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and ten minutes later they were once more driving toward
Algeciras.
Three miles went by, and again there were the lights of
a car behind them. They were like those before: close-set
and high.
"You've got to give them credit. They know their job,"
Carter said tightly.
"What now?" Dolores asked.
"We try again," Carter said.
The Mercedes abruptly picked up speed as a curve ap-
proached, but this turn was too short, and there was no time
to leave the road.
"They seem to be gaining on us." Dolores said coolly.
g The better for us to see them," Carter muttered as he
pulled the hand brake and swerved to the right.
As he'd expected. the car behind. caught short by the
maneuver. the use of the emergency brake keeping the Mer-
cedes's brake lights from flashing. involuntarily shot past
them.
The Citroen slowed. moving into the wrong lane, waiting
for the Mercedes to catch up.
"We haven't got the horses." Carter hissed. "They can
play games all night. Weere gonna have to take 'em."
"My God, Nick, you can't be serious!" Dolores cried.
"Oh, but I am."
He whipped to the left, through a short fence and down
an embankment into a field, The car bounced and groaned
as it hurtled over the uneven ground. Twenty yards short
of a grove of trees. he braked and killed the engine and lights.
"Out, fast! Head for those trees!"
They made the trees and Carter passed the Luger over.
"Can you use this?"
"Of course."
"Good. If they fire. keep 'em busy and distracted'. But
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don't fire from the same place twice. As soon as you draw
their fire, don't wait, move fast!"
The Citroen came crashing down over the embankment
and up to the Mercedes. Doors opened and bodies spilled
out the instant the lights and engine were killed.
Carter moved out. The field was plowed, He dropped be-
tween the furrows and belly-crawled like a crab. The moon-
light was an enemy, but there wasn't much of him showing.
Dolores helped by pumping a slug from the Luger into
the grill of the Citroen. Immediately, she drew answering
fire and Carter made better time.
His hand hit something: a two-by-four piece of wood
about three feet long. It must have been a marker stake or
something, because it was shaved sharp at one end. It wasn't
Wilhelmina. but it was better than nothing,
Twenty feet later, he froze. Footsteps were coming his
way. Then he saw the outline of a man. bulky. crouched
low. Evidently this one had the same plan of encirclement
that Carter was following.
The Killmaster's grip tightened on the two-by-four. A
quick strike at the man's gut should put him out of action.
knock the wind out of him.
He was close now, sharply etched against the dark as the
moon broke through a cloud. With the moon behind Carter,
there was no way the gunman could see him. He braced
himself.
The man was almost on him, coming in a direct line. Car-
ter went into a crouch and shoved the two-by-four straight
at the midsection.
He had misjudged the sharpness of the end of the two-by-
four, and the softness of the bulky man's belly. The wood
stopped for a moment and then. as the outer flesh parted,
continued in, one inch, two inches, until almost a foot of
it was embedded. Carter loosened his grasp, and the man,
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eyes wide. fell backward in a sitting position. his mouth in
a small circle, like that of a gaping fish. Little bubbles of
blood began to form there, and he continued to sit, astonish-
ment written on his face. oblivious of his assailant, who
was now pulling a Beretta out of his hand.
Two shots sounded. evidently from Dolores, and they
were answered. Carter took a final look at his victim, whose
eyes were beginning to glaze, a thin trickle of blood oozing
over his thick lower lip. No need to finish him off; he
seemed too deep in shock to warn anyone by screaming out.
Carter hit the ground again and moved in the direction
of the gunfire.
He reached about where he thought the gun would be,
and stopped. Everything was still.
Another shot, baby. he thought. Shoot again, so he fires
back at you.
A few more seconds. and Dolores obliged. A few feet
away. a man rose and answered the lone bullet with a fusil-
lade.
Carter waited for silence, then shouted, "Throw down
the gun!"
"Bastard!" the man hissed, and wheeled on Carter.
The Killmaster pumped two slugs into the center of the
man's chest, and dropped with him. He moved forward,
only to find the shooter still willing. The mortally wounded
man was desperately trying to bring his piece up with both
hands for another shot.
Carter pumped a third slug into the center of his forehead,
and rolled to the side behind the Citroen.
Another shot came from the grove of trees. Carter recog-
nized the bark of the Luger. This one wasn't returned.
Suddenly, far to his right, came a voice. "Milo? Juan?"
Carter smiled. How long would it be before Number
Three realized that Seöors Milo and Juan had taken the •long
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sleep and he was now all by his lonesome?
The Killmaster took a sighting from the last sound of the
voice, and started to flank that way. Suddenly there was a
blur in front of him and a flash of orange.
He felt the slug whistle by his ear, and dived. He heard
running feet. Seconds later the engine of the Citroen roared
to life.
'*Shit," Carter wheezed, and rolled up over the furrow.
He raised his head, straightened out his arm, and took
careful aim. The silhouette of the big car was murky in the
moonlight, and he hoped he was seeing right. He squeezed
the trigger once, twice.
A giant explosion filled the air. His aim had been true,
and one of the bullets had hit the vehicle's gas tank, rupturing
it and igniting the volatile fuel.
Carter rushed forward, standing out in the moonlight,
chancing that he'd succeeded.
