her arms were outstretched and her
legs wide apart.
Cora Lee, I thought, rolling over on top of her,
you may be scared to death but you can't help run-
ning true to form.
The following Sunday afternoon was a nail-
biter, from the time Cora came through the gate
until we were safely inside the bungalow. She
started pulling off clothes the second I closed 'the
door, but this time it wasn't for sex.
The blouse was a dull brown, made of a cheap,
serviceable material. It was huge on her, so it
would be large enough for me. The skirt had
enough material to outfit an army. It would allow
me to be bulky in the right places, and I could even
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NICK CARTER
walk with my knees bent to diminish my height.
The floppy straw hat resembled a sombrero. It
was held on her head with an old-fashioned stick
pin, sturdy and about a foot long. When she re-
moved the hat, her mane of hair fell down around
her shoulders, making quite a picture as she stood
in bra and panties.
I felt a familiar churning in the area of my groin,
but at the moment I was more interested in that
stick pin. I palmed it and ran it down the seam of
my denims.
"Hey, I need that for my hat!"
"Leave it. You're sexier with your hair down,
anyway." The stick pin wasn't Hugo, but it would
do in a pinch.
She shrugged and started digging in her purse
and the basket. "Did you get to the three men?"
I nodded. "They're in. Somebody—I hope Jones
—has a pipeline into this place. They already had
the word. All they needed was the cash."
Cora laid a gray wig and makeup utensils out on
the cot and motioned to a chair. "Here, hold this."
It was a round magnifying mirror. "Tell me if I
miss any spots!"
She worked slowly and carefully, not to make
me glamorous, but to give my face, my neck and
my ears the dusky brown tones of a Mexican Indi-
an. Now and then those huge breasts would brush
against one of my shoulders. When they did, I
leaned back.
"We don't have time," she told me flatly.
"I wish we did," I countered.
"Later. Tonight we'll have lots of time."
I hoped she was right. I wished that I had
Wilhelmina; not to go through the gate with, but to
meet Jones with.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
43
At last the makeup was done. I was dubious un-
til the wig went on and then the shawl over it. The
addition of the skirt and blouse finished it off.
I scrutinized as much of myself as I could in the
mirror. It wasn't bad. The more I looked the more
I felt myself shriveling inside the clothes. It just
might work at that.
"What do you think?" I asked hopefully.
"Not bad, but be careful how you walk. Shuf-
fle."
I arranged the shawl around my head and shoul-
ders so that it draped down across my forearms.
That, plus the basket handles, would hide my
hands; their size would be a dead giveaway.
Heading for the door, I realized that Cora Lee
was still in her underwear. "What are you going to
The only relaxed smile I'd seen all day played
around the corners of her full lips. "You'll see." I
shrugged and took a few more steps. She stopped
me at the door. "Nick?"
"Yeah."
about the three guys, I
"Are you sure .
"I'm sure."
"If they don't raise a lot of hell, not enough
guards will leave the gate."
"They will."
"But how can you be certain? They're dopers."
I studied her face to see if she could take it, and
decided that she might have to anyway once we got
on the outside.
"They'll do it,"
I said quietly, "because they
know that if I'm still in this dump tomorrow I'll
kill all three of them."
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FOUR
I found a tree with heavy shade. A crumbling
stone bench all the way around it was three quar-
ters occupied by a family. They barely noticed as I
sat down, and I hoped that, from a distance, I
looked like the crochety old grandmother of the
group.
For the next two hours I månched on dry
tortillas and fruit and studied the industry ofa con-
stantly going and coming columnnf ants on the
dusty ground in front of me.
As the sun started to dip, I began to worry that
the family beside me would leave before Cora came
out of the bungalow. They would be a good group
to get in the middle of at the gate. But just as they
said their last good-byes and started off, Cora
emerged.
The red-gold of the sinking sun hit her skin,
making it glow. The halter was back, sans bra,
barely covering the bouncing flesh above it. The
denim cut-offs were so short that the fringe on the
bottom couldn't hide the roundness of her but-
tocks peeking through.
Two old ladies brought up the rear of the family
group. I fell in behind them to make a third, and
watched everyone else watch Cora wiggle toward
the crowd at the gate.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
45
By the time we reached the long wire tunnel that
separated inside from outside, I was in the middle
of chattering children, sad-faced wives and shuf-
fling old women. From beneath the shawl I could
see Cora's bare shoulders moving about five yards
ahead of me.
We were halfway through when all hell broke
loose at the other end of the compound. Several of
the guards gave up drooling over Cora and took
off. The crowd in the tunnel surged forward.
I chanced it and lifted my head for a good look.
The tunnel narrowed at the end so that only two
people could pass through at a time. Cora was
through. The two guards were on their toes, strain-
ing to see what had caused the disturbance.
I was next in line when the old lady in front of
me stumbled and fell. The guards stepped in to
help her up, blocking the narrow exit. All they had
to do was turn and get a good look at my face.
About twenty yards away, in the makeshift park-
ing lot, Cora stood beside an old Buick wringing
her hands and biting her lip.
There were two women directly behind me,
trying to elbow their way around me. I decided to
help them.
I took two steps back, grabbed their elbows and
propelled them right into the two guards and the
old lady who had fallen. The whole crew went
down in a cursing heap and I stepped through them
like a football player goes through tires.
I kept the squat but forgot the shuffle as I made
for the Buick.
"You drive," Cora said, climbing into the front
seat passenger side.
"Where's Jones?" I said, moving quickly around
the car.
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NICK CARTER
"Back here. Hurry!"
I glanced through the open rear window. He had
a Walther in his lap and an ugly looking shotgun
on the seat beside him.
I threw the basket in the back and climbed in.
The car was already running and it took all the
control I had not to roll out of the parking lot like
it was the chutes at Le Mans.
"Which way?"
"There's a left about five miles down the road. It
goes over the mountain and connects up with the
road south to Cuernavaca."
I knew the road. I'd done three days of back
breaking shoveling on the damn thing.
I kept one eye on the road and used the other to
check out Jones. He was checking out the road be-
hind us and fingering the Walther in his lap.
I didn't like the idea of him having all that arma-
ment in the back seat, but at that point there wasn't
much I could do about it.
As soon as I had some space and a couple of hills
between us and Mantilla, I mashed the accelerator
and forced the heavy old boat up close to eighty.
At that speed on that road I didn't figure Jones
would get cute.
"Jesus, Nick," Cora said, her knuckles white on
the dash, "take it easy. I wanna get there alive!"
"So do 1,"
I replied, just loud enough to reach
the back seat.
Nones didn't miss it. His eyes changed. The for-
merly grim lips curved into a leering smile and he
leaned forward until his craggy face was practically
between us.
I didn't like it. In the altered position, I couldn't
see his hands. I continued to concentrate on the
curving road ahead with one eye, and any move-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
ment in Jones's shoulders with the other.
47
It was exactly what the general had wanted me to
do. The car must have pulled out from a side road.
It was on my back bumper and pulling out to pass
before I even saw it.
At first I thought it might be a crew from Man-
tilla. They might have had a head count after the
fracas in the compound and discovered my vacant
bungalow.
I knew better when the other car drew up, fender
to fender, and I glanced over.
The man looked a little black and a little Latin.
The upper half of his face was covered by sun-
glasses, the lower half split in a toothy grin. The
grin got more wicked as he edged over until only
paint separated our two front fenders.
"Yours?" I asked, and turned my head back to
stare directly into the ugly little snout of the auto-
matic pistol.
"Mine," Jones said. "We're almost to the side
road. Slow down!"
"If 1 don't?"
"l blow you away here."
He squeezed the butt release safety on the
Walther to let me know he meant it.
He had me for the time being and he knew it.
With no ditches to speak of at the sides of the road,
and only the gradual incline of a mountain to run
into, it wasn't likely any damage would come to
him if the old Buick started driving itself.
Jones's move had stunned Cora. Now, with the
reality of the Walther against the back of my neck,
she started to panic.
"What the hell is this? You said..
A "Shut up!" I told her.
SSDammit, let me out of here!" She looked at me.
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I'd seen that fear in her eyes before. "I knew you
were bad news! You said Nick worked for you,"
she said turning to Jones. "I don't get..
"Shut up, Miss Lee!"
I glanced back to the interior of the other car.
Even though we were still close to eighty, the man
was casually qriving with one limp wrist over the
top of the wheel and his other arm on the back of
the seat.
"Cocky bastard, isn't he?" I said.
"He doesn't know any better," Jones replied. "I
do all his thinking for him. Slow down!" He bur-
rowed the gun muzzle into the little hollow behind
my right ear lobe.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cora's hands
come up and a couple of fingers from each of them
went into her mouth.
I braked.
As if by some magic sign, the other guy braked
at the same time, a little harder, and slid in behind
us as I started the turn.
"I take it we're not going all the way to
Cuernavaca?"
"That's right," Jones said, pulling the gun a few
inches away from my head.
"How far?" In the rearview mirrow I saw the
other car make the turn behind us and back off a
little.
"Until we're out of sight from the road."
Good, I thought, that means he doesn't know
the road. He just picked it because it was there. I
did know it. It climbed for about a thousand feet,
leveled out for the length uf a football field and
then took a curve to the left to start climbing again.
Just before the curve it was narrow. Just around
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NICK CARTER
pushing him ahead of his schedule any more than I
did,
"We're both hired professionals, Miss Lee."
Her eyes said she didn't want to ask, but her fear
made her. "Professionals at what? You said you
were a soldier."
S 'He's a mercenary," I growled.
S SAnd what are you?" Her fingers bit into my
arm.
"He's a killmaster, Miss Lee. Supposedly un-
employed." Jones relished every word. "Nick
Carter is an agent with a license to kill."
Cora's face went white as she sagged.against the
door and stared at me in horror. I'd seen that look
a lot of times. I didn't like it but it came with the
territory. All I could hope for was that her shock
would act as a depressant until I could take care of
Jones. Her life, as well as mine, probably depended
on her staying quiet and out of the way.
