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DOWN CAPACITY; ONE SNIPER SCOPE WITH
INFRA-RED ADAPTER; ONE RIFLE SILENCER;
SIX EXPLODING SHELLS)
I whistled softly. ' 'Reads like the main booth at an
assassin's flea market," I muttered.
"Precisely, Nicholas," replied the Englishman.
' 'Fortunately, the constables felt the same way. What
with the magnitude of this chap's little arsenal, and the
fact that his room was papered with news clippings of
various terrorist attacks and threats, the local chaps felt
inclined to contact our antiterror branch. "
Harcourt paused briefly to pull out his pipe and
tobacco pouch. I used the brief pause to re-review the
list before me.
You can tell a lot about a killer by his choice of
hardware. The weapon itself says volumes. A simple
hand gun or plain rifle say one of two things about their
user: one, he's an amateur, or two, he's expendable.
The scope implies at least a certain concern for surviv-
al; it creates distance. The silencer implies more,
distance and secrecy, and at least enough confusion as
to source and location to offer some hope of escape.
'The fine print woven throughout the listing offered
even greater insight. The rifle: special bore, with cus-
tom tailoring on the sights. Definitely professional.
The rifle had breakdown capacity: a sign of individual
tastes. lhe man felt comfortable with his own weapon,
and was willing to risk transport to use it. Very profes-
sional.
n')e bullets made their own statement. While
weapons talk at»ut their users, shells reveal targets.
lhere are two ways in which the human animal can
suffer from the impact of a bullet. Vital organs can be
hit, and thereby bring on death, or the projectile can
miss the desired organs, but create such internal shock
that the target will perish. Messy, but effective.
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Expl(xiing shells had already terminated several
of my friendships, and at least two other N-rated
killmasters that I had knowm ney have the unique
capacity of virtually exploding upon contact, thereby
taking forty-to-sixty percent more of the human body
with them than conventional shells would. I had per-
sonally watched six people die from what should have
amounted to no more than a shoulder or leg wound.
VOIoever the man 's target was, his death was obvi-
ously very important.
My gaze returned to Harcourt, his pipe churning out
the custom blended aroma of Turkish and vanilla to-
baccos by which I had come to recognize his presence.
His voice, creeping around the pipe stem, was not
without irony.
"l believe the phrase is, 'heavy duty,' what?"
I could only nod in agreement.
' 'There 's something else , Nicholas. The antiterrorist
boys moved in, and gave the flat a rather more thorough
look-see. 'Ihey managed to dig up this. "
Harcourt reached once more into his briefcase and
held up a rather worn, frayed notebook.
"It seems the gent kept a diary, in rather clumsy
code. Easy enough for the crypto chaps to break down.
Let me give you a transcript. "
The notebook found its way back into the briefcase,
and he handed over to me a large sheaf of typed pages. I
scanned them briefly.
'I think you 'II find the bloke was really quite candid
about himself, but more to the point, he seems to have
been biding his time awaiting contact and instruc-
tions. "
"An I.R.A. hit?" 1 asked.
"We thought so at first, so we placed someone in the
flat and waited to see what would creep out of the
woodwork. 'Ihe results were rather surprising. "
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Harcourt pulled out another bundle from the case.
"These arrived the next day, by regular post." He
handed the pile over to me.
It consisted of several shipping documents, all in
seeming order, and a typed sheet of instructions for the
export of a small consignment of religious goods to be
sent to Capetown, South Africa.
g 'The hardware?" I inquired.
' 'Has to be," he nodded. shipper has been
checked. He's not too fussy about the goods he han-
dles, but nothing big time."
ne rest of the bundle amounted to no more than a
plane ticket to Algiers, and another typed sheet of
contact procedures.
"Once the antiterrorist chaps were certain that there
were no immediate domestic concerns, they turned it
over to us. "Ihe South African company to which the
guns are being shipped is, of course, a bogus. Probably
McDaniel himself would take possession of the con-
signment. " Harcourt leaned forward in the chair and)
took a thoughtful puff on the pipe. "We then tried to get
some information on McDaniel himself. Rather an
enigma, that one. He is, of course, Anglo-Irish by
birth, and not without strong affinities for the I.R.A.
cause. But his real emotions seem to cleave to any of)
what he considers to be the world's oppressed peo-
ples. "
'SA freelancer?" I offered
'I would appear so, yes , ' ' Harcourt nodded, another
explosion of smoke curling out from his pipe. "But
that's the first thing that grew to bother me. "
"What's that?"
"Well," he paused, his eyes narrowing, "as you-
well know, Nicholas, most assassins are really quite
identifiable .
by style and execution, if not always
by face. It's their way of signing their work. But
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McDaniels has proved something of a puzzle. His
equipment is quite individual, as you can see .
special bored rifle, trimmed sights, etc. Really quite an
assemblage for someone we can produce no record
on. "
J found myself sharing his confusion. "No make on
him at all?"
' 'Not a jot. Nothing with Interpol or any of our sister
intelligence agencies. Seems the lad is little more than
driftwood that suddenly washed up on our shores. And
that's the second thing that bothers me. With so many
pros on the market, why go with a rookie?"
"Anything on his employer?" I asked.
'Nothing specific, ' ' he answered, shaking his head.
"Our only real link was through the chap doing the
shipping. We rousted him a bit, but all he could tell us
was that the arrangements were made through some
black fellow . .
heavily accented, and by the sound
of it, as South African as the shipping address. "
I had to agree with Harcourt, it was too many loose
ends in a business that usually wraps itself in the tight-
est of knots.
"But why come to us?" I asked. "It looks like a
colonial affair to me. s'
' 'Two reasons, actually. first of all, the colonials get
a bit testy when we poke our noses into their little show.
ney like to think it's none of our bloody business. We
ignore it, of course, but we do try to be discreet.
However, in our attempts to run this little mystery
down, we did stumble onto certain hints that perhaps
you Yanks had something brewing down there. Some-
thing big, by the look of it. "
Harcourt's eyes drifted over to Hawk's face. If he
hoped to catch a glimmer of reaction, he was disap-
pointed. Hawk's features were like an iron mask.
"At any rate," he continued, "it began to lookas if
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it might concern your company more than ours, and we
thought we'd let you know about it. "
"Appreciate it, Harcourt." It was the first sound
from Hawk since the briefing began.
' 'Nothing, really. We chaps have to look out for each
other, wouldn't you say?"
Hawk merely nodded.
'SAnd the second reason?" I asked.
Harcourt reached once more into his bottomless
briefcase. "It rather speaks for itself, " he said, chuck-
ling slightly and handing over a photo to me.
"Wouldn't you say, old boy?"
I looked down at the photograph. ne man in it was
lying in the street, the rather surprised look of death on
his face. And then I saw it. "Ibe look on my own face
could not have been any less surprised.
"McDaniel?" I gasped.
"Indeed, my good fellow," came Harcourt's reply.
"Uncanny, what?"
I had no reply. With the exception of the red hair, red
moustache , and the scar down his face , I was looking at
a perfect double of none other than yours truly.
A carbon copy of Nick Carter!












CHAPTER TWO
I could only stare in stunned silence. If Mama Carter
had a baby boy that no one knew of, I was staring at
him. It was eerie, made even more eerie by the fact that
he was lying dead in a Soho street.
I was hardly aware of Harcourt's departurefrom the
room. The best I could muster were a few grunting
acknowledgments of his polite retreat. It was Hawk 's
own voice, now returned to his position behind the
desk, that finally brought me back to reality.
"Spooky, isn't it?" His teeth were clamped over a
freshly lit cigar.
"At least, " was all could reply. I paused only long
enough to catch my breath. "What's the story?"
Hawk smiled slightly. "l have good news, and bad
news. "
I ncxided. ' 'Let's try the gocxi news first. " I dropped
the pile of goodies Harcourt had laid on me, picture and
all, onto Hawk's desk and sat back for the briefing.
"Well," he growled. "In the first place, there is
indeed a deal going on in South Africa; a real sweet
deal, if we can pull it off. As I'm sure you 're aware, the
black representation issue is South Africa's biggest
hernia. "
Again I ncxlded.
Hawk leaned back into his huge chair. "And, as I'm
sure you 're also aware, the black issue has been Rus-
Sia's invitation for activities in Africa's southern
horn. "
Another nod.
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' 'What I'm sure you don't know, is that recently
we've made some substantial progress; covert, of
course, but very substantial indeed. As Harcourt so
subtlely implied, things are cooking for us. "
"Big?" I asked.