A few steps nearer, and in the light of the vehicle's flames,
he saw he had. Number Three was ten feet away from the
car, his clothes in shreds, face and body blackened. half
his side blown away. He was still alive. and when he saw
Carter. his hand and arm twitched convulsively, as if search-
ing for the automatic that had been blasted out of his hand.
Carter bent down to do what he could, taking a huge clump
of sod and stuffing it into the gaping wound. Anything to
stop the bleeding.
But it was too late. The face was already skull-like as
death rushed into him, gnawing and ravaging. No time for
the idiocy of making his last moments comfortable.
"Why?" the Killmaster growled. "Who hired you?"
The man stared up at him, even tried to reach out. But
the scund was only a gurgle. He tried again to speak, but
it was too much. His body sagged, then collapsed, his head
flopping to one side, the eyes staring vacantly.
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Carter stood, sighed, and turned at a sound behind him.
It was Dolores, still holding the Luger in both hands at the
ready position to fire.
"Is he
"Yeah,'S Carter muttered, "they all are. Let's get back to
Algeciras. I've got a hunch we're not going to find a hell
of a lot."
Carter was right. They wouldn't find a trace of Alexander
Czarkis.
They spotted the smoke on the outskirts of the city, and
the flames about eight blocks away. Carter pulled into a
parking space about two blocks away, killed the lights, and,
with a sigh, lit a cigarette.
Flames were leaping a hundred feet into the air from 14
Calle de Sesto. They counted four fire engines. a half-dozen
police cars. and even a Jeep full of Guardia Civil officers.
"You don't suppose," Dolores asked, her tone dripping
with sarcasm, "that we would be lucky enough to find his
bones in there?"
"No. I donst suppose we would."
"What now?"
"We go back to your place, regroup. You call the contacts
around here and see what you can get on this Czarkis . . .
background, photo, anything. I'll do the same in
Washington. Since the Black Bear has survived this long,
I doubt we'll find a damn thing, but we've got to try."
He turned the car around and they drove in silence all
the way back to her house.
The red light was blinking on Dolores's answering
machine. She reran the tape and let it play:
"Dolores, I'm at the number in Nice. Call me at once."
They both recognized the countess's voice.
"Call her back," Carter said. "I'll use the seconds line
from the bedroom phone."
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He grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the
sideboard. and headed for the bedroom. He had barely dialed
half the digits for a Washington call. when he sensed Dolores
in the doorway. Her hands were gripping the front of her
thighs and her face was chalky. Her dark eyes were like
saucers.
"Nick, you'd better take it .
. line two,"
He grabbed the instrument and punched the second button.
'*Yeah, Bea. Nick here."
"We've got trouble, Nick. Big trouble."
Carter chain-smoked, sipped scotch, and listened. Only
twice did he interrupt the woman and have her repeat. By
the time she finished, ripples were crawling up the Killmas-
ter's back.
"Our only chance," the countess continued, "is that it
was a common thief and aside from the jewels he doesn't
know what he's got."
"I'm afraid we don't have that chance." came Carter's
whispered reply.
There were fifteen full seconds of silence from the other
end of the line before she spoke again. "What do you mean
by that?"
Tersely, he relayed the night's events and the content. as
well as he could remember it, of the telephone conversation
between Tony Lucchi in Madrid and the man he now knew
as Czarkis.
"Oh, Christ, Nicks we've got to intercept this Zapato!"
"Try to get a line from your end," Carter said. "I'll work
from here with Crifasi. In the meantime, keep alerting your
people that they might be on the verge of being blown. And
one thing more . . ."
"Yes?"
"Natalia Mydova. Have her stay in constant touch with
her KGB superiors, and make sure she gets on that flight
to Madrid. If we miss, she may be our last chance."
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He hung up and moved back to the living room with
Dolores on his heels.
"l sm calling Joe back. Rig that thing up so it will record. "
As soon as the machine was ready. Carter put through
the call, This time Joe Crifasi himself answered.
"Have you been able to break anything out of that tape
'*Nada, Nick, but there are only three of us here and we
don't know the area."
"Okay, play it this way again. I'm going to record at this
end."
"Got you. Here it comes."
Carter paced and listened as the recording was made. As
soon as it ended, he grabbed the phone. "Joe. me again."
"Yeah."
"Domingo Bolivar was a beard. The real one is named
Alexander Czarkis. He's been in Algeciras as an accountant
for about ten years. If he isn't the Bear himself, he knows
who is. Get everything you can on him."
"Will do."
"Cll get back to you if we come up with anything at this
end."
For the next hour, the two of them played and replayed
the tape over and over again.
Carter made mental notes and scrawled on a yellow legal
pad. There was little doubt in his mind that they had stumbled
on a two-for-one. And knowing the ways of thieves and
fences. he could extrapolate the series of events to a thief
and a Soviet agent.
The countess had said that Joanna Dubshek's cover was
deep and foolproof. Yet she had been hit, and hit by Tony
Lucchi. From the feel of it, Lucchi worked directly for
Czarkis.
It was ten to one that the thief was Felipe Zapatö, and
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he had offered a sample to Czarkis of the countess's journal
to make a deal.
That "sample" had been Joanna Dubshek.
"Anything?" Dolores asked, bringing a fresh pot of coffee
from the kitchen.