Jones couldn't resist digging the needle in a little
deeper. "Shocking, isn't it? You're no angel, Miss
Lee, but you can't hold a candle to Carter."
Jones had been so intent on talking that he
hadn't noticed that I had been constantly picking
up speed as we climbed. The speedometer needle
was tapping a dangerous sixty when I cranked the
wheel into the sharp curve. Just around it the
wheels moved to the right from the hard packed
surface to the gravel. When the back wheels started
their slide, I pulled the shift into low, cranked
harder on the wheel and the big car completed a
360 degree turn.
I kept my foot planted hard on the floorboard
and saw Jones lose his balance on the seat and dis-
appear from sight. The tires spun, spewing gravel
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
51
in a cloud behind us, as I stiff-armed the wheel and
hoped my timing was right.
It was.
The other guy had also been lulled by the plod-
ding, up-hill climb. When he realized that the
Buick was a hundred feet ahead of him, he tried to
pick up speed. By the time he was sliding into the
curve and saw us, it was too late to stop his for-
ward momentum.
Just as his nose cleared the wall of rock, I felt the
back tires on the big car clutch at hard surface.
With a whining scream of burning rubber, we shot
forward, straight toward the edge of a thousand
foot drop.
The broad, lurching nose of the Buick caught the
other car dead on the front left fender. There was a
slight pause as metal ground against metal, but
with the impetus already there, the sideways shove
was all that was needed. The sedan left the road,
paused for a second in mid-air and then disap-
peared amid the sound of an exploding gas tank.
I threw the shift into Park just inches before the
front wheels found the soft, sandy soil, prior to ob-
livion. Cora was slumped against the dash, awake
but dazed, with a slight trickle of blood coming
from her forehead. In the back, Jones was trying to
right his up-ended body and bring the Walther
back into play.
I opened my own door, tucked my long legs into
the fetal position and rolled from the car. With one
hand I yanked open the back door; with the other,
I pulled the hat pin from its denim sheath. As I
moved I cursed aloud the skirt which I should have
removed somehow while driving.
The Walther barked. The wild slug tore through
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NICK CARTER
the glass above my head. The sound jarred Cora
back to full consciousness. She raised up over the
back of the front seat and screamed.
It was just enough to distract Jones for the split
second I needed. Shoving the hat pin between my
teeth, I grasped the door handle on the outside
with my left hand and the leather pull on the inside
with my right.
Using the door as an axis, I swung my body in a
narrow arc around it. At the last second, when my
eyes cleared the door and I could see my target, I
shot both legs out like a battering ram. My heavy
work boots made a crunching sound as they cen-
tered in Jones's face. My butt hit the floorboard
and I used it as a fulcrum for another go, this time
catching his jaw.
Jones was lily. He grunted, shook his head
and came up from the floor full of fight. The lower
half of his face was a mass of. blood from the
crushed nose, but his eyes were clear and intent.
They had death—mine—written all through them.
I had barely pulled the hat pin from between my
teeth, when Jones caught me under the chin with
the Walther. I rocked back stunned and felt the
ground hit my back.
Jones leaped out of the car with amazing agility
for a man of his size. His gutteral laugh joined with
Cora's hysterical screams to heighten the throb at
the rear of my eyeballs. Suddenly he stopped cold,
almost in mid-air, and his hand came up in a blur.
I felt the thud in the dirt inches from my knee
before I heard the second bark from the Walther.
Rolling to my feet, I swept the gun up with my
left arm and buried my right shoulder in Jones's
gut. At the same time, I ground a boot heel down
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
53
the front of his shin, using all the weight I had to
spare. Between the twin pressures, he buckled and
folded to the ground. But he still gripped the gun in
both hands and started to bring it around.
I made a quick lunge for the barrel with my left
hand. I missed, but managed to wrap my fingers
around the bulk of Jones's hands and the Walther.
I dropped my right knee, with all my weight behind
it, into his belly and brought the point of the hat
pin up under his chin.
"Relax or I'll kill you, Jones."
"You'll have to kill me anyway, my friend." He
spoke as if the hat pin weren't there.
His eyes were vacant, unseeing. I searched their
depths; the reason to live was gone in those eyes.
"Why does Saber want me dead?"
"He doesn't not necessarily. I do."
"Do you take orders from Saber?"
"Redolmo?"
"I'm going to kill you, Carter."
The grin was grotesque now, with gaps where
there used to be teeth, and lips caked with drying
blood. I was amazed at the man's strength. Slowly,
as Jones applied pressure, my wrist started to give.
The deadly muzzle of the Walther started to roll
around toward my head.
More pressure. My wrist was steadily bending. I
moved the hat pin just to the right of his windpipe
and broke the skin.
Cora had staggered around the side of the car
and stood in horror watching the tableau. When
she saw the steady stream of blood trickling down
Jones's neck, she screamed again.
"It's true isn't it?" She took two steps and
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NICK CARTER
lunged, landing on my arm, trying to pull the hand
holding the hat pin away from Jones's throat,
"Get away ... let's go," I hissed, my face inches
from hers.
It was as though she were seeing me for the first
time, The face was one of horror. I knew what I
must have looked like to her—my face twisted in
strain, lips curled back from my teeth, eyes blazing
with the need for a quick life or death decision.
"My God," she whispered in my ear, but more
for herself.' "You really are an animal. Tiny was a
crazy, but you .
. I don't know what you are."
The rest of her words were lost as the gun ex-
ploded in my face. I felt a burning sensation at the
side of my neck as my wrist gave way.
There was no more time. Putting my entire body
behind my elbow, I lunged forward, using my full
body weight for thrust. The deadly pin entered
Jones's neck as if it were passing through hot but-
ter.
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FIVE
The radiator was losing water rapidly and there
was a strange, insistent groaning coming from
somewhere in the rear end. The other groaning was
coming from deep in my belly, telling me how
many hours it had been since I had put anything in
it.
"Are you hungry?" I put the question to Cora
without taking my eyes off the road.
She didn't answer; in fact she hadn't spoken a
word for the last two hundred miles. She just sat,
staring like a zombie at something only she could
see in the brown hills and dusty roads in front of
the car.
I knew what she was probably thinking: I had
been all business after using the hat pin on Jones.
Carefully, I had removed all identification and
money from the body, along with the Walther and
two extra, fully loaded clips. Then I rolledit over
the hill and watched it bounce down to join the
corpse in the smoldering sedan.
The scene had been too much for her. Out of fear
and frustration she had made claws out of her
hands and had gone for my æyes.
I had grabbed her wrists, but she proved almost
too much to handle. She had been raised on the
streets as a kid and it showed in the way she fought.
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When her hands and elbows became useless she
used her knees and feet.
There was no other choice. I nailed her right in
the belly. Her air went out with a whooshing sound
and she sat on her butt in the dust with her arms
wrapped around her middle. She gagged, gasped
enough air back into her to keep from blacking
out, and then stayed quiet.
I had used the respite to check out the Buick. It
was a mess, but we had no alternative other than
walking, and the only place in walking distance
was Mantilla. Out of the question.
Then I broke down the shotgun—a 12 gauge
magnum Beretta A-301—and put the pieces under
the front seat.
I returned to Cora. It was only the slight inden-
tation of her lower lip, as she sucked it between her
teeth, that let me know she was alive.
"You okay?" She nodded. "We'd better get out
of here. Someone's probably already spotted the
smoke."
She looked up, glassy eyes trying to focus on my
face. "We're gonna die."
"Not if I can help it. C'mon!" I grabbed her by
the shoulders. She didn't move; dead weight in the
dust*
"You kill people. Tiny was a crazy, but he didn't
kill people."
"Cora, I'll get you out of this, I promise." An-
other tug at her shoulders with no response.
"l saw you kill both of them!"
S' They would have killed us."
The eyes cleared. They stared directly into mine.
"Why?"
"Maybe if you think hard enough about Tiny,
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
Saber, and anybody else you met through them,
you can tell me why."
I hoisted her into my arms. She was a limp dish-
rag as I carried her to the car and deposited her on
the front seat.
The car groaned its objections as I turned it
around and continued over the mountain to the
Mexico City-Cuernavaca highway. I turned south,
pushed the Buick hard for about forty miles, and
got off.
From there on I'd taken every gravel and mud
road I could find that kept us heading south.
Now it was dusk, with maybe a half hour of day-
light left. I could sense that the old car was gasping
its last. From the map I'd found in the glove com-
partment, I guessed we were soutW of Matchuala
and still a little north of San Luis Potosi; rugged
country, no place to be left overnight without
wheels or shelter.
"We have to find someplace to hole up for the
night," I told her, this time looking at her face.
She only shrugged.
"You'd better climb into those. The sun will be
down in a few minutes and it will probably get
colder than hell."
I'd removed the blouse and heavy skirt. They
were piled on the seat between us. She looked
down, shrugged again and carelessly wiggled into
the clothes. Then it was back to the myopic staring
at nothing.
I had to get rid of her. But I wanted to do it
safely—like getting her on a plane out of the coun-
try before I made my next move. Cuernavaca and
Taxco were, more or less, halfway between Mexico
City and Acapulco. I wanted to shy away from the
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bigger cities, but hitting one or the other of them
would be a necessity for Cora.
We topped a rise and I could see San Luis Potosi
in the distance. Another fifteen minutes and we
would be in the town. That I didn't want. I hoped
we'd hit some kind of a motel or hotel on the far
outskirts.
"If we can find an out of the way motel for to-
night, I think we can make Acapulco tomorrow.
I'll put you on a plane for the States."
She rolled around in the seat to face me, a touch
of life in her eyes, She appeared to be thinking hard
about something. When she spoke, her voice was
flat and monotone.
"There's a resort up here a ways, off to the right.
It's off-season, shouldn't be too crowded. It's
called Remos."
With a few more directions I found the place.
Nothing spectacular, a main building and a few
adobe bungalows with a small lake beyond. The
whole thing overlooked the San Luis Potosi valley
and the City about fifteen miles in the distance.