Hawk smiled again. "Christmas dinner," he
beamed.
His joy was infectious. I felt myself smiling even
through the huge question marks in my brain. "Do I get
an invitation?"
Hawk leaned forward, patted the pile of papers I had
placed on his desk. "Looks like you might be the guest
of honor. ' '
' 'fien I better know the guest list. "
"Excellent. " He rose and began pacing the office.
' 'Are you familiar with Joseph Nikumba?"
I searched the file cabinet in my memory bank.
"'Kind of," I replied. "One of the head honchos in the
black movement, isn't he?" Low key, but his name
does creep out in the papers now and again. "
"He's a lot more than that," Hawk said. "At the
moment, at least from our point of view, he's probably
the only key we've got for opening the door to South
Africa. ' '
"He sure keeps a low profile," I offeréd.
Hawk allowed himself a chuckle. "We like it that
way. Actually, keeping him out of the papers has been
relatively easy. He doesn't wave a gun, he's never
killed any Anglos, and he would look ridiculous in
battle fatigues. He's a simple professor. As a result, the
South African press won 't touch him because he won 't
scare the whites, and the international wire services are
convinced he 'd bore their readers to tears. He 's just not
the stuff that boosted circulation rates are made of. ' '
"Pity," I chimed.
"Yeah," added Hawk, plopping himself onto the
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19
end of his desk, He withdrew the cigar from his mouth,
and picked lightly at the stray strands of tobacco that
were creeping out from its shredded end. He was al-
most nonchalant as he continued.
"What he is, however, is the biggest hope we've
everhad of seeing black rule in South Africa. . .effec-
tive black rule, with the Russians packing for home. "
A wad of tobacco strands found their way emphatically
into the wastebasket.
"l like him already," I said, pulling out one of my
own custom cigarettes. "And exactly how iS'he going
to pull it off?"
'üad you asked that," Hawk said, as he resumed
his pacing. "As you may be aware, the problem with
most black takeovers in African government—peaceful
or not, communist or not—is the blacks themselves.
Or, more specifically, the black tribal structures in
African culture."
Hawk 's energy level was switching into second gear,
as I lit my cigarette.
"When the colonial powers moved into Africa, they
divided up the pie to suit their own interests. Borders
and countries were agreed urx)n, with no concern being
given to the tribal divisions that have existed since time
began. As a result, Africa has become a boiling pot of
tribal rivalries and jealousies, lhe colonial powers
gave these arbitrary divisions names, and called them
countries. And now, no matter which one gains its
independence, its history seems to become one big
contest as to which tribe will control the reins; usually
to the detriment of every other tribe, and usually to the
meddlesome delight of the Soviet Union. "
I nodded my understanding. So far I was getting
African History: 101. "And how does Nikumba figure
Hawk paused in his pacing and smiled; the kind of
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smile I had seen on rare crcasions, usually when I had
pulled some mission from the jaws of defeat into vic-
tory, even if it was by the seat of my pants.
' 'Remarkable individual," he mused, chewing on
his cigar. "Here's his bio." Hawk reached onto his
desk to hand me the folder. I scanned it while he filled
me in.
"Briefly, it runs like this. As I said, he's a professor,
with two degrees: one, a doctorate in social anthropol-
ogy from the University of Johannesburg, and two, a
doctorate in psychology from Oxford. "
I was impressed with the credentials.
Hawks continued. "He has been blessed with a
unique upbringing. His father had gotten an unusually
good missionary education, and found himself in a
small government post in one of those occasional token
gestures the South African government makes to keep
the blacks from bitching too loudly. ms enabled
Nikumba to get a better than average shot at his own
schooling. ' '
S 'And he apparently used it," I added.
"Indeed," nodded Hawk. "But he never forgot
where he came from. His sympathies always seemed to
embrace the black cause, in spite of the fact that he had
managed to escape the worst of it. Early on in his
education, he came to a relatively startling conclusion.
If tribal differences were what was tearing Africa apart,
then tribal similarities just might be what would pull it
back together. "
"Let me guess," I offered. "So he studied social
anthropology, made a broad survey of South African
tribal cultures, and has since come up with a formula of
how to blend them all together in peace and harmony. ' '
S 'Bright boy," Hawk smiled. S 'Ihat is exactly what
he has done. "
I took a drag on my cigarette, allowing the informa-
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21
tion to filter through my brain. "Nice theory," I said
finally. "But can it really be pulled off in practice? I
mean, that's a lot of cultural material to try to toss into
one stew. "
Hawk paused in his ramblings to perch once more on
his desk. "Not all that many, really. niat's the interest-
ing thing. ' 'There are a lot of local tribal variations,
yes. But they all derive from the same cultural stock.
The majority of black Africans in South Africa—and
I'm referring not just to the country, but the whole of
sub-Saharan Africa itself—are all merely branches of
the same basic tree; they're all Bantu. "
The picture was beginning to clear up. "What you 're
saying is, he studied each of these Bantu peoples, threw
out the differences, and held onto the root similarities
that they all have in common?"
Hawk nodded as I continued.
"The thing I still don 't get is that, if all these tribes
are basically off the same assembly line, why are they
slitting each others' throats?"
Hawk's tone became almost chiding, like a school-
master rebuking a recalcitrant student. "Don 't
minimize those differences, Nick. They may seem to
be minor. . no more severe, say, than the difference
between a Georgian 's mint julep and a New England-
er's clam chowder. But there was a time, not too
God-awful long ago, when that same Georgian would
have blown that New Englander's head off with small
provocation. ' '
I got the point.
' 'Can he pull it off?" I asked.
"He already is. He's done some incredible field
work with some of the more remote tribes, and natives
that were once drying each other's heads for center-
pieces are now swapping tom-toms and tx)wling on the
same leagues. "
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"Well, that's great for the blacks, " I added. ' 'But he
still has to get the colonials to hand over the govern-
mente The cultural differences here are a little more
vast. "Ihe last I heard, a black could get his head blown
off for merely smiling. "
"True," Hawk said. "And that's where we come
in. ' ' He moved around and returned himself to the chair
behind his desk. ' SDo you know anything about
Namibia?" he asked, taking his seat.
I dove once more into the memory bank. Namibia is
the new African name for the country previously
known as South-West Africa. Theoretically, it's an
independent nation, at least as far as the United Nations
is concerned. In 1968, the U.N. issued a charter grant-
ing South-West Africa (or Namibia) full independence,
but the reality is that it is totally controlled by the South
African government.
And for good reason.
Namibia is one of the world's richest gold and
diamond producers.
With that much wealth lying around in the ground, it
was little wonder that the South African government
had risked all manner of sanctions to retain control.
Better to have that kind of wealth flowing into ones own
coffers, than to allow it its own freedom of spending.
I shared my knowledge with Hawk, and he embel-
lished on it.
' S nat is indeed the situation. About a year ago,
Nikumba wandered into one of our South African CIA
branches and asked to speak to the station chief. We
were a bit startled, to say the least, but surprise gave
way to salivation as he laid out one of the sweetest deals
we had heard to date. "
"Ihe smoke was pouring from his mouth like a train as
Hawk moved his energy into third gear.
' 'He was very direct in what he wanted. Black rule in
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23
South Africa is merely a matter of time. ne only real
question is what kind of government it's going to be,
and who's going to be running the show. Left to his
own devices, Nikumba knows that he 'd probably never
see more than an advisory position in any newly engen-
dered regime. There just don't seem to be too many
social anthropologists running countries these days.
The control goes to the guys in the bushes, with the
guns and fatigues. "
"And Nikumba feels he could do better, right?"
"He can! " Hawk's voice took on that chiding tone
again. '"In the first place, he's the only man on Earth
who could win the support of all blacks, and bridge
their tribal differences enough to forge a real nation,
without violent measures. But on top of that, he is more
than interested in retaining the niceties of life that the
colonials have brought into his African world. "
I ventured a guess. "And that means hanging onto
Namibia? ' '
"Exactly," Hawk nodded, his cigar thrusting to-
ward me in emphasis. ' 'lhere is a pattern to the binhing
of African nations, and Nikumba is desperate to avoid
it. Basically it runs like this: A country gets born, with
one of its noble freedom fighters at the helm. The
blacks are jubilant and optimistic, while the whites get
scared and pack up for greener pastures. With them
usually goes the economic future of the country. Prog-
ress grinds to a halt, the once jubilant population be-
comes restless, the once noble freedom fighter starts
getting testy, and the Russians ooze in to keep every-
b«xly at each other's throats. Suddenly, bang. Before
you can say Patrice Lumumba, there's a revolution,
and the Commies own themselves another hunk of
Africa. Nobody's any happier, of course, but now, if
you complain, your mother turns you in to the KGB. "
Hawk's eyes suddenly seemed to catch fire.