Carter shook his head. "Nada. •The rock' is probably
Gibraltar, but it doesn't figure. Getting on and off Gibraltar
is damn hard, for security reasons. It's a lousy place for
this kind of a meet and exchange."
She poured the coffee and went back to her own notes.
About ten minutes later, she yelped.
"What is it?"
"l don't know .
maybe. Nick, play the tape through
again."
Carter rewound the tape and played it through again. This
time he didn't listen. He watched Dolor•es Martinez's face
and saw bells going off in her head.
"19 ve got it!" she cried. "It's not the Rock—Gibraltar.
It's the Roc—R-O-C—the Hotel Roc in Andorra! Czarkis
told him to rent a car in Barcelona and drive up to the Roc
and check in. That's it, Nick, 19m sure of it!"
Carter kissed her and dived for the telephone.
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SIXTEEN
Golden lights above the door spelled out the word DISCO.
The inside of the club had the same glitzy, golden glitter.
the .same disco play of lights.
Felipe Zapato, dressed in a dark turtleneck, dark trousers,
and a light blue blazer, entered and took a table in the
shadows far from the dance floor.
The disco was in Port d' Envalira, far enough from the cap-
ital of Andorra-la-Vella that he felt it was safe enough to
show himself for a short time.
He had spent the entire day in the hills above Port d' En-
valira in an abandoned barn. That was where the BMW was
now. Just after darkness, he had changed clothes and come
down into the village.
What he was up to was a long shot, but if he could pull
it off, there would be a certain amount of safety he wouldn't
have if going in cold.
The disco was crowded when he entered. There were
French tourists from across the frontier, locals, and a few
Spaniards up from Barcelona to escape the heat for a
weekend in the mountains.
Zapato ordered a beer and watched the dancers as well
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as everyone coming in and leaving.
It was two hours before he made up his mind.
She was around forty. strong as a horse and resembled
one. She was built like a boxcar, sturdy as a freight train,
and her hair was dyed an outrageous red.
"Seiiorita, may I have the pleasure of buying you a drink?"
"Me?" Her voice was like gravel running out the back of
a dump truck.
"Yes, you. sefiorita."
Zapato's instincts were perfect. She was a seaman's
widow and lived in the poorer part of the Barrio Chino in
Barcelona. She made a scant living in one of the hotels as
a maid, and she came to Andora every weekend to buy
cheap cigarettes and liquor, which she sold to hotel guests
from her cart to make extra money,
At first she glowered when Zapato made it clear that he
didn't want to pick her up for the night. But her spirits
brightened and her eyes grew interested when he told her
what he did want and what she would be paid for it.
"Now, let me understand you, seöor," she rasped. "You
want me to check into the Hotel Roc and pay in advance
for three days?"
"That•s right. Then I want you to leave the key in the
room and come back to your own hotel here and forget you
ever saw me."
She grinned. "That seems like a lot of trouble, seöor, just
to be with your mistress."
'*It is," Zapato said, and shrugged, "but my wife is here
in Andorra, and she calls every hotel trying to find us. What
can I say?" He took her hand and pressed into it all but a
few of his remaining francs. "Will you do it?"
"Why not? Business is business! My name is Jomi
Strella."
He waited twenty minutes after she left and therfr left
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himself. Across the street was a large gas station where
trucks passing through the tiny country filled up cheaply
for the run into Spain. In no time he found a canvas-backed
produce truck and climbed under the rear tarp.
No one would see him enter Andorra-la-Vella.
Wearily, Carter opened his eyes. The room was dark. He
rolled over, the soft tkd giving beneath him.
Strange room.
Then, vaguely, he remembered.
The telephone calls to the countess and Crifasi. The wild,
hundred-mile-an-hour ride to the Malaga airport. Meeting
Crifasi and his crew in Barcelona, and the caravan up the
mountains and into Andorra.
Carter had tried to give orders to help out, but thirty-six
hours with only a one-hour nap had gotten to him. Through
the countess, they had commandeered a villa in the hills
above Andorra-la-VeIIa, the capital of the little principality,
as headquarters for the operation.
When Carter was all but passed out, Crifasi had insisted
he hit the sack.
"Feeling better, Nick?"
He turned his head toward the countess's voice. A
cigarette glowed from a chair in the center of the room. He
sat up.
"Yeah . • . J think."
The cigarette made an upward sweep, glowed bright, and
then dimmed. "Want a drag?" she asked.
"Yeah."
He heard her move in the darkness, then her silhouete
crossed the window. He felt the bed sink beneath her weight.
The cigarette was in front of him. He took it gratefully and
put it between his lips. ne acrid smoke filtered deep into
his lungs.
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"When did you get in?"
"A little over six hours ago."
"Christ, what time is it?"
"Almost midnight."
"Damn," Carter hissed, and made to lurch from the bed.
Her hands held him.
'There's nothing either of us can do now, Nick. We just
have to wait."
Almost gratefully he eased his head back to the pillow.
"Are we all set up?"
"It's a good operation." she replied. "Crifasi's people
have the rooms next to Lucchüs. When he went out to dinner
they got a bug on the phone and in the room. Also. they
wired the rental car he picked up in Barcelona. He checked
into the room in the name of B. Armandi."
"Nothing yet. but Joe figured he won't come in until
tomorrow morning anyway . . . maybe even later. Dolores
is in Barcelona trying to get a line on his background."