It was perfect, and I told her so.
"Tiny and I stopped here the first time he
brought me down from the States. It was the last
nice thing we did together."
I pulled the objecting car to a stop in front of the
main building, got out and went inside. The
owner's wife was heavy, with sagging jowls and
sleepy eyes. Through the open door behind her I
could see messy living quarters. Someone was snor-
ing loudly.
She followed my glance. "My husband. He
sleeps all day and drinks all night during the off-
season."
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59
"I'd 'like a bungalow, please. The one farthest
back on the lake would be fine."
Her eyes flickered over my shoulder to Cora sit-
ting in the car. "You want all night or by the
hour?"
I made a mental note that Tiny hadn't exactly
done Cora any favors on their common-law honey-
moon. "All night. Is your kitchen open?"
"Off-season. There's a cantina serves food back
about a mile down."
on 57
I paid in advance and returned to the Buick. I
was just climbing in when a kid, ten, maybe eleven,
came bounding around the side of the building and
headed toward us.
"Wash your car, senor? Do a good job .
. two
pesos!" There was a hollow in the middle of the
smile where most of his front teeth should have
been.
"No, gracias, but I'll give you five if you find us
some food and a bottle of tequila."
"You got it, seöor."
I handed him some bills and watched him
scamper down the road toward the highway.
We ate in silence and darkness. The cabin was
well situated to spot anyone approaching, with a
treeless, open area in front and only the lake to the
rear, but I saw no reason to illuminate ourselves in
the large window overlooking the lake.
"Another drink?"
"No, thanks."
I could see the outline of Cora's body on the bed
across the room. Other than her light breathing,
only a glow now and then from the end of her
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cigarette told me she was there.
"What will you do ... when you get back to the
States, I mean?" I didn't really care that much, but
the silence was depressing and my mind was work-
ing too much for sleep.
She didn't answer for a minute or two, but I got
the impression from the rapid drags on the
cigarette that she was about to.
"Go back to Chicago, I guess. My brother's
there." She laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh.
"Or at least he's usually there. He's a bastard, but
he's got connections. Hell, you might as well know
the whole thing. My brother's mobbed up. Has
been since we were kids. So was Tiny till he found
out he could make good bread knocking heads on
a football field rather than the streets."
I really wasn't in the mood for a true confession,
but since she wanted to talk, I figured something
might come out that I could use.
s 'Is that where Tiny met Jack Saber?"
"Yeah. He worked for Saber then, too. Actually,
I think he always did. Tiny's tastes were always
more expensive than he could afford, even playing
ball. I knew what he was doing, and hated it. Still
do, but I guess I can't blame him. I'm not much
better.
"It was always small time, though. You know
nickel bags here, a few bets or numbers there.
Then Saber met the Mex, and it all changed."
Now it was getting interesting. I poured a new
shot from the bottle and lit another cigarette.
"What was the Mex's name?"
"l don't know. He was a big, handsome dude,
the real Latin lover type. Educated, too, or at least
he talked like he was."
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
"Good English?"
61
"Ohs yeah." She laughed. "Hell, yes, it was good
English, better than ours. He started showing up
now and then with Jack. Then he was gone and I
never saw him again. But the stuff that Jack and
my brother started handling got purer, and there
was a hell of a lot more of it."
"Then Saber came to Mexico and your brother
took over the Mexican operation."
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Just a good guess. What about Tiny?"
"The betting scandal was bull. It was just a con-
venience. ' Actually, Tiny was dealing. Uppers,
downers, coke, hash—even the real hard stuff. His
best customers were half the players in the league.
Of course he was doing the betting, too, but that
was minor."
"What happened?"
"The powers found out about it all and decided
that the betting would be less of a scandal than the
dope."
"So Tiny came to Mexico to work for Saber."
"Yeah. He'd had the hots for me since we were
kids. He begged me to come with him. I was tired
of shakin' skinny for a half a hupdred slobs four
times a night, so I said okay. I figured the Mexican
Riviera was loaded with foreign millionaires. I'd
meet me a shiek or somethin' and live happily ever
after."
"But Tiny never let you out long enough?" The
cigarette was one too many. I crushed it out, half
smoked.
"Yeah." It was a whisper. "And now I'm goin'
back to the same crap."
-I was thinking. I could give her a break and put
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NICK CARTER
her on ice for possible later testimony. An old
friend, Paddy O'Brien, owned a small lumber com-
pany and a club in Eugene, Oregon. It would be a
perfect place for someone like Cora to lose herself,
and her past.
I told her.
"You really are straight, aren't you?"
I thought for a second and decided to be straight
for a change. "No, Cora, I'm not. I'm everything
you thought I was back there on the road with
Jones. In my business, the good guys get all mixed
up with the bad guys, until nobody really knows
who's who."
"Why don't you get out?"
"I don't have those kind of guts .
. like Paddy
O'Brien. I'm afraid I'd go nuts running a lumber
company."
There was a heavy sigh as she mashed out the
cigarette. "You know what? I think I like you after
all...
Somehow she had removed all her clothes while
we were talking. The moonlight was behind her as
she walked toward me. It played with the won-
drous curves and hollows of her body that jutted at
me and danced seductively as she moved.
In the half-light I could see the old Cora in the
warm, almost teasing, smile on her lips and in her
eyes as she came closer. But I couldn't keep my
eyes on her face. Not with the light behind those
sensual, swaying hips. They were almost like some-
thing floating free on a rolling sea.
"You like?" she asked.
"How could I help but like?"
She moved closer until her nipples scraped my
chest. Her face looked young and innocent as she
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
63
raised her lips to mine. Then they were there, hot
and moist.
We broke for air and I realized I still had the
glass of tequila in my hand. I left it there and used
my free arm to bend her back for more.
This time, when I pulled her against me, she
molded her body against mine with an almost fran-
tic fierceness. Her pillowlike breasts were smashed
against my chest as both her arms went behind my
back and held on tight.
My lips sneaked around to her ear and I whis-
pered, "I think you're melting the ice in my te-
quila."
With a spasm of laughter shaking her whole
body delightfully, she fell across the bed. I stood
there and sipped my drink as I watched her.
She lay on her back and looked up at me. The
laughter had been replaced by a tiny smile now,
and there was no mistaking the fire in her eyes.
"You're quite a man, Nick. I knew it when I first
met you. A little voice inside me said, 'Get this one,
Cora ... get him in bed and give him everything
you have to offer and don't try to hold him after
it's over because you can't. But grab yourself a
memory'. '
-"Was the little voice right?"
"Yeah. You're everything, and more. And prob-
ably too much."
"You're quite a girl yourself, Cora Lee."
"Am I?" She held up her arms. "Show me!"
I finished my drink, then dropped the glass and
moved to the bed. She pulled herself up on my
arms. Our bodies played a cat-and-mouse game,
' but one we botlmmderstood; one that we both
wanted to play.
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It didn't stay that way long.
Her body became even more insistent against
mine. Her tongue was a hot flame of darting desire
in my mouth. I moved away only long enough to
tear at my clothes until I could feel the heat from
her naked body reach my bare skin.
She purred as my hands explored her firm
breasts with their heavy fullness, the flat belly and
flaring hips, the swollen thighs.
The seething passion in our loins erupted as our
bodies joined. Hers was a volcano, inside and out,
working like a well-oiled machine, giving and ree
ceiving pleasure. Her sharp fingernails raked my
back, shoulder blade to shoulder blade.
Then her body was arching as mine was grind-
ing, twisting. She shuddered violently, and I let go.
It seemed to last an instant and an hour, all at
once, before I collapsed, gasping across her.
We lay like that for several minutes until I rolled
to her side. "Do you want a cigarette?" she whis-
pered. "Men always want a cigarette afterward."
I chuckled and started to get up. "No, don't
move. I'll get them."
The sight of her nude body, once again framed in
the moonlit window, did things to me. I began to
wish I wasn't sending her away the next afternoon.
"Cora, did you ever see the Mex again? I mean,
after you got down here with Tiny?"
"No, never." She had two cigarettes in her
mouth, and was fumbling with my lighter. "I guess
Tiny did once or twice, though. He mentioned it.
Then I guessed he just dropped out of sight. How
does this damn thing work?"
Before I could answer, the window behind her
erupted—the explosion of gun and glass tearing
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
65
away the silence of the night. In the second before
she dropped the lighter, I saw wide-eyed, open-
mouthed shock on her face.
I rolled like a ball into the mattress and felt frag-
ments of glass pepper my back. When the fallout
stopped, I dropped to the floor on my knees. Cora
was there, on her belly, with nothing but red from
the waist up.
With the shotgun blast still echoing in my ears, I
pulled on my pants. By the time I'd grabbed the
Walther and made the window, another sound was
reverberating through my head—an outboard mo-
tor.
They were in the middle of the lake, two of them,
in a little ten-footer. From the wake, it couldn't
have been more than five horsepower.
A shaky pier extended about fifteen feet into the
lake, I spotted a tiny boat bobbing at the end of it,
its outboard pulled out of the water.
I vaulted through the window and ran down the
stone steps leading to the lake. Jagged edges cut the
hell out of my bare feet.
When I reached the end of the pier, I could see
that the housing had been pulled off the engine. It
floated upside down in the water beside the boat.
The sound of the little outboard died. I squinted
into the semi-darkness and saw the two figures
climb out of the boat. They were silhouetted
against the sky for a brief moment, and then gone.
I retraced my steps, much more carefully, back
up to the bungalow. The lower part of the big win-
dow was about ten feet up. I could probably make
it, but glass would make hamburger out of my
hands and arms.
I ran around to the door; it was locked. Two
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NICK CARTER
blasts from the Walther and I was inside. I man-
aged to keep my eyes away from what was left of
Cora.
Dressed, my bloody feet hurting like hell in the
boots, I ran back outside and smack into the gap-
toothed kid and the fat lady.
"There's been an accident," I told them, feeling
a bit ridiculous.