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' 'Nikumba offered us a way around this. His deal was
simple. America was to throw its complete support
behind a Nikumba-run black African government. Our
commitment was to be total. . . economically, indus-
trially, technologically, and, if need be, militarily. It
was originally hoped that such a strong show of support
from us would help to alleviate some of the white
colonials' fears in regard to a black takeover. "
"Has it?" 1 acked.
Hawk grinned once more. ' 'The man isn 't a doctor of
psychology for nothing. There was a brief period of
resentment over America poking its nose into other
people's business, et cetera, et cetera. But that quickly
gave way to a delightfully heartwarming explosion of
white optimism. Once the colonials realized that life
would be "business-as-usual", at least as far as their
pocketbooks were concerned, they warmed up to both
Nikumba and us with an enthusiasm I can only call
ferocious. ' '
Hawk's earlier phrase flashed through my mind.
• 'Christmas dinner," I mumbled.
"Nothing. Go on."
Hawk popped up, and resumed a pacing flight pat-
tern around the office. "It is Nikumba's belief that by
mollifying white fears, and hanging onto the Namibian
assets, he can avoid the usual cycle of economic rise
and fall that seems to accompany every African re-
gime. "
"And what's the game plan?" I asked.
"At the moment, ' ' he answered, 'it's to keep things
as quiet as possible. We've got the support of all the
people, black or white, who really have a say in things.
It's just a question of how to feed it to the masses. "
I mk a final drag on my cigarette and retired it, as
Hawk continued.
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25
' 'The basic plan is simple enough: heavy monetary
and industrial involvement in Namibia and South Af-
rica. Several corporations are even now beginning their
moves into these areas .
with some incredibly lu-
crative gold and diamond deals for incentive. It is
hoped that this involvement will reassure the white
population that there will be no black backlash. More
importantly, it is hoped that this will also tie South
Africa and Namibia together in a chain of mutual
economics that will become difficult to sever. "
So far it all sounded feasible.
"From that point," he continued, "it is just a matter
of time until Nikumba is given power. At that moment,
we begin the campaign to have him recognized unilat-
erally. "
In spite of the seriousness of Hawk's manner, I was
forced to chuckle. ' 'Ihat doesn't sound too difficult.
You show me a United Nations representative that
won 't support a black-ruled African government, and
I'll show you a candidate for instant retirement. "
"There's no problem in getting recognition, per se.
V,mat's going to take real orchestration is to get the rest
of the world to recognize South Africa's sovereignty
over Namibia.
g ' lhe immediate benefits are obvious. World recog-
nition of the new black government will release South
Africa from the various trade embargoes and restric-
tions their previous aparthied policy has brought on,
opening them, and Nikumba, to a world economy. If
successful, the retention of Namibia will give them an
almost virtual monopoly on gold and diamonds—a
powerful base, indeed, from which to greet their new
world market. "
g 'Then, at this point," I said, picking up the thread,
"Nikumba will divert the greater portion of this new-
found wealth into Namibia itself, thereby creating a
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surge of public projects and benefits that will both
tighten the economic bond between them, and give
meteoric rise to the Namibian standard of living. "
' 'Ihat's the scenario. It is hoped, " Hawk continued,
'Sthat the economic boon, plus his own charismatic
power over the blacks in all of southern Africa, will win
South Africa a mandate of power from the Namibian
in open election. "
peoples themselves .
It was a sweet deal, indeed. Africa was rapidly
becoming the world 's biggest battleground between us
and the Communist world. To have a foothold in a
country that expansive, and that mineral-rich, was a
coup not to be taken lightly.
I returned my attention to Hawk, but nothing was
forthcoming. He had wandered over to the window at
the far end of the room, and seemed to be staring out in
deep thought. His cigar was poking out from his face,
and I watched about three inches of neglected ash drop
off and splatter onto his shoe, before I allowed myself
to break the spell.
"l take it that's the good news. "
He turned, his cigar readied for more abuse. "Yep.
tlhat•s the good news."
"Let's hear the bad. "
Hawk's features darkened somewhat. "l think
we've got a leak on the negotiating team. "
Ihe words had a mournful echo to them. In the
intelligence game, nothing can deaden you more than
the knowledge that the other guy has a photocopy of
your game planr
"How certain are we?" I asked.
"About ninety percent. "
I winced. "Yeah,"lsighed, "that's prettycertain. "
Hawk moved slowly from the window and resumed
his seat at the desk. "We're really sticking our necks
out on this one, Nick. Any leak could hurt us, and if it's
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27
as high up as it's beginning to look, it could be deadly.
It would be one thing if just South Africa were in-
volved. We win, they lose. and Moscow chalks it off as
the breaks of the game. 's
take it Namibia is the rub," I said.
"Rub!" Hawk let out with a disgusted sigh.
"Sandblasting is more like it. •me group fighting for
Namibian independence is called the South-West Afri-
can Peoples Organization, affectionately referred to as
S.W.A.P.O. And they're up to their afros in Russian
support. But what makes this so tricky is, this time
we're not playing by the rules. Y'
"Normally, we pick our group, they pick theirs, and
we both sit back to see who wins. But Nikumba wants
us in .
. directly involved, and if Moscow gets mad
enough, they just might do the same thing. "
The full implications were beginning to hit me.
"And because of the United Nations charter, any reac-
tionary move the Russians made would have to be at
least tacitly supported by the world community. "
Hawk nodded his agreement. "Like it or not, world
opinion is behind them, for once. It's a time bomb,
Nick. If we bring in the marines, they can too, and if we
start bumping heads down there, won •t give it a month
till it starts moving out across the globe. "
There was a momentary flash where my belly turned
to ice.
"Our only hope is to keep one step ahead of them,
tiptoe our way through some rather shaky negotiations ,
and wait for Nikumba to win the Namibian mandate. ' '
"And we can 't do that, " I added, "if Ivan's sitting
right in the middle of our huddle, "
"You got it. "
"Any clues as to where the leak is coming from?"
Hawk shook his head. "Not yet. It's been too
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gradual a progression to get a fix on. At first, the
Russians merely stepped up activities in the area. With
something this big, it's nearly impossible to keep an
iron lid on things, and we just assumed they were
working on rumors. But then, very slowly, they began
popping up more frequently, It began to seem like
every time we turned a corner, Ivan was waiting for us.
We could no longer ignore the fact that information was
seeping out from relatively high up the ladder. "
Hawk stubbed out the remains of his cigar and took a
deep breath, exhaling slowly.
' 'And then came the real bad news. Two days ago we
received information that no less than Yuri Berenko
himself has moved into Africa. s'
Yuri Berenko was one of (he KGB's most shining
lights. There were even rumors, solid ones indeed, that
he was next in line to inherit the whole KGB operation.
For Berenko to be called from his desk and put into the
field was the espionage equivalent of the mountain
going to Mohammed.
"It is my considered opinion.' ' Hawk went on, ' 'that
you only bring out the big guns when you know you 've
got a war on your hands. "
"And if he's running someone on our team," I
added, "they 're high up the ladder, without a doubt. "
'And now this " Hawk snapped, his hand slamming
onto Harcourt's files. "We're vulnerable, Nick. All
our strategy is pinned on one man: Nikumba. He's the
only one who can pull the blacks together, and he's the
only one the whites will swing for. Remove him from
the picture, and the whole operation falls apart."
I began to catch his drift. "You think Nikumba may
have McDaniel's target?"'
"l don 't know, " he sighed. ' 'But we can 't afford to
overlook anything going into South Africa at the mo-
mente "
SOCIETY OF NINE
29




29
"Could the Russians have hired McDaniel?"
Hawk ran a tensed hand across his brow before
answering. "Not likely. niey usually handle their own
affairs. They don 't need to go shopping for help. But
it's always a possibility. McDaniels was a British citi-
zen, and should he kill Nikumba, there would be little
difficulty in making it look far more racist than politi-
cal. Moscow could erase both Nikumba and the opera-
tion in one stroke, and there isn 't a damn word we could
say about it. "
An ominous silence descended while both of us
thought. It was as if we were trying to reverse events by
force of will alone. Finally I said:
"What do you want me to do, boss?"
The reality of action seemed to pick up Hawk's
spirits. "Obviously, you are to assume McDaniel's
identity. "
He reached into his top desk drawer and withdrew
two airline tickets. He tossed the first down on my side
of the desk.
