# The Deadly Diva222

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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mense cluster of rhododendron toward the pool. He swung

around it and headed toward the tennis courts and picnic

benches beyond.

He spotted Mueller's white-haired head. The old man

was seated, alone. at one of the circular tables. A picnic

basket of food and an open bottle of wine were on the table

before him.

As Carter approached, the dentist was just holding an

empty wineglass up to the light, with every appearance that

he had just drunk appreciatively.

He had given the sign. He had seen no one suspiciously

lurking around, so it was all right for Carter to join him.

"Hello," he said with weary warmth. "Would you like

some wine?"

Carter shook his head. It suddenly struck him that the

man looked ten years older than he had the day before.

' 'What is it, Herr Doktor0"

"Weist. The KGB has picked him up."

The man's words fell like a lead weight in the quiet air

of the tranquil park.

"As near as I can determine, sometime last night, He

left the opera shortly after midnight and he never arrived at

his flat. I imagine that he has been under interrogation since

then."

Carter's guts were boiling but he managed to keep his

face expressionless. "That means a good nine, maybe ten

hours of interrogation. How well will he hold up?"

Mueller weighed his answer. He reached for the wine

bottle and refilled his glass. The bottle was over half empty.

"He's toughs very tough. Also, I know for a fact that he

is a diabetic, They won't use drugs because they won't want

him to die before they get information. "

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'*But we don't know his threshold for pain."

"No. But I'm inclined to think that Dieter will die before

he will talk."

Suddenly. the children's shrieks from the swimming pool

seemed muted. *Ihe smell of the earth around them seemed

stronger than the pungent odor of the flowers.

Mueller seemed to be absolutely at ease. He picked up

his glass of wine. tasted it. and set it down. He regarded

Carter with what appeared to be honest curiosity.

"What do you propose?"

'*We'll go tonight." Carter replied.

Mueller nodded. s Si thought so. I will pass the word at

the wedding." He checked his watch. "And that is only

two hours from now. "

He stood, straightened his jacket, and dropped an arm on

Carter's shoulder.

"Herr Doktor, there will be room on the plane for three

passengers."

Mueller chuckled. "No, my friend. There is very little

for me here, but less over there. Good luck."

Carter waited until Mueller was completely out of sight

before he himself left in search of a flower shop.

Weist lay on the cot barely able to make out the ceiling

of his cell through his swollen eyes. He had been interrogated

seven times. Each time was worse than the one before.

He wished he was dead.

But he wasn't.

He was alive. He felt as if he were swimming in his own

blood. His naked body was a mass of tortured nerves. His

face was mangled, his jaw broken, and he was pretty sure

that he had lost his right ear.

But he had told them nothing.

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'*But we don't know his threshold for pain."

"No. But I'm inclined to think that Dieter will die before

he will talk."

Suddenly. the children's shrieks from the swimming pool

seemed muted. *Ihe smell of the earth around them seemed

stronger than the pungent odor of the flowers.

Mueller seemed to be absolutely at ease. He picked up

his glass of wine. tasted it. and set it down. He regarded

Carter with what appeared to be honest curiosity.

"What do you propose?"

'*We'll go tonight." Carter replied.

Mueller nodded. s Si thought so. I will pass the word at

the wedding." He checked his watch. "And that is only

two hours from now. "

He stood, straightened his jacket, and dropped an arm on

Carter's shoulder.

"Herr Doktor, there will be room on the plane for three

passengers."

Mueller chuckled. "No, my friend. There is very little

for me here, but less over there. Good luck."

Carter waited until Mueller was completely out of sight

before he himself left in search of a flower shop.

Weist lay on the cot barely able to make out the ceiling

of his cell through his swollen eyes. He had been interrogated

seven times. Each time was worse than the one before.

He wished he was dead.

But he wasn't.

He was alive. He felt as if he were swimming in his own

blood. His naked body was a mass of tortured nerves. His

face was mangled, his jaw broken, and he was pretty sure

that he had lost his right ear.

But he had told them nothing.

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lhe footsteps came and he knew they were coming for

him.

He said, "No," at first under his breath, and then louder.

louder.

"No!" he shouted.

In one of the other cells a woman began to scream hyster-

ically.

The footsteps didn't pause or faulter. They reached the

door of Weist's cell. A key rattled in the lock. With morbidly

fascinated eyes he watched the door swing outward.

he said again, his voice quiet but trembling

now.