The kid was shaking, but he managed to blub-
ber, "You get shot, sefior?"
I followed his eyes to my right shoulder, and
then checked the left. My denim shirt was soaked
with blood. It must have been the glass fragments,
but I hadn't felt a damn thing.
"Back up to the office, quick!" They didn't
move; just stared. "Now! I must call the policia. "
This time I waved the Walther around a little
and they moved .
fast.
The husband was as skinny as the wife was fat.
He sat in a rattan chair that had no bottom, staring
out the front window. His butt was sagging six in-
ches through the bottom of the chair, but from the
smell of his breathing I figured he didn't know it.
Teléfono?"
She pulled it from somewhere underneath a
counter and sat it on top. I waved them into a cor-
ner and took a couple of seconds to lift the special
number that Veraquez had given me from my
memory bank. I gave the operator the number and
waited.
Veraquez answered, so I figured it was a hot-line
number and I was the only one who had it during
the operation.
"This is Carter. Wait!" I ordered the woman and
kid out of the room, using the Walther for em-
phasis. They hustled.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
67
The door slammed and I went back to the
mouthpiece in low tones. got problems."
"I figured you did or you wouldn't have used the
number."
I laid it out in fast, clipped sentences, from the
fight with Tiny to the explosion that killed Cora. I
ended with an approximation of where I was.
"I know the place. I'll get a team out there right
away. We've got good men in San Luis Potosi.
They'll keep the locals out of it. What's your next
"I think it's time I met the man himself."
"Saber?"
"Right. Have your boys bring me a car, prefera-
bly plain and simple. A good move would be to
have it stolen from a solid citizen in San Luis
Potosi, one that will raise hell when he finds it
gone."
"Can do."
"And some clothes." I gave him the sizes and
started to sign off, then remembered. "Hey, make
sure Cora ends up back in the States. I figure I owe
her that."
"Sure. We got a line on her when you started the
action in Taxco. Her real name was Carlotta San-
tini."
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SIX
I've never been exactly wild about the business
I'm in, but I've always considered it, and myself, a
necessary evil.
As I drove south the next morning I rolled the
events of the previous evening around in my head.
If it was Scarface, Danny Santini, in that boat, that
made him a pretty sick man, and my personal
target over Redolmo. It meant that he had engi-
neered his own sister's murder. That kind of sibling
rivalry was a little too much for even my stomach
to handle.
Of course, there was always the chance that San-
tini was actually Redolmo, and using Jack Saber.
But Cora/Carlotta's references to "the Mex" kept
surfacing from the back of my mind.
I stopped in Toluca for gas and killed an hour
over some food and a few beers. It was only a short
ride to Saber country, and I didn't want to get
there with any daylight left on the horizon.
Outside the restaurant the air had turned chilly.
Toluca is even higher than Mexico City, so when
the sun starts its western descent behind the vol-
cano—Nevado de Toluca—the air gets crisp. I put
on my, jacket and wasted another ten minutes
watching the red ball name out over the snowy
peak.
When the lights of Toluca started coming on, I
got in the car and drove south into the valley. As I
left the now sleepy little town, I silently hoped that
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
it would be as sleepy where I was going.
69
A little over an hour later; I approached a sign in
huge block letters: RANCHO SEGOVIA,
POSITIVELY NO TRESPASSING. 1 continued
past it for about half a mile and found a tiny road
leading away from the property. A clump of trees
along the side made a perfect hiding place for the
car.
The sky was full of stars and the moon seemed to
dance in and out from behind clouds as I retraced
the distance back to the sign on foot.
It was four to five feet above a barbed wire fence
that extended in both directions for as far as the
eye could see. All I had to do was climb the sign,
jump straight out four feet, drop fifteen and hope
nothing got broken.
It was a hell of a jolt but I rolled with it, came up
on my feet and found everything in working order
when I started walking. In the distance, far to my
left, I could see the arc of illumination caused by
the lights of Cuernavaca. Using that as a guide; I
set a steady pace toward where I figured the main
ranch buildings should be.
The terrain changed about every hundred yards
or so, from grassy flatlands to craggy three and
four hundred foot hills. Interspersed through it all
were well-maintained and, from the tire marks,
well-traveled gravel roads.
I was about to cross a road when the sudden roar
of an engine dropped me flat. Twin beams came
around a curve on my right, and seconds later an-
other pair came from my left.
They met practically in front of me; two jeeps,
with a driver and a passenger in each of them. Even
in the moonlight I could spot the Beretta A-301
shotguns carried by the two passengers.
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NICK CARTER
Their outfits resembled uniforms and they wore
identical caps. Beret affairs, except they had a nar-
row bill at the front.
The drivers climbed out and approached each
other. When they met, they exchanged time clock
devices, similar to those carried by night watchmen
and security guards at a factory. Each of them in-
serted a card into the device and returned it.
Organized, I thought, right down to the issue
45's on their hips and the jump boots on their feet.
And then I realized. I was looking at four members
of General Jones's standing army.
The drivers exchanged a few words in heavily ac-
cented Spanish, returned to their jeeps and moved
off.
It took another half hour and waiting out two
more patrols before I climbed the last hill and
iooked down at the compound that made up the
ranch. The main house was a sprawling one-story,
two-winged affair. It sat like a stucco and adobe
fortress in the middle of several other buildings
clustered like a horseshoe around it.
Around each of the buildings lounged a khaki-
dressed guard with a Beretta shotgun slung over his
shoulder. The main ranch house had at least four
guards, that I could see, placed strategically on its
roof.
I slithered down the hill until I found an out-
cropping of rocks large enough to shield me from
every vantage point in the compound. Then I
slipped out of the backpack, unrolled it carefully
on the ground and went to work.
Veraquez's experts had done a great job in a
short time. In a matter of minutes, I had all sixteen
of them laid out in two neat rows of eight. One row
was made up of three mini-sticks in no-sweat
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
71
plastic seals. Each package of three was tightly
wrapped in cloth-covered electronic wire. In the
center of the package was a microscopic receiver.
One package of the mini-sticks was the equivalent
of a normal one-stick dynamite charge; nothing
that could do a hell ofa lot of damage, but enough
to create chaos with noise.
The second row of eight was a different story.
Each set contained three two-pound sticks. Two
bundles of those babies would level a small house,
or, in this case, one of the outbuildings in the com-
pound.
Carefully, I activated each bundle and syn-
cronized it with the small, transistorized trans-
mitter that I would keep with me. Eventually, when
they were all set, I could punch out a series of num-
bers and blow them in sequence from any place in
the compound up to a three-hundred yard range:
Next came the harness made of strong webbing.
It wrapped four times around my waist and hips
and then crisscrossed my back and chest. To spe-
cially designed clips in the harness I attached all
sixteen bundles. I was now, literally, a walking
bomb.
A quick check of my watch told me it was just
after ten. Dawn would break over the eastern ridge
of hills somewhere between five-thirty ahd six.
More than enough time—if Iwasn't spotted by one
or more of the guards.
I'd already decided that the best way down and
into the compound was through the bullring that
made up the top, closed-half of the horseshoe. That
meant the better part of an hour working my way
around the ridge line; no easy feat with seventy-five
pounds weighing me down.
I was off by ten minutes as I slid down the last
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twenty feet of hill and came to the rear gate of the
ring. I saw immediately why there were no guards
at what had first appeared a vulnerable spot. There
were two rail fences between myself and the ring.
Between the fences lay ten yards of bull run and
about three tons of beef on the hoof—big, black,
mean, and already pawing the ground, staring at
me.
I was about to skirt the ring and try to slip into
the compound through the corrals or between two
of the outbuildings, when I spotted something fa-
miliar. Sitting open end up, right beside the fence
and just inside the run, was a clown barrel.
Slowly, with no sudden moves, I climbed the
rails until I could swing both legs over, just above
the mouth of the barrel. Holding the rail with my
arms stretched taut behind me, I leaned far out.
It would have to be a perfect drop. With all the
dynamite hanging from me, my body was a good
deal thicker than a normal man's. I hoped no
thicker than the dark opening below me.
The bull on my right added a few snorts to his
pawing as I stiffened and dropped. My feet hit
dead center. When they touched the bottom of the
barrel, I broke my knees and squatted. There was a
little scrape on each side, but I knew I'd made it.
Just before my eyes went into the darkness I saw
his head and haunches go down and his massive
bulk bunch up. When I heard the hoofs start
pounding I grabbed the two handles inside the bar-
rel and tensed for the shock.
It was like a truck hitting a wall with no give
when the beast slammed me against the fence. I
heard a horn scraping the staves and then I was
moving. He backed off for another rush and I re-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
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alized that he had been rolling me down the run
instead of across it.
The second time was more like a steam engine
than a truck. I became airborne and landed with
a gut-wrenching jolt on one end, rolling.
The other bull got into the act and together they
butted me up against a fence. I only hoped it was
the right one.
I was about to lift my head for a check when I
heard footsteps. Then voices.
"Something spook 'em?"
"I guess so. Hey, Toro, what makes you wild?"
"Look! They were just raising hell with the bar-
rel."
"Figures. It's the clouds across the moon .
brings out the devil in them."
"C'mon, I'm due for relief in five minutes."
The footsteps retreated. Cautiously, I raised my
head a few inches out of the barrel. I was up
against the fence, about thirty yards down the run
from my initial drop into the barrel. Both bulls
were standing dejectedly about that spot, their hind
quarters in my direction. Neither of them looked
interested any longer.
I was out of the barrel and over the fence in three
smooth steps up the rails. Ten feet into the ring I
• stooped and examined the soft, sandy soil.
It was no problem, using only my hands, to dig
a shallow grave for one of the larger charges. When
it was buried, I pulled the antenna wire free until
two or three inches glinted above the ground.
By the time I finished, a wide, lazily moving
cloud had drifted across the moon, enabling me to
cross the ring and plant a second one.