"What about the thief. Zapato?"
"His name is Felipe Zapato. Hess wanted all over Spain,
has been for a long time. Your theory is probably right. He
must have done a trial run on me at the Seville house, got
a look at the network journals, and put two and two to-
gether."
Carter nodded. 'Then he got a line on Czarkis and made
a deal. "
She nodded, "Crifasi has also traced the women in that
blackmail film."
"And . .
"Sisters ... Maria and Carla Varga. Maria is dead. And,
Nick, she bought it just like Joanna."
"Lucchi. "
"Looks that way."
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Carter lips drew into a thin line. "When the time comes,
he's mine."
The countess put another cigarette between his lips. '*Hun-
"Yeah, but I don't think I could eat," he sighed.
Her hand came over and the fingers curled through the
hair on his chest.
'€1 didn't mean food."
He felt her body move and then slip in beside him. For
the first time since he had awakened, he realized that she
was naked,
"We're dead in the water until tomorrow," she whispered,
a little laugh in her voice.
"What do you suggest in the meantime?"
"Need you ask?"
She pulled him down. Her lips parted, and as she kissed
him, he began to feel more relaxed. He began stroking her
thighs with the tips of his fingers. He could hardly restrain
himself, but he waited. Finally, she moved her hips upward,
offering herself to him, and as he moved into her, they
found each other's rhythm.
Zapato tapped his fingers against the glass of the booth
and waited as the phone rang.
"Hotel Roc."
"Yes, I would like to speak to Senora Jomi Strella, please.
I believe she is in four-nineteen."
"No, seöor, it is room two-twelve. I will ring her."
"Gracias.
The operator let it ring eight times and came back on the
line. "There is no answer, seöor."
"Gracias. I will try in the morning."
Zapato hung up, left the booth, and darted into the narrow
alley that ran for several blocks between the rolling hills
at led up into the mountains and the hotels that lined the
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main street of Andorra-la-Vella.
Directly behind the Hotel Roc, he easily jumped the low
fence to the swimming pool and crossed the courtyard. The
rear entrance for the unloading of supplies was of course
locked, but his picks made short work of that.
Inside, he moved through the kitchen area and down a
narrow , dim corridor to the service stairs used by the maids.
Five minutes later he was inside room 212 and discarding
his clothing. He took a long, hot shower, and then slipped
between the clean sheets.
This, he thought, looking around at the opulent surround-
ings, would be the last place anyone would look for him,
before or after the switch.
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SEVENTEEN
All it took was one rap on the door and the words from
Joe Crifasi: "Nick, Tony boy is on the move!" Carter was
out of bed, dressed, and downstairs crawling into the car
in minutes.
"Where is he headed?"
"Bicisarri," the stocky Italian replied,
Carter nodded. know it. There's an old farm road there
into Spain, with no frontier post."
"You got it. If he tries to run and hide, Nick, we could
be in big trouble. I've only got three people besides myself.
And we can't use Bea; she'd be spotted in a minute."
They drove for another twenty minutes in silence. and
then, moving around a wide curve, they spotted a cyclist
in a cutout ahead.
Crifasi pulled over and leaned from the car. "How are
we doing?"
"Mario's got him in the Fiat. He crossed into Spain and
went on through Pobla de Segur. He's about halfway to
Tremp now."
"ls he still in the Cortina?" Crifasi asked.
"Yes," the cyclist said, nodding. "If you take the N230
over the mountaun
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over the mountain you'll hit him at the Pamplona turn off
. if he goes that far."
"Right. 'i The car lurched and both men cursed under their
breaths that they didn't have radios.
Just outside Tremp, Tony Lucchi saw the Servicio sign
and pulled in beside the pumps. "Fill it up," he ordered.
and entered the building.
He went immediately to the wall phone and dialed the
number he had found in the emelope that had been left for
him at the desk.
"It's me."
"Good work, Tony. Now, listen carefully. At eight sharp.
tonight, I will enter the Roc lounge. Zapato might already
be there, or he might come in later. I want you to be at the
bar."
"Yes."
"He will pass me the goods at the table. I will go to the
toilet to inspect, Watch me when I come out. If it is a yes,
I will nod. Use the last booth beside the wall. Do you
undertand?"
"Yes, no problem."
"And, Tony, do it very quietly."
"Of course."
"Needless to say, disappear immediately, I suggest you
take a little vacation. In fact. San Sebastian would be nice
this time of the year. You have our contact there?"
"I do."
"He will take care of all our needs. Good-bye, Tony,"
"Ciao."
Tony Lucchi hung up and went back into the sun. He
paid for the gasoline and headed back to Andorra.
Eighteen miles away, near Seo de Urgal on the southern
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road out of Andorra. Alexander Czarkis hung up the field
phone and nodded at one of the two men across from him.
The man, dressed in white coveralls with a patch on his
left breast reading Teléfono Catalån, dropped from the rear
of the van. He quickly climbed a nearby pole and discon-
nected two wires, which he carried in a coil back to the
white and yellow van that also had the Teléfono Catalån
logo on its side.
"What now, comrade?" asked the second man in
coveralls.
"TO Andorra-la-Vella," Czarkis replied. "We will spend
the rest of the aftemoon laboring studiously behind the Hotel
Roc."