' 'First, you are to go to New York and visit Willie
Geis. I'm sure that by the time he's finished with you
you 'II look more like McDaniel than McDaniel did, As
far as the man himself, the diary should provide you
with all the background you may need. His employers
are as ignorant of him as you are, so there shouldn 't be
any hang-ups on that score. "
The second ticket jumped from Hawk's hand to
cover the first. "From New York you Sil head to Lon-
don, and from there you 'II pick up McDaniel's itiner-
ary, just as it was given to him. "
"Some contact must have already been made. Is
there any danger of my being blown to the hiring
agent?"
Hawk shook his head no. "Not likely. The diary
indicates that the actual hiring was handled in one
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meeting. Both parties seemed equally concerned over
their own anonymity. The contact was very brief, and
all business. Put enough of the old English into your
accent, and I doubt that anyone will spot the switch. "
' 'So be it. "
I stood up and collected the various items littering
Hawk 's desk. I paused to stare once more at the photo
of McDaniel. The similarity was just too coincidental.
*Ihe first nagging glimmer of doubt began working its
way into my system. Hawk must have sensed it.
he murmured. "Track this
"Be careful, Nick,"
down as far as it goes. If it looks like it'll hurt us, do
whatever you have to to wrap it up. But if it doesn't
affect us one way or the other, get the hell out as fast as
you can. "
I nodded my agreement and headed for the door.
Hawk's voice halted me.
"One more thing. I think we'll find our leak very
quickly. But keep your ears open. If McDaniels was to
become involved in this whole affair, you may hear
some information that will help us to narrow down our
suspects. "
' 'Both ears and both eyes will be wide open, I assure
you, " I replied grimly, shutting the door behind me and
heading for the airport and Willie Geis, the nagging
doubts growing in my brain.







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CHAPTER THREE
By the time I reached Algiers, those nagging doubts
had grown into a bundle of raw nerves that J found
impossible to shake. Not even the biting comfort of the
alcohol in my last swallow of tea could still the churn-
ings in my gut.
I knew the waiter would be heartbroken•
J turned and scanned the cafe to see if he was nearby.
thought occurred that maybe one more of his spe-
Cial brews might just drown my nerves, but I then
thought better of it. Ihis was no time to be dulling
whatever edge my senses retained.
I got my thoughts and my eyes back on the street, end
was rewarded immediately.
When she first turned the corner, I shot up in my
chair. She looked for all the world like Pam MacMa-
hon. •ne hair was the same dark mantle, the features
equally classic, and the body just as elegant.
But then the differences became apparent. I relaxed
back into my chair and gave this approaching madonna
the interest she deserved.
Her features were fuller than Pam •s, very Caucasian,
but the rich darkiess of her skin hinted at a drop or two
of black blood in her ancestry. Her breasts were smaller
than Pam 's, but still ample. They were incredibly firm,
and showed themselves defiantly beneath the yellow of
her silk blouse. Her legs, too, were fuller. with the kind
of rounded, muscular definition that implied they could
wrap themselves around you, and never let go.
J found myself reaching a conviction. Arab women
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may be mysterious, and the imagination may be
stimulating, but seeing is better.
She was very near my table when our eyes locked.
As with the young Arab girl earlier, she held my gaze;
there was no retreat. But unlike that earlier encounter, I
experienced no surge of adrenaline. She was not my
contact. It wasn't in her eyes.
Hers were ripe-olive color and expressive, not mar-
bles,
I disengaged myself and turned to try to find my
waiter. I located him at one of the far tables and was
about to motion for his attention, when I felt a tap at my
shoulder. I turned around, prepared for anything but
what greeted me.
Above me, in all her glory, stood the madonna.
Her voice was as full and rich as her figure. ' 'Sorry to
trouble you, but I seem to need a match." As she
spoke, she thrust up the box that held her cigarettes. It
was an ordinary box of English Ovals, with one excep-
tion. There was a blank space, without printing, about
one and a half inches square, on its face.
"Ihe madonna had just initiated step one in the recog-
nition process. It took a second or two to pull myself
together before I could offer my part.
"Yes, of course," I muttered. , "No bother at all,
luv. "
I pulled a matchbook out from my coat pocket, and
fired up one of the matches. I was careful to carry the
matchbook up with me when I lit her cigarette. She
studied it quickly. Glued to the front of the matchbook
was the missing square from the face of her English
Ovals box. Her eyes returned to my face and showed
their acceptance.
"You're sure it's no bother?" she breathed.
I returned the matches to my pocket. ' 'Only slight,
luv. But if you'd allow me to buy you a drink, I'm.
SOCIETY OF NINE
33



33
certain it would be more than compensated. " My ac-
cent was pure Yorkshire pudding.
She nodded, smiled, and made her way around to my
table.
It was done. To anyone watching, it was a simple
encounter; to us, it was the beginning of the game.
She seated herself across from me, and wasted no
time in getting on with it. Her face held a winning
smile, but her voice and attitude were all business.
"I take it there was no problem in the shipment of
religious articles?" Hei accent was definitely colonial.
"None, luv. But then, I wasn't hired because I make
mistakes, now was l?"
Her face registered slight imtation, but the smile
held firm. "l really wouldn't know," she cooed.
g *Shall we get on with it?"
"Whatever you say, luv. " I got the distinct feeling
she didn 't like me.
She reached into her purse and pulled out an en.
velope. She slipped it onto the table, her eyes darting
nervously around the café.
"Take this, she said, inching it toward me. "Inside
you'll find instructions, a hotel key and a plane ticket.
Also some money. "
I leaned onto the table to collect her offering. As
discreetly as possible, I slipped it into the inside pocket
of my sports coat.
She continued. "You are to spend tonight in the
hotel. In the morning you are to check out, and make
the flight indicated on the ticket. I shall also be on the
flight, but you are not to acknowledge me. Once at your
destination, you will follow the instructions as indi-
cated, to your hotel. I will be in the adjoining room.
You will then be given further orders. "
"And just where is it I'm going, luvy?"
broke through her smiling
A momentary glare
NICK CARTER
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facade. Her voice was icy cold. "South Africa.
Capetown, to be precise. ' ' Suddenly her eyes leaped up
and her voice took on a tone of casual friendliness.
S *And I'll be staying in Algiers until tomorrow. How
atX)ut yourself?"
The sudden appearance of the waiter explained the
change.
"As a matter of fact, I 'II be departing on the morrow
•also. Perhaps we could share our final evening to-
gether, what? Might I buy you a drink?"
"I'd love it. What do you recommend?"
I looked up into the waiter's face. His mouth was
twisted in an idiotic grin, and his right eye kept flutter-
ing in what I could only assume was a series of ap-
preciative winks. He was undoubtedly convinced he
had found the reason for my earlier case of nerves.
"l say, luv, why don 't we let the waiter bring us two
of his special teas. "
He gave me a hasty thumbs up, and raced off to fill
the order.
I leaned in closer over the table, and gave her my best
leer. ' 'Well now, that doesn't sound like such a bad
idea at that. What say we turn the town a bit tonight?
It'll give us a chance to get to know one another.
Ihis time the glare totally defeated the smile. "l
think not!" "Ihe ice was back in full force.
I studied her for a moment. *Ihe idea of spending the
evening with her had obvious advantages; but my real
interest was in getting some answers to the questions
rolling around in my brain. She was the first question.
Her attitude was all business, but underneath it all was
fear. It showed in her constantly darting eyes, and in the
shake of her hand as she puffed on her cigarette.
She just dtdn 't read pro.
Again I went for her eyes. Soft. Much too soft. "Ihey
SOCIETY OF NINE
35






36
were timid, almost doe-like, and they were helpless to
hide the cauldron of fear bubbling away inside her.
It was time to give it another try.
'iLook, luv, just because we're doing a bit of busi-
ness, it doesn 't mean we can't work up a bit of fun too,
does it?"
There was venom in her reply. "Look, Mr.
McDaniel. The people I work for require your services,
and as much as I detest it, I am to be an instrument in
furthering that desire. But the desire is theirs, Mr.
McDaniel, not mine, and I think it best that we have as
little to do with each other as possible.
' 'Now, luvy .
'And if you call me luvy one more time, I'm going
to take my foot and relocate your balls. "
It wa.s my turn to switch on the ice. "Do that, dearie,
and I will personally take that gorgeous leg of yours and
tie it into knots. "
A stare-down ensued, and the certainty of my threat
was clearly established. Fear, once again, inhabited her
eyes. The mood hovered slightly through the reappear-
ance of our waiter and on into several sips of tea.