Then I slid under the fence into the compound
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NICK CARTER
and worked my way, building by building, to one
end of the horseshoe. Once there I slid into the
shadows and checked the patrolling guards. After
observing them for a few minutes, I was certain
that only some out of the ordinary sound would
cause alertness.
Structure by structure, I worked my way back
around the horseshoe, planting the charges in trees,
under the ground, and even in clumps of bushes.
At last all but two of the charges were planted and
I found the perfect building for them—the tack
room.
It wasn't even locked. I slipped inside, climbed
up into the open rafters and planted the two
charges under opposite eaves of the roof. When
they went, the roof would go; straight up. If the
other explosions didn't jar anyone, the destruction
of a whole building would.
In the light of a tiny window facing the back of
the main house, I checked my watch. Four o'clock.
I made a bed and a pillow out of a pile of saddle
blankets and was about to lie down, when I spotted
something on the roof of the main house that I
hadn't been able to see from the hillside. One cor-
ner was built up higher into what looked like a sun-
deck. In the center of it was a large piece of canvas
thrown over something bulky with a lot of jutting
edges.
I smiled. Saber, or Redolmo, didn't miss a trick.
Jutting from beneath the canvas was the perforated
barrel of a 20mm machine gun.
As I lay down in my makeshift bed, a whole new
plan for the morning started to evolve in my head.
My watch, placed just under my ear, gently
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
75
buzzed me awake. I strapped it back on my wrist
and checked the time—5:45. Through the window,
gray dawn was just breaking over the hills beyond
the compound.
Below me there were the usual signs of morning
activity. The cookhouse was already in full swing,
with heavy smoke spiraling up from its two chim-
neys. Regular ranch hands, differentiated from the
soldiers by their denim jeans, blue work shirts and
wide-brimmed hats, struggled from the bunkhouse
toward their morning meal.
More smoke came from the chimney at the rear
of the main house. Probably another, smaller
kitchen. And on the roof, the four guards drowsily
sipped coffee and talked, all in one group. I
guessed that they had just come on duty.
Things couldn't have been working better.
I went down the ladder and eased the tack room
door open a crack, just enough to see the rising sun
and gauge the numbers moving in the courtyard.
I waited. Five more minutes would give me all
the light I needed. Another piece of luck: a battered
old sombrero rested on a peg beside the door. It
was a perfect fit.
The sun peeked over the hills and time was up.
I •unbuttoned my jacket so I could get at the
Walther easier, palmed the little digital beeper, and
walked into the clearing.
Two ranch hands together and a straggler be-
hind them didn't give me a look. A guard lighting
a cigarette, his A-301 still slung, gave me a passing
glance. I didn't meet his eyes.
"Alto!"
I kept walking, my head down, my shoulders
hunched, my fingers working on the transmitter's
numbers.
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"Alto, yo digo!"
The two explosions came a second apart, off to
my left, around the corner of the house and near
one open end of the horseshoe.
The reverberation was still filling the air when I
slid the Walther from my belt and spun around. He
was just unslinging the shotgun when my first slug
hit him high in the shoulder, close to the neck. I
didn't need a second. He spun like a top, dropped
and started groveling in the dirt.
I took three long strides and hit the narrow stair-
way leading up the side of the house to the roof. I
was a third of the way up when another guard
came around the corner of the house.
The Beretta was in both hands, in the ready posi-
tion, but he couldn't find anything to shoot at. He
was looking around instead of up..-
I didn't wait for his eyes to find me. Using the
banister as a crutch, I squeezed off two slugs. They
both caught him in the right He fell over his
buddy and they rolled together.
I bounded up the stairs, again working the but-
tons. The first explosions had been on the machine
gun side. The next two came from the opposite side
of the house, at the other end of the horseshoe.
I stopped and crouched behind the small gate
leading to the roof. Gravel crunched under their
running feet. It was impossible to count how many
had passed. Hoping it was four, I vaulted the gate
and sprinted for the machine gun.
One was left.
I was on. him before he realized I was an in-
truder. He didn't even get a chance to swivel the
shotgun into play. I caught the middle of his face
with the butt of the Walther. The shotgun blasted
the canvas over the machine gun as I laid my shoul-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
77
der into his gun. He went over the edge, gun and
all.
I didn't wait for the thud of his body down
below before I was ripping away at the canvas. The
weapon was a big, special-made job, with a seat, a
sheet of armor welded like a bubble around the
shooter, and four feet of ugly, water-cooled barrel.
I could hear chaos and confusion reigning su-
preme down below and running feet on the gravel
roof behind as I leaped into the seat. Using arms,
feet and legs, I threw the magazine lever to EN-
GAGE, squeezed off the dual safeties on the han-
dles, and pedaled the chain-driven platform like a
wild man.
Through the two-inch high, foot-wide slit in the
armor, I saw the four of them drop to one knee and
bring up the shotguns.
As the shots whined against the armor, I ducked
low and dialed off two more explosions in the
horseshoe. Then two behind the building. Over my
shoulder I saw a healthy hunk of tree rise into the
sky above the roof line and fall back to earth with
a crunching sound.
I chanced another look through the chink in the
armor. The four were brave, all stayed their ground
and re-loaded.
I gripped the handles, put my elbows in the
cushions to absorb the jolt and fired as I pedaled.
The big gun bucked like ten jackhammers in my
hands, but I managed to stick a pretty even line
about fifteen feet long in the stucco above their
heads.
"Drop 'em!" I yelled in Spanish, with the echo
of the powerful gun still thundering in my ears.
Three did. One didn't.
.J laid a short burst about two feet from his legs.
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It sent a stinging shower of gravel all over him. The
Beretta flew from his hands and he rushed for the
gate. He was over it in one bound and I rolled the
muzzle back to the other three, ordering them to
follow.
Now I swiveled the gun around to cover most of
the clearing at the side of the house and all of it in
the rear. The whole area was full of bodies. Half of
them were running back and forth with no place to
go. The other half stood their ground, shotguns
and now automatic rifles at their shoulders. All of
them trying to get a shot at me around the armor.
I methodically put a burst into the ground close
to any group larger than three. When the clearing
was empty, I went back to work with the trans-
mitter. It sounded like World War III. I saved only
the bull ring and tack room super-charges, in case
I had to get their attention later.
When the echo of the last charge rolled up the
valley and dissipated itself into the hills, I sat back
and lit a cigarette. My watch told me it had been
four minutes since I had walked out of the tack
room door.
The deathly stillness continued for almost fifteen
minutes. I decided I had to do a little more urging,
so I threw away the cigarette and brought the
20mm snout up on the buildings.
I was just about to fire when I saw a tall figure
enter the clearing. The legs were in pajamas, the
bottom half shiny with some kind of satiny robe.
Sunglasses hid half his face under black hair that
was streaked snow-white on the sides. The white
swept back like horns on the side of his head above
his ears.
He turned and the sunglasses came up toward
me. "Carter?"
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I had to give him credit. He had a lot of cool. He
was smoking a cigarette and sipping from a mug of
coffee.
"That's right." He nodded and sipped. "I think
you've made your point."
"I'm not so sure," I replied, lighting a cigarette
of my own and making sure the smoke billowed up
from behind the shield.
"What do you want?"
"The same thing I wanted when I signed with
Jones—a job."
"l think that can be arranged."
"Jones's job?"
"Hardly."
"You use that bull ring, Saber?"
"Of course. We raise bulls."
I blew the center out of it. He swiveled from his
waist and and watched the sky fill with dirt and
fence rails. It wasn't too hard to imagine the craters
those explosions left in the ring.
He turned back and ground out his cigarette. "It
can be filled in," he said unimpressed.
"This can't."
I lifted the roof off the tack room about eight
feet. Before it came back down, the walls collapsed.
Men started running from the other buildings. A
few bursts from the 20mm sent them scurrying
back to their holes.
I hoped that that one got Saber's attention. If it
didn't, I only had one thing left to do: cut him in
half with the machine gun.
"I've got eleven buildings and the main house
left to go," I called.
"Come on down. We'll talk."
I liked the resignation in his voice.
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What I saw of the house as Saber led me through
rooms and hallways to an open-air courtyard in its
center was old-world Spanish. Expensive dark
woods, heavy furniture and colorful tapestries were
only part of the tasteful decor.
One thing struck me: it was very masculine. Part
of that could be attributed to the heavihess of the
Spanish motif, but since it was owned by Lorena
Segovia, I expected to see some evidence of
feminine occupancy.
Saber poured coffee with a flair and motioned
me to a chair opposite him. I noticed a decanter on
a table nearby. "Is that brandy?"
"Yes for breakfast?"
I smiled. "You might say this is my evening's
meal."
He handed me a goblet and the decanter. I laced
the coffee and poured two inches into the goblet as
well.
Saber lit a cigarette and leaned expansively back
in his chair with his coffee. "Well, shall we get
down to facts?"
"Fine." I lit up and studied him while he studied
me.
"First of all, Carter, I know you—who you are
and what you are."
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
81
"Good. Then we can get on to other things."
"Not quite."
He started reiterating integral parts of my as-
signments in the last two years. The information he
had told me that Saber had connections with a very
thorough foreign intelligence source.
As he continued to talk, I made note of his
speech patterns, his body language, mannerisms,
and any depth behind the cool, hooded eyes. The
top layer added up to class, but it was a veneer. He
was only trying to play the role of sophisticate, of
gentleman rancher. The core beneath that veneer—
the speech, the manners, the thought processes—
were all from the street. I guessed lower east side
New York or South Chicago.
All in all, Jack Saber was exactly what I knew
him to be: a hood first, a gentleman second.
He was winding down.
"So you see, Carter, all this makes it very hard to
trust you."
' 'But that's all over. I'm out, free-lance, now."
"So it would seem. But our operation requires
certain loyalties
loyalties I don't think you're
prepared to give."
I leaned forward, tired of the banter. "You're
right, Saber. I don't have loyalties anymore, to
anyone or anything. You said let's get down to
facts. Okay, here they are. I busted my butt for a
lot of years. Now I'm out, with a pension that
wouldn't keep me in women or booze till the end of
the month."