At the junction of the N230 and the Pamplona highway.
Joe Crifasi turned the car south toward Tremp. Both of them
watched anxiously for the Cortina.
Just north of the village, they passed a small service
station. ne second of Crifasi's men, also on a motorcycle,
was waiting beside the road.
"He filled up at that station back there and made a phone
call. Then he headed back to Andorra. They have probably
picked him up by now, but beyond here, Andorra is the
only place he could go."
"Okay," Crifasi said, "get back to the hotel. Maybe we'll
pick up something on the bug in Lucchi's room yet."
The man kicked his machine to life and took off. Crifasi
pulled back onto the road and headed in the same direction.
"Czarkis is playing it very cagey."
Carter nodded. "We're going to have to nail him right
when the trade is made."
"What if he uses a cutout? We'll never know who it is
if it isn't Lucchi or if we don't actually see something trade
hands."
"Yeah," Carter growled. "Let's just hope little Tony isn't
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a decoy and he is in on the trade."
There was one bright light when they got back to the
countess's villa. Dolores Martinez had arrived from Bar-
celona.
She had a complete rundown on Felipe Zapato, including
his past record, his detailed description, and a list of
everyone in the underworld with whom he had ever done
business.
"And that's not all," she said proudly, laying a grainy
eight-by-ten photograph on the table in front of Carter. He
took one look at it and remembered the outdoor café on the
Calle de Sesto in Algeciras.
He had been spotted even with the blind man disguise.
"Czarkis?"
Dolores nodded.
Joe Crifasi entered the room. "You're not gonna believe
this."
"Talk to me," Carter said.
"Lucchi is the most cooperative guy I've ever seen. He
just made two phone calls. One to the desk for a wake-up
call at seven tonight. The other to some guy in San Sebastian.
He told the guy that he was coming in by car and to expect
him between three and three-thirty in the morning."
Quickly, Carter grabbed a road map of Spain and did
some quick calculations. When he was finished, he looked
up and smiled.
"Six and a half hours driving time. Whatever it is, it's
coming down between seven and nine tonight."
"The question is, where?" Dolores said.
"The hotel." Crifasi replied. "Probably the lounge."
"You're right," Carter said. 'The building is like a sieve
. . seven, eight entrances and exits, and the lounge will
be jammed with people."
Crifasi reached for the phone. "I'm sure they'll cooper-
ate."
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"Good," Caner said. "And round us up some hearing-aid
walkies and mikes so we can communicate."
The lounge wasn't too large. but it was nearly full by
eight o'clcrk. About the only tables empty were those re-
served along the far wall near the exit.
The sliding to the kitchen look-through behind the
bar were closed except for a one-inch slot. Through that
slot, Carter could see practically the entire room.
The hotel staff had been very cooperative. There were
six exits. They had agreed to block off two of them. The
countess, in a car, was watching both the front exit and the
one that went right off the lounge into the street. Dolores,
at a flower stall, was watching the side. and one of Crifasüs
men was on the lone rear exit still unlocked.
In the lounge itself. the second bartender was Crifasi's,
and Joe himself was sitting at the bar.
"Nick .
"Go ahead. Bea."
"It's him—your Czarkis character .
about six feet,
three hundred pounds, bullet head, no neck .
"Just going into the hotel."
' SGot it. Joe, you read?"
At the bar, Crifasi leaned forward, nodded, and coughed
into his tiepin mike.
Through the crack, Carter saw Alexander Czarkis enter
the lounge. He exchanged a few words with the hostess,
and she escorted him to the table beside the toilets.
"Ramon, where are you?"
"Where else?" came the whisper from behind the bar.
"Where is Lucchi? I can't see him."
"Same stool. I just brought him another drink."
"Check."
Carter nervously smoked a cigarette, then made the rounds
via radio.
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via radio. "Anybody eyeball anybody that looks like Zapato
yet?"
All the replies were negative.
Czarkis heaved himself 10 his feet and lumbered around
the corner to the rest rooms.
"Joe .
"l got him. I'll keep an eye on the lobby exit from the
john. Let me know when he comes out."
"Roger."
Crifasi slid off his stool and made for the lobby. Ten
seconds later he was up on his mike. "Nick, Nick .
"Yeah, Joe, is Czarkis splitting?"
"No, it's him—the thief."
*'Yeah. The son of a bitch is buying a pack of cigarettes
at the kiosk."
"Bea? Dolores?"
"No way, Nick, he didn't come in the front."
"Ditto the sides Nick," Dolores said.
"Not through the rear either, senor. There is a couple
making out in a car, and a telephone truck back here. No
one has used this door."
"Nick," Crifasi said, "Zapato is coming in."
"And Czarkis is back at his table. Stay in the lobby, Joe.
We'll cover in here."
"Check."
Maybe, Carter thought, as Z,apato came into the lounge,
the bastard came over the roof. After all, he figured that
would be his usual way of entry.
Felipe Zapato spotted his man at once; he was hard to
miss. He brushed his coat with his arm. The false journals
were in his inside jacket pocket. The real ones were under
his belt at the small of his back.
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"Seior, it is good to see you again. I have taken the
liberty of ordering wine. Join me.'"
Zapato nodded and sat down, carefully arranging the long
white tablecloth over his lap. Czarkis poured and leaned
across the table to speak almost in a whisper.