The silence seemed more devastating to her than the
words.
"All right," I finally muttered. ' 'If luvy ain't your
favorite word, give me a name to play with. "
She stared for a moment. "Robin," she said, a
choke catching in her throat. "Robin Brenton.
'All right, Miss Brenton. If you don't feel like being
chummy, that's your tea cake. I can do very nicely
without friends, but I get just a bit nervous when I'm
without answers. So far, your mates have kept me a
trifle too much in the dark as to what I'm about, and I 'd
like for you to shed a little light on the picture."
Her eyes were darting again.




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She was beginning to get to me. Once the game had
started, my own nerves had mercifully steadied, as they
usually do, with action. But now they were returning,
and in greater force than mere sympathy to her own
fears could explain,
My own eyes began traveling as I spoke. "Well? Do
I get some answers?"
"You know as much as you need to," she replied
mechanically. "You will be duly informed of what is
necessary, when it is necessary, and not before. In the
meantime, you are to keep your questions to yourself,
Mr. McDaniel.
"Ducky," I sighed.
For the moment, it seemed best to lighten up. In spite
of my earlier boast, it was definitely important to gain
this woman's friendship. Without it, getting answets
would have to become a gruesome prospect, and she
was just too Vulnerable and pretty for that.
I allowed some warmth into my voice. "I'd ask one
thing of you, if I might. "
She relaxed the slightest bit. ' 'What would that be?"
"Call me Liam," I smiled. "You see, my fatherhad
to be one of the stuffiest bastards that ever crawled off a
potato farm. He got himself a fancy education in Dub-
lin, and became headmaster at a little school in War-
wick. And from that day on, he wouldn't allow for
anyone, not even his own children, to call him anything
but Mr. McDaniel! It kind of stiffens my bowels every
time I hear it."
A hint of a smile crept across her face, and J trans-
fered my own gaze out into the street for fear of
chasing it off.
And that's when I spotted him.
"All right .
Liam," she sighed. "l imagine I can
SOCIETY OF NINE
grant you that much. "
37





37
38
I turned back to her, my grin firmly in place, but my
voice hoarse with tension. '*Keep talking! "
"What?" she stammered, confusion now replacing
the glimmer of amusement.
I laughed out loud before repeating myself. "I said
keep talking, about anything! Just keep talking, and
keep smiling. "
It took a second, but finally she obeyed. She began a
line of chatter about this being her first visit to Algiers,
and what she had been doing with her time. I kept up a
veneer of smiles and you-don 't-says, but my mind was
nowhere near her conversation.
I had already spotted the man on the far corner, and
now I had to try to determine if he was solo, or if he had
company. Each mechanical response to •her talking
took my eyes in another direction, until I had covered
the entire street and café,
There were two of them, at least in sight. The one
against the building on the far corner, and the other two
tables away, near the entry door to the inner part of the
café.
And now I had the answer to my question: S Why
have my jitters returned? It had nothing to do with her.
lhere is something unique about being a survivor in the
"spook " business. You learn to use your guts almost
as much as your eyes and ears. You can almost feel an
enemy near you.
And you can almost always smell a KGB man.
That the two of them were KGB was beyond doubt.
nere is a drab, humorless rigidity to them that defies
disguise or concealment. There is a grayness to them
that covers them like a tan covers a native islander. It 's
hereditary. Conjure in your mind one image of the





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U.S.S.R., one single landscape or cityscape that you
feel most typifies the place.
I'll give you ten-to-one odds, the sun isn't shining.
I now knew they were there, and I knew who they
were, but I still had to determine why. I knew for a fact
they hadn't been tailing me, so that only left the
madonna, I was relatively certain she was an amateur,
and they make easy targets for professional shadows.
ne only other option was that they were the lady's
playmates.
' 'Keep smiling, Robin," I said. s 'It seems we have
company. "
S • What! " Her head started to move.
' 'Don 'l look," I hissed. "Just answer me. Are they
friends of yours?"
"Certainly not! " Her vehemence and surprise were
genuine beyond a doubt.
"Well, they seem to have followed you here, and it
looks as though we'll have to lose them, wouldn 't you
Fear was creeping back into her eyes. ' 'How?" she
asked.
S'First of all, relax. Keep smiling, and then excuse
yourself. 'lhere is bound to be a bathroom inside, and
you •re suddenly going to need it. And don 't be afraid to
let the tables near us hear about it. "
The smile jumped back onto her face. "And just
what the hell am I going to do in the bathroom?"
' 'Nothing, my dear girl. Once you get inside, you are
going to find us a back door. If there is one, you send
out the waiter and wait for me. if there isn't one, you 'II
just have to stall a bit, toss on some powder, and come
back out looking about one liter more relieved. We'll
devise another ploy if necessary. ' •
She did as she was told, and disappeared into the
café.
SOCIETY OF NINE
39




39
40
I watched the goon at the table, and he did nothing.
Quickly I checked the street. Goon number two was not
as cooperative. He immediately made a beeline across
the street and around to where he could check the back
of the building.
It was beginning to look like a little rough stuff
would become necessary. I was definitely prepared.
My three dearest friends were with me. Wilhelmina,
my 9mrn Luger, was tucked comfortably under my
jacket; Hugo, my pencil-thin stiletto, was nestled in its
chamois case and hugging the right forearm beneath my
shirt; and Pierre, a tiny but very lethal gas bomb, was in
its usual position as the third member in the Carter
family jewels.
Suddenly I heard McDaniel's name called, and
turned to see the waiter standing in the doorway. He
called out to me that there was a phone call, and I
thanked him. took a quick swallow of tea in order to
give the waiter time to vanish.
Robin had done her job well.
Having watched his buddy disappear with Robin's
departure, I was sure the goon at the table would not let
me out of his sight. He would have to be neutralized.
I had no idea of how proficient either of them was
with his hands, but at least I could test them out one at a
time.
I also had surprise on my side. I knew they were
blown, and they didn 't. Goon number two would most
assuredly spot us out back, but I was sure I could either
shake him, or take him. The first chore was to retire
number one.
I got up and began making my way toward the café's
interior, making damn sure I walked right past my
mark, About two steps away, I faked a stumble, driving
into him, and pounding him gently on the back of the
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A one-way ticket to dreamland.
His body slumped and his head hit the table. I gave a
quick look around. Nobody had noticed it. To keep it
that way, I reached over and borrowed an empty bottle
from a nearby table. I placed it in front of him, right
next to his half-empty glass.
I was sure he would be left quite alone to sleep off his
apparent drunk.
I quickly moved inside, and spotted Robin back in a
corner around the bar. 'Ihe atmosphere inside was dark
and smoky, but I fought the stinging in my eyes, and
checked the interior for reinforcements. 'Ihe place
looked clean.
I joined Robin, following her down a narrow passage
that smelled like one thousand years worth of falafel.
She showed me the door, and I motioned her to wait.
Slowly I eased it 01kn. I found myself looking out
into a narrow alleyway. Everything in the direction of
the opening looked clear. I then turned back and
glanced through the crack on the hinged side of the
door.
Number two goon reporting for duty, sir!
I returned to Robin. "All right," I whispered. "One
of our playmates is still with us. With any luck, his
orders are just to follow, and I'm sure we can shake
him. If things do start getting rough, I want you to hit
the ground and stay there until further notice. Got
She nodded. "What about the other one?"
"Sleeping quite peacefully, thank you."
She grabbed my arm with a strength that startled me.
"Is he dead?" she gasped.
I gently loosened her grip. "No, but he'll have one
hell of a headache when he wakes up. "
Relief poured over her.
SOCIETY OF NINE
41


41
"Shall we?" I said, and took her arm as we moved
out through the door.
We made directly for the clear end of the alley. I kept
my eyes intent on the opening before me, but I tuned
my ears in behind. Number two was on us, and he
wasn 't being subtle any more. His pace was picking up
rapidly. The sound of his footsteps were being joined
by a second, and along with it, the crackle of static that
told me someone had a radio communicator.
It was obviously going to become necessary to break
heads.
I released my grip on Robin. and turned to face my
pursuers. There were indeed two of them, and much to
my surprise they came to a dead stop when faced. The
reason why became immediately apparent.
From behind me I could hear the squeal of tires. I
turned back around, and caught sight of a dark blue
Citröen. It had nosed itself into the alley, blocking any
hope of escape in that direction. ne driver was the first
to pile out, but it was the second man in the car, the one
on the passenger side, that got my attention, His exit
was much slower, but then he had his hands full.