He nodded. "Reasonable. So you signed on with
Jones."
"Right. That line of work I know."
He smiled. There was no humor in it. "I could
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NICK CARTER
see that this morning. You're quite a tactician."
There was no humor in my smile either. "That's
why I can run your little army. Jones was an ego-
maniac and an idiot. All I want is his salary. You
can keep his stupid-assed generalship."
"Well said. How much do you already know?"
A couple layers of his veneer disappeared. He was
buying it.
"Just what I've picked up ... and figured out."
"Which is?"
"Jones needed a revolution. So do you. For that
you need an army and someone to run it. That
made the two of you natural allies."
"Why would I want a revolution?"
He was baiting me. "Because your real business
is tunning dope. You put a puppet dictator in
somewhere down south and he lets your people do
some poppy cultivation. You get a bigger supply of
raw straw, faster, and he builds up a fat Swiss ac-
count."
"And you figured all this out yourself?"
"It wasn't hard. I already knew a little about
your early days and I recognized Danny Santini in
the cantina. Why did you dump Tiny Hawes?"
He weighed the answer a few seconds, "He was
never much more than a strong arm, but he got
ambitious. You see, I do have indigent com-
petitors."
"And he was going to sell your means of trans-
port and source of supply to them."
"Not quite, but close. More coffee?"
I nodded. "And I happened along at the perfect
time."
"In a way. Jones never did trust you. To him you
were always government.'E
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
"And to you?"
"I'm not sure."
83
"But you're going to give me a try to find out?"
Again a pause. I could almost hear and see the
gears grinding behind his eyes.
"I have a little paramilitary operation coming up
in a few days. We'll see how you handle it."
"Suits me."
"Jones was in for three thousand a week ..
. pay-
able in Swiss francs."
"And a percentage."
"Jones wasn't getting a—
"I'm not talking about Jones."
His smile broadened. Now we were getting down
to the kind of in-fighting he understood. "I like the
way you think, Carter. How big?"
I pretended to mull it over. "We can defer that
until we see the size of our country."
He stood. "I'll have one of my men show you to
your rooms. As a general, Jones stayed here in the
big house. His things have been removed. Good
morning, my dear."
I turned. She was even more beautiful than the
first time I'd seen her. The hair was down now,
bouncing on her shoulders and framing her face
like a black halo. Layers of billowy material cov-
ered her body from neck to ankle, but it didn't hide
the well-fleshed curves.
"Carter, I'd like you to meet your hostess,
Senorita Lorena Segovia."
I held out my hand and started to speak. She
paid no attention to the hand and brushed by me to
the table without a glance.
"I take it this man was the cause of this
morning's war." She seated herself and began vio-
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lently buttering a piece of toast.
"Mr. Carter will be taking Jones's place. We've
already made the arrangements."
"You make one hell of an entrance, Mr.
Carter."
"I consider that a compliment, Senorita
Segovia."
"I do not care for violence, Mr. Carter." She
turned the two black coals of her eyes on Saber.
"Our agreement doesn't include having my proper-
ty blown to kingdom come."
Saber seemed to be enjoying it. "Mr. Carter felt
he had to make a point, my dear."
She gave him an icy stare and then turned back
to me, "If you're going to command these
ragamuffins Jack calls troops, Mr. Carter, I do
hope you'll be able to instill some discipline. My
household staff is in constant fear of being
murdered or raped."
"I'll see what I can do."
"And if you are leading them, I must assume you
are of the same stripe. Your apartment is in the
north wing, mine is in the south. Please do not ven-
ture across the countyard."
She turned her attention to toast and coffee.
There was no mistaking it as a dismissal. I took it
as such and moved away.
"I'll walk you to the stairs," Saber said,
matching my steps.
When we were out of earshot, I spoke again. "It
sounds as though the lady doesn't approve."
"She has no choice." He shrugged. "She would
just like to think she does."
A servant who looked anything but frightened
met us at the foot of a wide, twisting staircase.
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
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Saber gave him some instructions and turned to
me.
"Now that we've come to some terms, I must ask
that you hand over that gadget."
Illooked down at the cigarette-sized transmitter I
had been holding and toying with all through our
conversation. "Without this, how do I know you'll
keep the faith?"
"You don't. But this might help convince you."
He held his hand out, palm up, to the white-
coated gorilla standing beside us. From somewhere
beneath the coat he produced Hugo and Wil-
helmina and laid them in Saber's hand. He passed
them to me.
"Fair enough," I said, handing over the trans-
mitter.
The fact that Saber had my two closest friends
let me know that another segment of the local po-
lice were in his pocket.
I started up the stairs. "I think I'll get some sleep
and meet the troops this afternoon."
"Carter, it would help if you would tell us where
the remaining bombs are planted. I wouldn't want
any accidents."
"Sure," I smiled. "There aren't any."
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"That's how I manage to stay alive."
As it turned out, reviewing the troops would
have to wait. When I finally got my eyes open and
my body moving, the room was dark. A clock
beside the bed told me it was eleven. That meant
I'd slept around fifteen hours. It also meant I
would probably not be able to sleep again until the
wee hours of the morning.
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be able to sleep again until the wee hours of the
morning.
A cold shower brought me back to life. The
closet was full of clothes; not my exact size, but
close. I wouldn't have thought about the owner if
my eye hadn't fallen on a stateside label in one of
the jackets: Made for Ramon Segovia by
TALLEFARO of Chicago..
I vaguely remembered the mention of a brother
in the Washington briefing. I was about to run
through a few more of the tailor-mades when a
light knock interrupted me.
It was the moose, in a fresh white jacket. "Din-
At that time of night it had to be leftovers, but
the meal could have drawn four stars from any
gourmet. I finished the coffee along with a cigarette
and moved into the hall. I was just reaching for the
knob of the front door when pliable steel wrapped
around my wrist.
"Sir."
It was the moose. s 'Mr. Saber suggests
you stay in the house during the evenings. Several
of the guards won't know you yet and there might
be an accident."
He released my wrist and I wanted to rub it, but
decided not to give him the satisfaction. I knew I
could take him, but I figured diplomacy would be
easier.
"Perhaps if I talked to Mr. Saber," I suggested.
' 'I'm afraid he's gone for the evening."
I held my temper. "Then maybe some brandy
instead of air."
"The library and bar are right through that door
sir."
He said the 'sir' as if he'd learned it out of a man-
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
ual. I matched his politeness. "Thank you. By the
way, do you have a name?"
"Bruno, sir."
The library was similar to the other rooms I'd
seen; lots of leather furniture, dark panelled walls
and expensive paintings and tapestries between the
bookcases. The bar was at one end, with glass be-
hind it.
I poured a brandy and began to examine the
more than one hundred trophies that littered the
room. Nearly every one of them was the same: a
man with a plane in his hand. I picked one up and
read the inscription: RAMON SEGOVIA—
FIRST PLACE—INTERNATIONAL MODEL
AIR SHOW RADIO CONTROL DIVISION,
Munchen, W. Ger.
After replenishing my brandy, I decided to get
my air in the open courtyard. It was a good de-
cision; she was waiting for me behind the sheers of
her bedroom window.
I spotted her at once and started to wave. She
shook her head, held up two fingers, pointed at her
wrist, then threw a thumb over her shoulder into
the room. I nodded my understanding and she was
gone.
I casualled around the courtyard garden, breath-
ing air, sipping brandy, and listening to the foun-
tain bubble. After a half-hour of that anyone
watching me would be sure that I was more than
bored enough to return to my rooms for the night.
"Come in, hurry!"
I could smell her perfume but I couldn't see her.
) The room was pitch black. I stepped in and barely
heard the click as the door closed behind me.
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' 'Why no light?" I asked, fumbling in the
darkness.
"There is less chance of anyone thinking I might
have a visitor if I am in bed, asleep, with all the
lights out."
That stood to reason, but I needed light for some
of my answers. "I made a map of the compound. I
need your explanation. For that, we've got to see."
"Don't worry. Follow me!"
She backed into me and placed my hands on her
hips. Touching her body had only proved to make
fact out of what my eyes had imagined—it was
flawless. We played train through the darkness,
managing to avoid all but two soft pieces of furni-
ture before stopping. She turned slightly and then
we backed up until my legs hit something.
"Sit down," she whispered.
"What is it?"
"My bed!"
She settled on top of me and rolled across. I
heard curtains hum on runners and then a match
flared, closing my eyes.
When I opened them again she had two candles
lit, hanging in baskets from a fancy canopy over a
huge bed.
' 'The drapes around the bed are very thick. No
light will escape."
"Ingenious," I said, able to see her now.
Nithout makeup and the hair not quite perfect,
she looked younger and more vulnerable. And, if it
was possible, a lot sexier. Through the nightgown I
could see the shadows of her breasts and their
darker centers where they pushed against the
flimsy material.
The soft light. The sheer, teasing gown. I
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
89
couldn't help but wonder if it was deliberate.
She caught my look. A tiny smile curled the cor-
ners of her mouth as her knees came up and most
of the breasts disappeared.
"Did you have any trouble finding my room?"
"A little," I replied, pulling the sketches I had
made from my pocket. "Where's Saber?"
"I don't know, exactly. He left late this after-
noon with Santini. I do know that they were
headed for the Coast and they took fishing gear."
"But not to fish."
"Jack detests fishing. He thinks it's boring. They
probably have a shipment of straw coming in."
"And they're settling the time and pick-up
point."
"I imagine."
I nodded. "That would figure. Saber told me
there was an operation coming up that I could han-
dle . to test me." I spread my sketch of the com-
pound out on the bed between us and handed her
a pencil. "Jot in what each of these buildings are
used for."
The breasts came back into views when she
moved. The gown was sheer all the way down; she
had a spectacular body. It made concentrating on
my reason for being there difficult as hell.