"I assume. Senor Felipe, that your little run was success-
"It was. Where is my money?"
"Where you can get it easily. I will need to examine the
merchandise, of course."
"Here?" Czarkis nodded toward the rest rooms. "Sure,"
Zapato chuckled, "and you go right on out the alley door."
"Foolish, you are foolish," Czarkis said disdainfully. "I
will be gone but one minute. With my great bulk, how far
ahead of you can get in one minute, eh?"
Zapato thought for a moment. and then nodded his head
in agreement. At the same time. Czarkis felt something drop
into his lap. He slipped it inside his coat and turned toward
the rest rooms.
"Joe," Carter whispered. "are you still covering the lobby
john door?"
"I got it."
"Czarkis is in again. No, wait, he's coming back out
again."
"Serior Carter, Ramön here. Lucchi is leaving."
"I've got him," Carter said, peering through the crack.
"Joe .
"l got him, Nick. Ohs Christ, what is this, musical piss
time? He just went into the john through the lobby door!"
"Excellent, Felipe. Your money is in dollars and pounds,
large denominations, two bags."
"Where?"
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"The tank of the last booth next to the wall."
Felipe Zapato stood and moved toward the door.
Lucchi stepped through the lobby door and locked it be-
hind him from the inside. He darted to the last stall, moved
inside, and climbed up on the toilet and crouched.
From the small of his back he drew his knife and flipped
the ugly, curved, eight-inch blade open.
Then he closed the door, took a deep, satisfying breath,
and waited.
"Joe. we've got Zapato in the john from this side."
"Lucchi hasn't come out," Crifasi replied. "Should I move
"No, but stay alert. It looks like Lucchi could be the
cutout. They're probably making the trade now."
When Zapato pushed the stall door open he had only a
fleeting glimpse of the man lunging toward him. Then he
felt a powerful punch in his belly and staggered backward.
He hit the row of wash basins and that was when he felt
the burning sensation. He looked down and gagged when
he saw the hilt of the knife protruding from his belly. Then
he saw the hands, grasping the knife and pulling it out of
his belly.
When the knife flashed toward him again, Zapato man-
aged to roll to the side. He struck the attendant's chair and
grabbed it with both hands.
He stooped and reached for the back of the overturned
chair, and hearing the footsteps behind, he swung his body
around, bringing the chair up as he did.
It crashed against Lucchi's shoulder, causing him to stum-
ble to one side. and before he could recover fully, the chair
was on its retum journey, this time aimed at his heacC
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Lucchi ducked instinctively and Zapato was momentarily
thrown off-balance, He recovered quickly enough to swing
the chair up again, this time as a shield against Lucchi's
oncoming rush. It struck Lucchi's body and Zapato pushed,
the knife waving in the air in a vain attempt to reach him.
Zapato exerted all his force and kept pushing, moving the
other man backward.
Lucchi resisted, hopelessly caught up between the legs
of the chair, unable to thrust it aside. He took the only
course available: he dropped to the floor, pulling the chair
with him but lifting it so it sailed over his head. It still left
him at a disadvantage, because he was flat on his back, and
he struck out at Zapatoss legs with the knife as he lay there.
Zapato drew in his breath as the knife's razor-sharp edge
slid along his shinbone. only its angle preventing it from
cutting deeply. He tried to leap clear of the thrashing blade
as he staggered over Lucchi's sprawled figure and fell heav-
ily against the chair, which had crashed onto the floor just
beyond the fallen man's head.
'Ihe dapper little killer was starting to come off the floor.
Zapato had one chance and he took it. He grasped the chair,
shattered it on the counter, and came up with one broken
leg in his hand.
Lucchi was lurching up when Zapato drove the spiked
chair leg deep into his chest.
Lucchi gasped once and fell to the floor, dead, the knife
clattering away.
"Joe, Czarkis just took the alley door from the lounge.
Take the two in the john and try to keep it quiet. Bea?"
"I've got him, Nick. He's sauntering down the alley like
he hasn't got a care in the world."
"Ramon, take the john from this side. I'll help Mario
take Czarkis in the rear."
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Carter saw Ram6n take off toward the rest room, and he
headed toward the rear door of the kitchen.
He wasn't on the earphones to hear Joe Cr'ifasi curse
when he found the lobby door locked.
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Zapato, using Lucchi's knife, cut three feet from the
cloth towel pull and stuffed it under his coat to stop the
bleeding.
The bastard. he thought, the rotten Russian bastard!
He staggered to the lobby door and found it locked.
Through blurred vision he managed to find the twist, then
he opened the door and moved into the lobby. He made the
stairs and staggered upward. In the mezzanine he saw the
open elevator and dived inside.
On the second floor he bounced from wall to wall as he
lurched toward room 212.
If he could get in the room, stop the bleeding . .. maybe,
just maybe, he would make it.
But, just in case . . .
Through the film that had begun to grow over his eyes,
he saw the two mail slots, one for packages, one for letters.
He took the flat, already addressed package from the
small of his back and shoved it into the slot. It was barely
through when he fell against the wall and slid to the floor.
He crawled, somehow reaching the door to 212. Inside,
he bolted and locked the door. Then he tried to get to the
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window, but the blackness set in and he felt himself fall-
. into darkness.
ing .