I bet myself eight to five he was a Russian. nere was
just no mistaking a Kalishnikov AK47.










CHAPTER FOUR
There were two possibilities. Either they would take
us alive, or we'd be fertilizing an oasis somewhere
south of Algiers.
I decided the worst, and made the guy with the
Kalishnikov my first concerm
"Robin?" nie word slid quietly out of the corner of
my mouth. There was no response. "Goddammit,
Robin! Don't disappear on me now! "
I was relieved to hear a whispered return. "I'm still
here. "
She was frightened, but the voice was steady enough
to give me hope.
'S You 've got to do me a favor, luvy." It worked. On
the word "luvy", she shot me a look. If she could still
be pissed about that, she was still in the game.
I continued. "Sooner or later they're going to want
to take us for a ride. Personally, I'd rather not go. So
I •m going to have to persuade the chap with the
rifle—"
Ihat was as far as I got. I felt a pair of hands pound
into my back, propelling me toward the Citroen. Robin
joined me, her motivation for doing so no less gentle
than my own.
"Oh, my God!" Robin's voice was beginning to
whimper. I could not afford tc lose her now.
Fortunately, our escorts were maintaining a safe
distance behind.
"Stay with me, damnit. just need a second or two,
42
SOCIETY OF NINE
that's all. Do something .
anything .
their attention for a few seconds, "
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that's all. Do something .
anything .
their attention for a few seconds, "
43
but get
"But .
what?" *Ihe cracking in her voice was
making me feel anything but confident.
I never got a chance to answer. lhe hands behind me
returned, propelling me the final two or three feet to the
front of the car. Just as quickly, I was spread across the
hood and searched. Wilhelmina was removed in-
stantly. I had never expected to be able to hang on to my
gun, but I was hoping that whoever claimed it would
tuck it away.
No such luck.
It remained in the man's hands, quite ready to use.
'Ihat would have to be my second object of concern.
Pierre was out of the question. A gas bomb allowed
too many seconds for reaction, was too awkward to get
at. Also, it could just as easily Robin and myself
with it.
It become vital that I hold onto my stiletto, Hugo.
ne first man, having found my gun, had moved
backward to cover me, while the Citröen's driver
finished the search. Before the driver could reach my
forearm, I drew my right hand into a fist and flexed
every tendon and sinew in my arm.
I held my breath.
The beauty of Hugo's design is that he is pencil thin.
He is mounted with two objectives in mind. First, to
rest very carefully between the large tendons of my
right wrist and forearm, and thereby disappear when
they are tensed. Secondly, with the appropriate angling
of my wrist and the gentlest nudge of hip or third object,
he will slip quietly and quickly into my waiting palm.
I was tensing for all I was worth, and to my great
relief the driver passed right over Hugo.
Hurdle one had been cleared.
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Now I needed my diversion. The driver stepped
away from me and I rose up from the hood. I turned to
face Robin, carefully measuring the distance between
myself and the Kalishnikov as I did so. She was being
searched by the jerk who had been tailing her. He had
just completed a quick survey of her purse and was in
the process of tossing it to the CitrÖen 's driver, when I
turned.
The driver held onto it.
I made a quick mental thank-you to both men. At
least one pair of hands would be occupied when I went
into action.
nat is, if I went into action.
My quick perusal of Robin left me less optimistic.
The man searching her was spending far more time on it
than he had to. The leer on his face was anything but
subtle as he gave the areas beneath her skirt a far too
thorough examination. She was beginning to crack.
Tears welled in her eyes and her cheeks were quivering
visibly.
I threw my mental radio into high gear, and silently
screamed for her attention.
"Ihe amateur telepathy must have worked, because I
got it. Her eyes jumped over to mine, just as the man
began working his way up the outside of her blouse. I
nodded ever so slightly, hoping she would understand
that now was the time to move.
Her eyes closed tightly, and tears began to spill as the
searcher cupped her right breast. His gesture was ac-
companied by guttural grunts of laughter from all the
onlookers.
I gave Kalishnikov a quick look. He had stepped
back, ever so slightly, He had his eyes riveted on me.
All my chips were on Robin. It had to be now, with
Ivan's hands all over her tits.
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fien, suddenly, she moved. Ivan was just getting
ready to make his considered appraisal of her left
breast, when she hauled off and slapped him. The
shock of her blow, more than the power, sent him back
about two steps.
I used the moment to begin a careful inching toward
the rifle. My mental broadcasts were still on full
charge. Good girl, keep it up. Keep it up!
The surprised look on Ivan 's face gave way to a slow
smile. He moved back to her, a study in gestured
forgiveness. But no sooner had he reached her, than he
let go with a slap of his own.
It shook her to the bone. She rocked back on her
heels, while inched one more step toward my target,
praying that she wouldn 't let down now, that she would
stay mad.
She hauled off and belted him again.
Good girl! I had gained another inch.
There was no delay this time, no smiling faqade
before contact. With a fury that made my heart skip, the
Russian slammed her again, then grabbed her upper
arms with a foree that should have broken them and sent
her sailing against the far wall of the alley. Her head
bounced sickeningly off the white stucco.
And still he continued. He caught her on the rebound
and sent his palm twice more into the soft flesh of her
cheeks. Finally his honor seemed satisfied. He stepped
back slowly and awaited what could only be her inevi-
table collapse.
'Ihe bout had provided me with my final two inches,
and Hugo was now nestled securely in my palm.
My right hand sailed out, and released Hugo. There
was no room for error, and Hugo came through like a
trourrr. He found his way into Kalishnikov's neck and
sailed clean through, severing the windpipe as he went.
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A look of horrified shock spread across the man's
face. My left hand came over and grabbed the rifle. I
gave it a hard jerk. but there was no resistance. His
body had already surrendered to the numbing reality of
death,
It was time to move on.
My second concern was the goon holding Wilhel-
mina. Moving targets make for difficult aiming, so I
danced off to my left, pulling the Kalishnikov into
firing position as I went. My back slammed into the
alley wall, bringing me to a halt. There wasn 't enough
time, with four men to deal with, to allow myself the
luxury of careful aim. So I merely began blasting away
in the general direction of my target.
No contest.
To the man 's credit, he had managed to get Wilhel-
mina up to operating level, but the first of my volleys
cut him in half like a weed.
There were two choices left, and I had little time to
think. Instinct carried me instantly toward the man who
had battered Robin. On the one hand, there was an
incredible desire on my part to return the treatment in
kind he had given her; and on the other hand, I was still
operating on my previous observation that the driver's
hands were busy holding Robin's purse.
By the time I faced number three, he was already
digging into his coat for his gun. Another burst from the
Kalishnikov sent him sprawling backwards, the bullets
nailing his hands to the inside of his jacket.
As he fell, I mentally blessed Robin. Not only had
she given me the diversion I needed to act, but she had
gotten herself down and out of the way, all at the same
time. I would have to thank her. But that was for later.
Still one to go.
I turned for the finale, but the driver, by now, had
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been given too much time. I had pinned my hopes on
Robin 's purse slowing him down, and now I would pay
for it. Number four was just a cut above his buddies.
By the time I turned to greet him, there was no
scramble. He was waiting for me, and he was moving.
Unfortunately I only caught the merest glimpse of it
because the next thing I saw was Robin 's purse hitting
me square in the middle of my face.
I fired blindly, hoping to get lucky. But luck had run
out. A well-placed foot smashed into the back of my
hand, sending the Kalishnikov flying. While my other
hand tore the purse away, there came a second foot,
equally as well-placed, driving itself into the middle of
my body.
I hit the ground with a force that was less than
comfortable. Whatever tiny amount of air that had
remained in my lungs was gone, on contact. A tiny
voice in the back of my head was screaming for me to
move, but my body just couldn 't cooperate. I lay on the
ground, fighting for air, and did my best to raise myself
up, but my best only got me as far as my elbows.
By then, it was too late anyway.
While my mind was screaming, his was operating.
By the time I had gasped the first soothing intakes of
oxygen, I was staring into the muzzle of his gun. The
moment seemed to stretch itself out for an eternity.
While I struggled to regain a regular pattern of
breathing, he just smiled, awaiting the sadistically ripe
moment when he could bring my efforts to their point-
less demise.
'Ihe gun cracked.
My eyes clamped shut and my face twisted into a
grimace as I awaited the burning surge of pain that
would transport Nick Carter into immortality.
It didn 't come.
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I reopened my eyes and watched the driver collapse,
a giant beret of red where the left side of his skull used
to reside.