"There might be something besides guns and
ammunition in here, but I don't think so." She
pointed to a large, low building in the center of the
horseshoe. "I've seen them carrying big crates in
there and it's always locked."
"How big?"
She gestured with her arms. All hell broke loose
under the gown.
"That's enough. got it."
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"What? Oh." She giggled and lowered her arms.
The size of the crates indicated anything from
mortars to rifle cases, My guess was both. That
building probably held all the hardware for the rev-
olution.
I turned the sketch around. Cookhouse,
storeroom, stable with corral, bunkhouse I vis-
ualized the bunkhouse and its dimensions.
"How many hands on the ranch?"
"About twenty."
S 'And how many soldiers or guards?"
"About eighty, as near as I can figure." Then her
face lit up. "Oh, I should have told you .
when
the soldiers are off-duty, they don't stay right here.
There are camps all over the ranch—about twelve
to fifteen men per camp."
"Now think. Is there anything else you can tell
me?" I pocketed the sketch and waited while she
screwed her face up into concentration.
"The only other thing I can think of is my
brother's old workshop in the basement."
"What about it?"
"Well, they keep that locked, too. But Jack says
it's just for privacy. He's converted it into a rest
and recreation area for the soldiers."
"But it's guarded?"
"Yes. The only entrance is from the outside.
There are some steps leading down to a door."
It was worth checking out. "Is that the only way
to get down there?"
"Yes. No, wait! There's an air-conditioning
shaft. It leads down from the roof. It might be big
enough to slide through, but barely. It used to be
the vent for the ovens when the kitchen was in the
basement. But it's aluminum. It would be awfully
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
91
"I'll take a look." Then another thought hit me.
"Could that be the processing plant down there?"
"I hardly think so ... right in the main house?"
"You're right." I paused, studying her face. Get-
ting answers to my next few questions would be
rough, but I figured they were necessary. Mentally,
I put her and Saber side by side. They worked,
appearance-wise. Two beautiful people.
But that's as far as it went. Saber was a cheap
hood, playing at aristocrat. He got his polish, what
there was, out of a manual.
Lorena was the real thing; class right down to
her perfect nose and jutting cheekbones.
She picked up on the silence and lifted her head
from her knees. Our eyes met. "Yes?"
'$1 need to know something else."
"Yes."
"You and Saber."
The little glint of amusement in her eye and the
smile playing around her lips disappeared. S' What
do you want to know?"
"Everything that wasn't in that report I read in
Washington. Do you love him ... or did you?"
"Once. A long time ago."
The shoulders shook beneath the gown. So did
the breasts, but this time they didn't bother me.
Her eyes, staring at me, had gained a fine mist. I
leaned forward and blew out the candles. Then I
lay back on the pillows with my hands under my
head, and waited.
"I met him several years ago, during a school
vacation. He was visiting Ramon."
"Ramon? Your brother?"
"Yes."
That explained the clothes.
"Where is he now?"
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"He's dead."
"011, I'm sorry. How did your brother know
Saber?"
"My brother had studied in the United States, in
Chicago. I gathered they had somehow met during
that time."
"What did your brother study?"
"I thought you wanted to hear about Jack?"
"I do, but anything might help."
"Aeronautical engineering. But he never fin-
ished. My father died and Ramon had to return
home to run the ranch. I think it broke his heart.
Airplanes and their design were going to be his
life."
Her voice had started to crack. I was sorry I'd
led the questioning so far toward the brother. I
moved my hand and slid it up her back. "l saw the
trophies down in the bar. He must have been quite
a designer."
"Believe me, he was."
To my surprise, she slid under my arm and
cradled her head next to mine on the pillow.
"Nothing much happened between us that first
time, although I must admit I was attracted to him.
Jack is extremely handsome, and rather dashing
and exciting in a crude sort of way. He was
well, he was a little like my brother, only without
Ramon's polish. And I adored my brother.
"When I finished school and came home, Jack
had practically moved in. We saw more and more
of each other. In fact; we were practically thrown
together. I guess I was blinded a little because
Ramon seemed to approve.
"Then I found out who Jack was, what he was.
I did some poking around and found out that
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
93
Ramon was involved in the dope smuggling along
with Jack. I confronted Ramon with it, demanded
that he stop.
"He told me that it was impossible. The ranch,
when my father died, was on its last legs, broke and
in debt. He had borrowed money from a group of
men in Chicago to save it. Saber was their repre-
sentative, and dope was the way my brother was
paying them back.
"I didn't care. I told my brother that I would go
to the police if he didn't stop. He agreed and went
to Jack. They had a horrible argument. Two days
later, Ramon was flying to El Paso .
and the
light plane he was flying crashed and burned."
Now her whole body was against me, shaking. I
cradled her shoulder and held her, close. "So you
went to the police?"
"Not right away. I was sure Jack caused my
brother's death. Foolishly, I decided to find proof
on my own I
"Jack wanted me. He always had. I thought that
by getting that close to him, I could find out every-
thing I needed I could get the proof I needed."
"But you didn't?"
"No. That's when I went to Veraquez."
I didn't really want to ask the next question. I
guess I wanted to know for personal reasons. "Are
you and he still..
"No!" She paused, her breathing sending the
firmness of her breasts against my side. "I think he
realized that I actually loathed him. His pride
wouldn't let it go on after that. But he still needed
me, as a front. I went along with it, making him
think that all I wanted to do was get the ranch back
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NICK CARTER
on its feet and get rid of him."
She sighed deeply and her body went limp
against me. I had a hunch that the telling of the tale
had drained her of everything.
Myself, I had a lot of thinking to do. I patted her
shoulder. "I'd better get out of here before dawn:"
"Yes, I suppose so."
Her face was right beside mine. Her lips lightly
grazed my chin. I bent my head. Our lips met brief-
ly, barely touching.
I followed her back to the door. She opened it
slightly and peered through the crack. The line of
light outlined the sleek litheness of her belly be-
neath the gown.
"It's okay."
She turned right into my arms. Her body, be-
neath the gown, seemed to burn my hands as I
moved them over the rounded contours of her hips
and up to the small of her back.
But by then she'd gotten herself back together.
She kissed me lightly, but with meaning, and
stepped away.
I got the message and moved to the door.
"Yes."
"Don't get killed."
I could tell from her eyes: she meant that, too.
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EIGHT
For the next two days I reviewed the troops and
played general. Saber pretty much stayed out of my
hair, leaving me to my own devices. I had the run
of the ranch, with limits. The limits being the con-
stant companionship of my two lieutenants:
Gruber, a German, and Mendoza, a criminal type
from Madrid.
I was sure they were reporting my every thought
and move directly to Saber.
I visited each of the small camps and quickly
found out that the men were all handpicked, ex-
perts in the field, seasoned soldiers and killers.
Whatever Saber had in mind for them, it didn't
take a military genius to see that they were well-
equipped for it.
They accepted my leadership with very little
grumbling. One reason, because they admired the
audacious raid I'd pulled to get it. Another because
they were professionals. They cared little for whom
they were fighting, or what they were fighting for,
other than a paycheck.
I was able to figure out that they knew very little
about Saber's real interest: dope. As far as they
knew or cared, he wanted to start a war somewhere
and they were there to' fight it. In the meantime,
they drew their pay guarding a bunch of bulls.
95
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Surprisingly, the whole compound, including the
armament shed, was also wide open to me, but
only in the daytime. At night, I was a virtual pris-
oner in the house.
From Gruber I found out a little about the
rooms under the house.
"Rest and recreation!" He laughed and his
whole body shook. "We never go down there. We
just guard it. Two men, in two-hour shifts, twenty-
four hours a day."
Suddenly that basement became even more im-
portant.
The morning of the third day, I got together with
Gruber and Mendoza and planned a mock alert for
the night. Thirty men would stage a raid on the
compound under Mendoza's command. The re-
mainder of the men would repel the raid under
Gruber's command.
I would oversee the war games from the roof.
They were both elated, and conveyed the fact
that the men would also enjoy it; it would be a way
for them to break the boredom.
For me, it would be a way to get down to the
basement rooms.
I dismissed them to figure out the logistics and
ready the men while I used the time in the library to
further check out the area between Cuernavaca
and Taxco.
Over six beers and two hours I learned that the
ranch was sprawled over rugged hillside in the
heart of the Sierra Madre range. At its far
southwest tip was the picturesque, charming and
quaint town of Taxco.
Taxco was an Indian village called Tlacho.when
silver was discovered by Cortez. There was no big
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THE REDOIMO AFFAIR
boom, however, until a Frenchman started mass
mining around 1716.
All of this didn't impress me until I read on a
little further.
Some of the silver mines Borda opened are still
producing.
It clicked, but what about the mines Borda
opened that are not producing?
I hadn't seen Lorena since that first night. Now
I had to see her and manage, somehow, to talk to
her.
I was opening another beer and mulling that
problem over when Saber walked in.
"Well, well, Carter, you didn't impress me as
that much of a reader."
"I'm not, really. I just figured that, since I'm
going to be å general, I'd better do some boning up
on it." I was behind the bar, so I did the honors.
"Scotch. Neat. Did you find anything?"
I set his drink on the bar. "I learned that Taxco
has cobblestone streets; that Cuernavaca has gaily
tinted houses of pink, blue and yellow, and it's the
capital of Morelos. Beyond that I learned I'm not
much into Mexican history."
I itched to mention something about the silver
mines, but held my tongue. Instead, I inquired
about Sehorita Segovia's health.
"As tart as ever, I imagine. As you could tell
from that first day, we don't always get along too
well. But hopefully I won't have to worry about
that much longer."
I didn't like the sound of that, but before I could
pursue it, he spread a map out on the bar.
"Let's test your geography. You remember the
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operation I mentioned?" I nodded. "It comes off
day after tomorrow."
"How big?"
"About three and a half tons of unprocessed
straw."
I whistled. "That breaks down to.. e"
"What it breaks down to is not your problem."