Carter and Mario rounded the corner side by side, and
practically crashed into the countess coming up the alley in
the Fiat.
"Did you get him?" she asked.
The two men exchanged quizzical glances.
"You mean he didn't double back to the street?" Carter
asked.
"He couldn't," she replied. "I came into the mouth Of the
alley right away."
"That way!" Carter barked. "I'll take the other side!"
He ran around the rear alley and emerged on the narrow
street on the other side. Dolores was still at her flower stand.
"Did he come this way?"
"Hell, no.' • she cried. SSYou mean we missed him?"
"Christ," Carter spat, and retraced his steps, only to again
meet Mario and the countess.
"Nothing," she said.
"Shits" Carter hissed, pulling the earphones up to his ears
from around his neck. "Joe
"Yeah. here."
"What have you got?"
"A very dead Tony Lucchi."
"Anything on him?" Carter asked.
"Nothing, and there's no Zapato. But, Nick, there's blood
all over the place in here. I think Lucchi got in his licks."
"Everybody," Carter barked, "keep the exits covered.
Joe, check the roof. Zapato has got to be somewhere in the
hotel or going over the roof."
He got affirmatives as he ran toward the front of the hotel.
The traffic was heavy, cars going both ways, trucks mak-
ing the cut-through from France to Spain, small delivery
vans, lots of pedestrians strolling.
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But none of them looked remotely like Alexander Czarkis.
If he got free of the hotel, it would be like finding a needle
in a haystack.
Think, think!
Andorra is a mountain-locked country. no planes, no
trains. The only way out is by road or overland, walking.
There was no way the overweight Czarkis could walk forty
miles over mountains. Carter figured.
Two main roads, through Pas de la Casa on the French
side, Seo de Urgel on the Spanish. Both of these had customs
checkpoints.
Bicisarri.
It had to be.
"Ramon, Mario . .
"Here, seöor."
"Get on the cycles, fast! Get over to the Bicisarri road
to Pobla de Segur. That's got to be the way he'll go out.
And stay on your radios!"
"Right away."
"Nick, Joe here."
"Yeah, Joe?"
"I found Zapato. Get up to the second floor—fast."
Carter bolted through the lobby. There was confusion
everywhere. Hotel staff had sealed off the lounge and the
rest rooms. Undoubtedly , they had already called the police ,
Ignoring the elevator, Caner ran up the stairs to the second
floor. It was pretty easy to see how Crifasi had found Zapato.
There was a trail of blood down the hall carpet from the
elevator to the door of room 212.
From the looks of it. Zapato had staggered against the
steel covering of the mailboxes, Blood was smeared all over
them down to the floor.
Crifasi was already taking the room apart when Carter
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stepped inside and closed the behind him.
"Anything?"
"Not yet," Crifasi said. s me body's clean."
For the next twenty minutes, the two men searched the
room, but they found nothing.
Ram6n here."
'SSeöor .
"Go ahead, Ramon."
"We are at the Bicisarri crossing. So far three cars and
a tractor. Nothing. The cars were all Minis. That whale
could never fit in the trunk of one of those."
"Stay with it." Carter barked. and he and Crifasi resumed
their search.
Twenty minutes later. they gave up and slumped into
chairs.
"It's no use," Crifasi said. "He must have passed them
over to Czarkis."
Carter nodded. "Let's get out of here before we have
more explaining to do than we can handle."
The two men picked up Dolores and walked the short dis-
tance to where Beatriz sat in the Fiat. While Crifasi clued
them in, Carter got back on the walkies.
' 'Ramon, how are we doing?"
"Two more cars, negative, and a produce van. We stopped
the van as though we wanted to buy some vegetables. Noth-
ing there, either."
Carter sighed. "And that's it?"
"That's it. Seior Nick. Oh, and a telephone van is parked
at the crossroads. One man is up a pole working on the lines."
"Okay," Carter said. "we're coming your way."
"Move over," Carter said, "I'll drive."
The countess slid over in the seat and Carter took the
wheel.
Two blocks down the main street, it hit him.
"Ram6n .
Ram6n!"
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"Right here."
"Is Mario there?"
"Si, I am here."
"Mario, you said earlier that there was a couple in a car
and a telephone van behind the hotel. Is it the same van
that is working out there now?"
"Sii J recognize the man on the pole."
Carter floored the Fiat.
They were set. Mario and Ram6n were in the rocks above
the truck on both sides. Crifasi was coming from the front.
Caner had inched up the road, going from rock to rock until
he was less than thirty yards from the rear of the vane
The countess and Dolores had driven past the van and
just around the curve a hundred yards in front of it. There,
they would park the Fiat sideways across the road.
'Ihey didn't have much time. Carter had already guessed
what Alexander Czarkis was doing. The line from the truck
up to the telephone lines on the pole was a cut-in. Evidently,
Czarkis wasn't taking any chances. He wasn't waiting until
Madrid to make the pass. He was phoning in the contacts
of the network to someone from here.
"Yes, we're set, Nick."
O'Okay, everybody, here we go." Carter moved up another
ten yards, leveled the Luger over a boulder, and shouted,
"Czarkis, it's Carter. You've got three seconds."
All hell broke loose.
The rear of the van flew open and a man in white coveralls
began spraying with a machine pistol. Carter returned the
fire and got two hits. The man screamed and hit the deck.