That was my first surprise.
The second was to flip myself over and see Robin,
Wilhelmina still smoking in her hands, lowering the
gun and staring in horror at what she had just ac-
complished.
I made a mental note to myself. Never underestimate
the creativity and courage of an amateur, particularly
when his life is threatened.
The gun slipped from her hand as she continued
staring blankly at where her target had once stood. I
rose up quickly and retrieved Wilhelmina, then moved
to where Robin stood. The gunfire was bound to have
gotten someone's attention, and a hasty retreat was
definitely in order. The last thing I needed was for
Robin to panic.
I was now standing directly before her. but her eyes
were boring clear through me, intent on the memory of
the driver's death at her own hands. Her breathing was
becoming labored, and the echo of a cry was working
its way into her throat.
My first impulse was to slap her, but the visible signs
of her previous battering dissuaded me. A rather novel
idea struck me. If violence was what was setting her
off, perhaps gentleness would be shock enough to bring
her out of it.
On impulse I held her face, and pressed my lips onto
hers.
ney were hard and unyielding, but I pressed on for
several seconds. Finally I released her. She stepped
back a pace, and caught her breath. Her eyes blinked
open and closed a few times, then finally focused
clearly on mine.
"Sorry," she whispered.
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I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good girl. You were
onderful. Now I need you to do only one thing, Go to
e car, pack yourself neatly into the passenger seat,
d just sit. Do you understand me?"
She nodded. "I 'II letyou know if the keys are in it. "
She was thinking; a very good sign. "Excellent," I
•nned, stroking her face in gratitude. S 'Now scoot,
e haven't much time!"
She was gone in an instant.
As quickly as I could, I searched each of the four
en, retrieving Robin 's purse and Hugo in the process,
Yith the exception of two matchbooks, the search
(ielded nothing out of the ordinary. The matchbooks
emselves might not have created interest, were it not
r the fact that they were both the same, yet each had
me from the pockets of two different men.
ney were lettered in Arabic, and I was struggling to
pake sense of the scrolling, when Robin's voice
eached me.
' 'They keys are in it. I think I hear sirens!"
She was right; the sirens were distant but approach-
g. J pocketed the two matchbooks and raced to my
sition behind the wheel. The car staned instantly,
I gunned it back out of the alley. With the first
arring surge of movement, Robin 's eyes closed again,
ut all else remained composed.
I slammed into first and charged off, not slackening
until the relative anonymity of one of the larger
Pulevards had been reached. *Ihen I maneuvered the
ar into the normal flow of traffic.
Only then did Robin's eyes reopen.
Once on the road, my mind filled with questions. I,
Liam MacDaniel , was obviously not working for the
ussians. Then, who was I working for? And who was
supposed to kill; and why; and where?
I looked over at Robin. She was staring out the
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window, clutching at her blouse to keep it closed. She
appeared normal , but the slackness of her body and thel
blank look in her eyes told me that she was numb. She
was in shock. Interogations were obviously better left
for a later time.
"mere was one matter, however, that could not be
tucked on the shelf. I was forced to break the silence.
i' 'I owe you my life. I know what you did back there
was difficult, and I wish there were some way I could
make it seem like it all makes sense. But I can't. I'm
just grateful you did it.
Silence.
"Look, Robin, I know the best friend you've
right now is your solitude. But there is one thing we 've
got to talk through."
Still no response.
I sighed and continued. "We've been blown, my
love. You •ve been tailed, I've been spotted, and some;
body seems to want both of us as guest of honor at a
grave digging. Your hotel is no doubt under surveil-
lance, your room has no doubt been searched, your
plane reservations, no doubt duly noted. And for all I
know, everything in the envelope you gave me is, right
now, being swapped for gossip by every housewifei
over every picket fence in North Africa. "
Finally she stiffed. "What should we do?"
I logged a 'thank God' into the mental books.
"In the first place, we're going to have to find
alternate lodging, Any suggestions?"
She shrugged. "I've never been here before. "
' 'Ducky, " I groaned.
*'Wait a minute," she added. "But I do know some.
one! An Arab girl. She was an exchange student ir
Johannesburg. She was from Algiers. 's
"What was her name?"
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There was a moment's pause for thought. "Adjana!
Adjana Mousif! "
I began searching the street for any place that looked
like it would hold a phone book.
' 'Let 's just hope she never got married, ' ' muttered.
"Why? You interested in her?" Her question was
followed by a burst of giggles.
I just glared at her before asking. ' 'Is she about your
Another burst of giggles. "My, you are interested,
aren't you!"
The human psyche has many ways of dealing with
extreme tension. Her giggling was beginning to worry
me as much as her silence.
"Look," I said, as evenly as I could. "You can't go
back to your hotel, and you're going to need fresh
clothing. nat is, unless you want to dilate every pupil
between here and South Africa."
She flashed a quick look down her blouse. "Yes.
. or was, at any rate. "
She is about my size . .
"Good. Now, is there anything back at your hotel
that you can't afford to give up?"
She thought a moment. "Just one thing that I can
recall. "
She barely got it out. "My douche bag," and the
giggles were back in full force.
I let it go as long as I could stand it. "You know
something?" I said, "l think I liked you much more
when you were morose. "
'Ihe giggling subsided and she turned to glare first at
me and then out the window. It was about this time that
I spotted a phone stall and pulled over. "Let's see if
Mademoiselle Mousif is listed!"
Just before she got out, she-turned and looked at me
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for a moment. "She hasn't gotten married," she said.
"And it wouldn't pay to be interested. " There was a
slight pause, and then a wide grin split her beautiful
face. "She's gay!" she and with that she
departed for the phone.
I merely shook my head as I stared after her. And
then I remembered the matchbooks.
I took them out and studied them once more, but no
matter how hard I tried, I could not make out the
characters of the lettering. It was just so many delicate,
Arabic sweeps over cardboard.
I reached over and opened the glove compartment. I
was in luck. A map of Algiers lay tucked in the bottom.
I pulled it out, and began scanning the street. A quick
glance at Robin found her dialing the phone. A good
sign. Meanwhile, my rearview mirror filled with the
light of an approaching bicycle, complete with Arab
rider. Allah be praised.
I leaned out the window and flagged him down. His
English was poor, but good enough to communicate. I
showed him the matchbooks. ' 'Can you tell me where
these are from?"
His black eyes twinkled and his throat erupted in a
hearty chuckle as he looked at the logo on the cover.
"Oui, oui, monsieur, I know of it! " he cackled. "It is
Ihe Bakery of Heavenly Delights!"
' 'lhe Bakery of Heavenly Delights?" Surely he was
kidding.
"Oui .
a very special place, monsieur. You
would like it! " He was nearly falling off his bicycle in
his memiment.
I asked him to show me where it was, and he did so,
his. helpful finger tracing out a path on my map. I
thanked him and sent him on his way a few dinar richer,
his shoulders still twitching with laughter as he peddled
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away, waving his adieus.
lhe Bakery of Heavenly Delights.
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Surely, I was once more in luck. If the matches had
read Café or Night Club or Bath House. I might have
been Convinced to scrap them. ftese are places one
makes a special effort to travel to, across town if neces-
sary, because they appeal to specific tastes or needs or
interests.
The Bakery of Heavenly Delights.
One does not usually travel across town for a donut,
or for coffee. and two never do. Two drop next door for
those items, and it was my sincerest hope that that was
what our twin friends had done. I had an outside chance
of locating the enemy.
And I intended to follow it through.
The matches found their way back into my pocket,
just as Robin was piling back into the car.
"She's only about a mile from here," she said.
"And she's thrilled to death to give us roof and rob-
ing. "
Her spirits were obviously elevated.
' 'Jolly good show," I breathed, and pulled the car
back out into the mainstream of traffic.
There was a pause. ' 'I'll need to contact my people.
Alternative plans and all. "
I gave no reply.
"I'll need to do it alone. "
I looked over and smiled. "No trouble, my love. I
have a few errands of my own to run. Unlike your
lovely self, my belongings are currently residing at the
American Express office. It shouldn 't be too much risk
for me to claim them. "
A more relaxed silence carried us the mile to our
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destination. I stopped the car, and waited for Robin to
exit. She crawled out, but paused and leaned back in
through the open window.
be careful." Her face was almost
"Liam
childlike as she spoke.
' 'Does it really matter?"
She froze, then turned and moved toward the tiny
house.
I remembered I owed her. "Robin! "
She turned and halted.
"l'hanks. You, too. "
She smiled, then disappeared through the door.