He bent over the map. "You'll take Mendoza and
eight men. You're here." He jabbed a pencil at a
point approximately where the ranch would be
north of Taxco. "You'll travel by car and covered
truck, dressed as fishermen. This is the route."
With the pencil he traced a line through Morelia
to Uruapan and cut south.
"At Apatzingan, you'll leave the main road and
take this little-used route down to Aquililla. Just
before you hit the village, you'll stop and change
clothes."
"Federal uniforms. They'll be in the truck. If
anyone in Aquililla should get -curious, they'll
think it's army maneuvers. You won't have any
trouble. Few Mexican peasants ever question a fed-
eral uniform."
"What about after Aquililla?"
"About three miles into the foothills, you'll leave
the truck. It's as far as you can drive, anyway. It's
rugged, desolate country."
"I can see that." And I could. In triangle from
La Placita and Playa Azul on the ocean to Aquililla
inland, there was nothing but mountains. "We
walk over the mountains?"
"Exactly. It's about forty-five miles. You'll be
met here, just north of Caleta de Campos, by two
muleskinners with enough mules to bring the straw
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
back over the mountain."
99
He'd picked one hell of a spot. From La Placita
to Playa Azul down the coast, there was nothing,
not even a road.
"Submarine?"
He nodded. "It will be met by a fishing boat
about twenty miles out who will bring it into you.
They'll meet you right here, at a mid-point on the
coast between the Cachan and Carrizal rivers. Any
problems?"
I shook my head. "None, other than that com-
bined ninety mile walk over mountains."
He smiled, folding the map and handing it to me.
"That's nothing. You're a soldier now. Soldiers,
especially commandos, do it all the time."
I leaned across the bar. "Even generals."
"Touché." He finished his drink and stood. "By
the way, I think you should dine with Lorena and
myself this evening."
I didn't object. Hopefully, I could get her alone
for two minutes and we could talk about silver.
"Sure. Any special reason?"
"You should get to know her better. k will make
it easier."
"Make what easier?"
"She's going with you to pick up the straw."
I sat across from her at dinner and tried to con-
centrate on the conversation coming from Saber. It
was difficult. In fact, it was almost impossible to
concentrate on anything but Lorena.
She was a beautiful woman, in fact, breath-
taking. Her hair was the glossy blackness of ebony
coal, swept back severely and worn in such a way
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to expertly enhance the aristocratic features of her
face. The dress couldn't help but mold itself to the
large ripeness of her breasts. From there it slid
along the sleek contour of her body, accentuating
the fla7e of hips and tapering legs.
"Do you know how it started, Carter?" It was
Saber, interrupting my reverie.
"What? Oh, I'm sorry. My mind was wander-
ing."
"Do you know how modern bullfighting got
started?"
"No, no I don't."
He had been an encyclopedia of the subject for
the last hour. Now, as he started his treatise, I re-
alized just how much wine he had drunk during
dinner and how much brandy he'd put away since
the dessert. His voice was slurring and his eyelids
were starting to droop.
"A long time ago, only wild bulls were fought.
Nobles did it on horseback. Then, somewhere
around seventeen hundred—I forget the date exact-
ly—all that changed." He paused and looked
directly at Lorena; the look was almost a challenge.
"One afternoon, one of the nobles got flattened
on his ass by a bull's charge. It took a poor peasant
with guts to jump into the ring and save him. You
know how he did it?"
He was getting louder and more abrasive.
"No, Saber, I don't."
"He did it with his hat, that's how! He made the
bull go through several passes with his hat so they
could get the poor noble, aristocratic slob out of
the ring. Everybody was so impressed, they insisted
he do it again. They started paying to see him do it.
He invented the muleta to use instead of his hat,
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
101
fought brave bulls for thirty years. His name
vas Francisco Romero. And because he had guts,
le died a rich man."
"Jack, you're getting loud, and obnoxious."
"Shut up, senorita." He glowered at her and
hen turned to fix his stare •on me. "You ever fight
bull, Carter?"
no, I can't say as I have." In fact I had
)llt somehow I wasn't in the mood for trading
'tachismo anecdates.
He finished the goblet of brandy and poured an-
)ther four inches into it. "lt takes guts to fight a
guts and skill."
I had a feeling all this
"Yes, I'm sure it does."
vas leading up to something, something I didn't
hink I was going to like.
My head snapped back toward Lorena as her
roice broke into a high-pitched, derisive laugh.
'Jack fancies himself a Matador de Toros every
ime he drinks too much ... which is often."
"C'mon, Carter, let's go out to the ring. We'll
ave a real mano a mano, eh? BRUNO!"
Before I could say anything in disagreement,
Iruno was standing at Saber's elbow.
"Bruno, take my capote out to the ring and have
hem put that Miura calf in the chute .
the big
'lack one."
Sweat suddenly started popping out in beads on
runo's face. "But.. ."
"But what?"
"You know what he said the last time.. ."
"I don't give a damn what he said!"
I turned to Lorena and mouthed, Who's he?
She shrugged and looked up to Bruno. "Oh, let
im, Bruno. Maybe he'll get gored badly and this
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foolishness will be over once and for all."
Bruno was much more nervous than I would
have thought anything could make him. He was
rubbing his palms up and down the sides of his
trousers and shifting his weight from foot to foot
It struck me that the he they referred to must
Redolmo.
Bruno was stammering, "Look, I don't think I
should. I mean, hell.. ."
"DO IT!" There was about a ten second staring
battle before Bruno finally nodded and walked
away. "And, remember, I don't want one of the
hornless little bastards. I want the Miura!" he
called after the big man, and then turned back to
me. "They're big, real killers, bred for it."
I almost objected again, until it dawned on me
that while Saber was playing brave matador I
might get a chance to speak to Lorena.
"Are you going?" I asked her hopefully.
She stood. "Ohi yes, of course."
"She wouldn't miss it for the world," Saber said
from the doorway. "She has the anticipation of a
real aficionada. There's always that one chance
that the beast might win."
He was big, and black, and ugly in a regal sort of
way. When he came charging into the ring, I
guessed him at about eight-hundred pounds. Not
full grown, but more than big enough to do a lot of
damage.
Lorena and I stood outside the second fence,
watching the sleek animal search the ring for some
thing to kill. "Isn't this a little crazy? I mean, with
just moonlight to see by and a bellyful of booze?"
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"It's totally insane, and for more reasons than
, that."
"Yes. He's been caped, worked before. He's one
of four we brought over from Seville for stud. But
just because he isn't meant for the arena doesn't
mean he isn't a killer."
"I don't like it. Can Saber handle him?"
"He could, maybe, if the bull hadn't been
worked before. You must understand, bulls aren't
,very smart but they have phenominal memories.
When a matador works a bull too much or too
long, the animal gets used to the cape. He gets tired
of charging time after time and coming up with
nothing."
I saw the drift. "So the bull starts going for the
man rather than the cape."
"Exactly. Now we'll see."
I followed her gaze. Saber had stepped from be-
hind the barricade and walked toward the center of
the ring. His capote, the big work cape, was held,
stiff-armed, in front of his body and slightly to the
side. His gutteral voice came clear and crisp to us
through the night air: "Toro! ...
hey, Toro!
The big brute reacted immediately. He whirled
like a ballet master and stood his ground, pawing
and snorting. Saber rustled the cape again, egging
him on, urging the ground.
And then it came, the hoofs thundering in the
soft soil. They came together, and in the dull
moonlight I could swear I saw a horn pass under
the moving cape and enter Saber's twisting body.
But then the bull was by him and twisting for an-
other charge.
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Saber executed three more clean passes, with
more guts than actual style or grace. But just the
fact that he was standing in front of a half ton of
killer beef impressed me.
Then a sick feeling knotted up my belly; Saber
was going too far. He had discarded the big work
cape and replaced it with the muleta, hardly more
than a rag draped over a wooden sword to give it
body.
"He's a damn fool."
SSHe's a conceited ass," Lorena replied, but I
could see her hands knot together in her lap.
Saber made two rather sloppy passes. On the
second, I could see the horn, just beyond the tip,
graze along his groin. It obviously jolted him. I
thought that would be enough .
. but it wasn't. He
taunted the bull a few more times. The animal just
stood, snorting in frustration.
Saber turned and faced us from the ring. "Well,
Carter, care to try your hand?" He raised the
muleta toward us.
The movement did it. The bull erupted behind
him as if it were his first charge.
"Look out!" I shouted.
Between my warning and the thunder behind
him, Saber had enough time. He whirled and took
a stance just as the bull met him. Booze or no
booze, he had great reactions. He went up on his
toes, leaned forward and slid his body between the
horns.
He was lucky. Had the bull hooked to right or
left, Saber would have caught twelve inches of horn
right in the gut. As it was, he ended up sprawled
between the horns, with his arms gripping the
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THE REDOLMO AFFAIR
105
bull's neck. The beast butted twice and then reared
his head up with the velocity and power of a
locomotive.
Saber flew three times his own height into the air
and came down with a thud an equal distance away
from the angry animal. The bull was whirling, lin-
ing the prone man up in his sights, readying anoth-
er charge.
I didn't like the odds, but if I waited more than
a second, Saber was dead and I would have to start
this whole operation over again. That I didn't
want.
I climbed the first fence and vaulted the second,
screaming my lungs out. El Toro only had eyes for
Saber. I was directly behind him. The muleta and
the wooden sword were on the ground. I scooped
them up as I ran.
Still yelling, I whacked him across the rump with
the sword as hard as I could. It worked. His atten-
tion was diverted from Saber, only now he was fac-
ing me, ten feet away and lowering his head for the
charge.
Without a great deal of flair, I held the muleta as
far from my body as I could and waved it like hell.
He went directly for it, and beyond.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see that
Bruno had already reached Saber. He had him by
the legs and was pulling him toward the fence.
Old Toro charged again. I tried the same stunt
with my trusty rag but waved it a little too close.
One horn caught it and away it went.
I whirled. Bruno was just rolling Saber under the
second fence to safety. More snorts behind me. I
bolted for the fence. I barely touched the first one
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