The one on the pole tried to come down. Mario nailed
him with a whole magazine and he hung, dead, on his safety
belt.
In the meantime. Crifasi opened up from the front and
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Ram6n from the side. It sounded like World War III as
bullets tore out glass and ricocheted off steel.
Over it all, Carter heard the roar of the engine and the
van started moving.
"Joe. he's coming your way!"
"l got him."
Carter ran as hard as he could. but the rear of the van
slipped through his fingers. He fell on his belly, and through
the rear window saw the fat man fight the wheel to swerve
around Crifasi's withering fire.
"Nicks I think i winged him!"
"Yeah," Carter grunted, on his feet and running, "but
he's still moving."
Together, they ran like hell. Just short of the curve, they
heard the grinding sound of metal against rock and a crash.
They rounded the curve and took it all in with one look.
Czarkis had spotted the Fiat and had tried to climb a bank
to get around it. He had gotten around the Fiat. but he had
been unable to right the truck.
Now it was on its side, and Czarkis was staggering from
the rear doors, a machine pistol in his right hand, the leather-
bound books in his left.
Carter and Crifasi went to their knees.
"You're through, Czarkis!" the Killmaster barked.
The machine pistol swung around and both agents opened
fire. The huge body absorbed slugs like toothpicks in jelly.
But they took their toll. Czarkis staggered, blood gushing
from a halu:iozen holes in his big body.
Crifasi ended it with a head shot that tore away half the
man's face.
Carter ran forward and yanked the books from the dead
man's hand.
"Everyone, in the Hat! Ramon, Mario-—use your CFIes!
Let's get out of here before the Guardia arrives!"
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The women were already in the car. Carter threw the two
books on the countess's lap and swerved the Fiat around.
A hundred yards down the road. the countess cried,
"Nick .
' They're phonys!"
"The books. This isn't my handwriting. And we don't
have to worry about Czarkis relaying names. All of these
names are phony!"
Carter slammed the steering wheel. "Zapato. It had to be
It was four in the morning and the street was empty. The
three of them sat in the Fiat, smoking in silence.
"Here she comes," Dolores Martinez said.
Beatriz covered the last few yards to the car and slipped
into the rear seat.
"Your guess was right, Nick. They've cleaned up the
wall and the front of the mailboxes, but when I shined the
light down the mail chute, I saw it .
blood. "
"Okay, wait here," Carter murmured.
"What are you going to do?" Crifasi asked.
"Zapato was a good thief. Let's see if I can come close. "
Getting into the hotel was a cinch. Cracking the tiny
mailroom behind the larger room containing the safe-deposit
boxes would be a little harder.
Carter had stayed many times at the Hotel Roc in years
past, and he remembered that in certain rooms he had been
awakened in the night by street noises.
All of the hotel doors fastened with a spring lock and a
strong inner bolt, and Carter was too cautious to attempt a
break-in from a brightly lit hotel corridor in any event. He
needed darkness in which to operate. He discovered a tiny
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light well that offered a safe, hidden passage down through
the interior of the building.
He chose a room on the third-floor rear. He knocked first.
When he got no response. he picked the lock and entered.
He breathed a sigh of relief when his memory proved
accurate. The bathroom window opened onto a light well.
It was a narrow. rectangular shaft falling from a skylight
on the roof to the basement level. Two small windows,
paned with frosted glass for the sake of guests' privacy,
faced each other in opposite walls at each floor.
The forward wall from the windows housed the mail
chute. Carter guessed that somewhere near the bottom there
would be a latch that could be opened in case something
was clogging the chute.
He removed the window, stripped to his shorts. and went
down the light well with a screwdriver in his teeth, He did
it like a mountain climber works clefts in the rocks. back
and feet braced against the blank walls.
Just below the mezzanine floor. he found the hatch. Eight
screws released. and he eased through the opening.
His second guess also proved correct. The chute was
about three feet thick here. to take the larger packages from
the shops and offices on the mezzanine floor.
He took a deep breath. let go, and sailed down the chute.
He came out in a tiny, one-doored room, lit with a yellow
bulb. and landed in an overflowing basket of mail.
It took him nearly an hour of digging, but he finally
spotted it: brown, blood-stained wrapping, addressed to Al-
berto Ferare. 24 Calle Sierra. Madrid, Spain.
To make sure, he slit the paper and removed the books,
Page by page he flipped through them until he found the
name that would prove it all: Joanna Dubshek.
There was no doubt that these were the originals. There
was also no doubt that the thief had bargained away Joanna's
life.
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The Killmaster knee-walked his way back up through the
building, replacing the vents and hatch covers along the
way. Back in the room, he dressed.
In the hall, he started to exit the hotel. as he had entered,
with stealth.
But suddenly he was tired of stealth. There had been
enough of it the last few days. He entered the elevator and
poked the lobby button.
The concierge, a young man with dark, boyish good looks,
flashed him a smile and opened one of the glass lobby doors.
The morning was bright and already warm.
"Buenos dias, sefior. It looks like a lovely day."
"Yes," Carter replied, sea very lovely day indeed."
He hit the sidewalk and turned toward the car, carrying
the two leather-bound books in his swinging right hand.
Even at that distance. through the windshield he could
see the tears of relief well up in the countess's eyes.
189