It was time to gather my bearings, and time to pay a
visit. Robin would make her call in peace and secrecy , I
would retrieve a clean shirt and toothbrush from
American Express, and, in the meantime, try to locate
the particular pile of camel dung from which our four
gadflies had arisen.









CHAPTER FIVE
The Bakery of Heavenly Delights turned out to be a
dive, a whorehouse, with a powdered sugar and honey
facade.
It was located a few blocks from the wharf section of
town. ne smell of the Mediterranean scented the air
like perfume. I had taken up surveillance from an
alleyway directly across, and it hadn 't taken me long to
figure out how the place worked.
Within the space of one hour, I had watched three
merchant seamen, two Italians, and one Turk and
numerous locals enter the establishment and receive a
room key. Ihey would then exit and move down to the
next doorway. It was a weathered wooden slab, per-
petually open, long ago torn from its ancient hinges.
Through this opening I could watch the men climb a
rickety flight of steps to the second floor, where I was
certain they would match key to door, and await their
pleasures.
Seconds after they would disappear, the bakery door
would open and out would step one of those 'heavenly
delights" the bakery was so proud of producing. In
minutes she would join her newfound confection-lover
in his upstairs abode.
I observed that the bakery had a varied inventory,
indeed: chocolate and vanilla, thick tarts with lots of
stuffing, and slim, delicate ladyfingers, old goods that
had been on the shelf for years, and freshly baked buns,
barely out of the oven. In the latter category were two
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ladies that might have matched twenty-one years be-
tween them.
niere had even been one boy; adolescent, and beau-
tiful, but with the eyes of a war-weary soldier.
I found myself cursing my luck. Kismet had failed
me again. My two Russian buddies would do little more
than cross the street for the 'Bakery" end of the busi-
ness, but for the "Heavenly Delights" they would be
willing to cross the globe for all I knew.
I was about to write the whole project off as a source
for any clues, when Kismet suddenly seemed to jump
back on my side.
A man entered the bakery. I hadn't really gotten a
good look at his face yet, but his bearing and manner
made him completely out of place. There was nothing
about him that fit. He didn't display the over-anxious
eagerness from months at sea, nor did he carry the dust
of a long, lonely caravan that would bring him to this
particular oasis.
His dress was simple enough: plain brown slacks,
and a sports coat, with a simple turtleneck sweater
beneath. Nothing exceptional in itself, except that he
didn't look at home in his own clothes. His posture and
carriage spoke of suits—years of them—and the best
money could buy. His clothing was humble, but the
body beneath was arrogant; too used to giving orders to
bend to the will Of a few threads of cotton.
It wasn 't until he had re-entered the street, his key in
hand, that I understood why.
I had only seen a few pictures of the man, and never
one that was recent. It was probably that fact that
enabled me to recognize him. I knew his age to be
around forty-seven, but he was trying to pass for ten
years younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was dyed
blonde, but the overall effect was that of a great shock
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57
of silver. On his face was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses
that did little to hide the icy coldness behind those eyes.
Suits were definitely this man 's normal armor, and
power his usual sword; the kind of absolute power you
can only get in a Communist state.
J was staring at Yuri Berenko himself, next in line to
run the KGB.
I watched him vanish up the stairs, and waited to see
who would be joining him. Whoever it was, they
wouldn 't be casual. Berenko was no dabbler; he didn 't
have to be. If Berenko wanted diversion, he could order
it, courtesy of Moscow, and la carte. He didn 't need
to creep around the backstreets of Algiers to find it.
My suspicions were quickly confirmed.
Out from the bakery stepped a most atypical 'Sde-
light. " She was black, and incredibly beautiful. She
wore a multicolored dashiki that seemed to swallow up
her birdlike body. Her face was carved in ebony, a
study in arrogant defiance, and topped by a native
hairdo, generously laced with colorful beads.
She was an African princess. plucked from the lush
gardens of the rain forest, and as much at home in this
North African strip of sand as a pearl in a pigpen.
I watched her follow the yellow brick road up to the
waiting Berenko, her walk measured and haughty, No
sister of the night, this one. Definitely a class act.
I waited a few minutes more to see if anyone else
would join the party, but no one arrived. I held myself
in check for a moment, trying to make sense of what
appeared to be the most outrageous of fortunes.
Berenko would no more wander the streets unes-
corted than would the President himself. •mre had to
be watchdogs somewhere. And yet the street was an
empty as a cutthroat's souL
I made a quick mental review of all who had entered,
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searching for details I might have previously over-
looked.
Nope. niere was nothing .in the replay to give me any
indication that the previous occupants were anything
but what they seemed.
Berenko was solo, except for the girl. At least from
the outside. Inside might be a different story, but if
there were any rats hiding in the rafters, they were on to
Robin, not me. The only goon who would know my
face would be the slob i had put to sleep in the café.
I would just have to hope that he was still napping.
'Ihis was too golden a prospect to ignore. I needed to
know why the Russians were tailing Robin, and what
their intentions were in general. I saw no reason not to
go straight to the top. If there was information to be
had, no one would have it like Berenko.
I moved out into the street and made my way toward
the open door. i moved as casually as my pumping
heart would allow, my ears tuned to the first hint of a
*'Nyet!" • but none was forthcoming.
I entered the door and paused. Still nothing. I re-
moved Wilhelmina from her home inside my coat and
started climbing up the stairs. *lhere was an occasional
groan of age as my feet hit certain of the ancient steps,
but I ignored them. Those treads were too used to
constant traffic, as were the people who preceded me,
to worry about silence.
I made the second level, and checked out the cor-
ridor. It was all doors, both left and right, and nary a
Commie in sight. I sighed in relief.
And then I muttered a silent oath.
Things were just too easy. Having fate on one's side
was one thing; having her ready to hop into bed with
you was another. I always get just a little frightened
when events move too smoothly.
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59
I waited a few minutes longer, but in spite of my
longings, chaos simply refused to rear her ugly head.
I moved cautiously into the hall, stepping from door
to door, listening for the telltale signs that would locate
Berenko. I heard groans, and gasps, the gentle strains
of leather on flesh, the bored drone of a young boy's
voice, the light taunting •of the adolescent girls who had
already lost the laughter of their youth.
And then I found them; calm and conversational , the
only intercourse being short bursts of German as they
talked over the fate of the world. The door was just a
little too thick for me to pick up more than a word or two
at a time, so I opted for entry. Cautiously I tested the
latch, fully expecting it to be locked.
Fate was not only in the sack; she was hot to trot, and
on the pill!
I burst through the door and slammed it behind me. I
threw my back to the wall, my feet dancing left and
right, while Wilhelmina searched the room for re-
sponse.
All I got for my efforts was the astonished stares of
Berenko and his lady. They were sitting on the bed,
fully clothed, and embracing no more than their indi-
vidual reasons for being there.
I centered Wilhelmina square between Berenko's
-eyes.
"Bring them out, now!" I barked.
'The two looked at each other blankly.
"Bring who out?" said Berenko.
At the moment, I wasn't even sure myself. room
was devoid of reinforcements, with four blank walls,
and not even a closet to break the monotony. There
were, however, two large windows.
buildings was of typical Mediterranean design;
huge and square. with a central open courtyard. Across
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this court, I could see the windows of the rest of the
building.
If Berenko did have company, they would no doubt
be occupying one of those overlooking rooms, and
would have done so long before the hour had begun
when I took up my vigil.
"Both of you," I snapped, using Wilhelmina for
emphasis, "up against those windows. Take one each,
face it, jill it, and keep your hands up in plain sight.
Berenko was the only one to rise. 'Ihe girl merely
stared at me. I gave her a clear view down Wilhelmi-
na's barrel. "Move!" I shouted.
Quietly, Berenko repeated my instructions to the
girl, in German. She nodded, stood , and moved into the
right-hand window, while Berenko filled the left.
The pointed way in which the verbal exchange was
done was not lost on me.
I approached the two, feeling relatively secure that
no one across the court would take any pot shots with
the boss in the way.
I gave them a quick search for arms. I liberated
Berenko•s Walther and tucked it into my coat pocket.
'Ihe girl was clean. Satisfied that I was the only one
carrying persuasion, I drifted off to my left and placed
my back against the wall containing the windows.
"Okay, back to the bed, both of you!"
Berenko turned and escorted the black beauty back to
their original positions on the bed, while I gave the wall
behind me a quick scan.
To my right and slightly above me, stood a huge
crack in the wall heavily stained by time, or whatever
particular delight had struck the fancy of some prior
-occupant.
I turned back to my roommates.
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