Negatov stood in the doorway, a leering smile on his

face. Grinning evily at his shoulder was the giant, Metzger.

' 'It is over, Weist."

The mangled man on the cot only grunted.

Negatov came forward. He leaned over Weist until their

faces were only inches apart. *Ihe man's eyes gleamed with

a bright, feral light.

"The doctor examined your jaw, Weist. To repair it so

you could talk, He had to remove your teeth. This is what

he found."

The face disappeared. In its place Weist saw a thumb and

forefinger. Between them was the hollow tooth.

"It is only a matter of time now, Weist, now that we

know. The work on the tooth is excellent. I will commend

its maker when he is found. Good-bye, Weist."

Dieter Weist felt the sudden jab of the needle in his neck.

Seconds later the pain ebbed, and for just a few seconds

before he died. he felt complete calm.


SEVEN

Peter Dorst was old, but his skin looked older, and his

eyes looked oldest of all. They were wise and heavy-lidded

and feathered with fine wrinkles at their corners. They were

calm eyes, never given to surprise. They had looked their

fill on human guile, wickedness, and depravity. and seen

it all. It was unlikely that anything could now occur to

astonish them.

They were not astonished now as their owner stood in a

small grove of trees, puffing on a and listening calmly

as his old friend and comrade. Walther Mueller. gave him

the instructions.

"And so," Dorst said finally. "after all these years it is

over, We leave tonight. We retire."

"They have all the arrangements made, Peter," Mueller

said. ' 'A new identity. A small cottage in England. You

can spend your days growing roses. "

Dorst chuckled. "After all this time, dear friend, what

else could I do? Deception is all I know besides growing

roses. And you, Walther?"

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The dentist shrugged, "I may still have time for more

deception."

"But Weist . .

"I dorCt think Dieter will break. He's a good man. He

knows the game. I think he will die before he gives me

away."

"Let us hope so," Dorst said. extending his hand. "l

will go and tell Ruperta that we leave tonight. I know she

will be glad."

Mueller only nodded.

Silently he prayed that Dieter Weist had the strength to

die before he talked.

The connection Este had taken Carter to meet in the

whore's West Berlin apartment was named Klaus Pahlmann.

He lived in an alley off the Invaliden. in an apartment above

a garage. The garage was run by Pahlmann•s brother, and

Carter hoped they wouid be closed on this Sunday aftermx»n.

Carter. a box of flowers in his arms, stood across from

the garage and surveyed the nearly empty street. All ap-

peared to be well; there were no loiterers, no lurking figures

in doorways or watching the street from windows.

The big main door was closed, but there was a small

door, which Carter tried. It was unlocked. He opened it and

slipped into the dark interior.

Ail around him was the general smell of autos, grease,

oil, and rubber. Ihrough the maze of several cars in various

stages of repair, Carter could see an office in the rear with

a light.

As he drew near, the Killmaster saw that the office door

was open, but there was no sound of talk or movement.

Planting a big smile on his face, he tapped on the frosted

glass and stepped into the room. A sturdy, froglike man sat

knees-apart-feet-together on a stool. On a table before him

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was a chessboard that he studied intently. scarcely glancing

up when Carter entered.

'*I'm looking for Klaus. You must be his brother. "

Carter waited. When he got no more of an answer, he

spoke again. "I have owed him some money. I have come

to pay.

Suddenly the little man's face came alive. "My worthless

brother owes me a small fortune, You can pay me."

Carter backpedaled. s 'I would like to apologize to Klaus

for taking so long to pay."

The man mulled this around in his small brain for a

moment, stood, and walked to the door. "He is up there,

in the loft. He got very drunk last night, as usual, so he's

probably sleeping. "

' ' nank you."

Carter was almost to the wooden stairs when the man's

voice stopped him. "How much do you owe him?"

"A hundred marks."

The man nodded, smiled, and went back to his chess

game.

The partitioned loft was shabby. Klaus Pahlmann lay

sprawled across the dirty bed in his underwear. Carter was

almost to the when Pahlmann•s eyes opened. They tried

to focus on Carter, but without his gla«ses he could only

stare until the Killmaster was right over him.

"You! Mein Gott, are you mad .

Carter clamped a hand over his mouth. "Klaus, Klaus,

old friend, how are you? I've come to pay you the money

I owe you!" he called loudly. lhen he added in a whisper,

"Keep your voice down. you understand?"

The eyes focused, but none of the color returned to the

face as Pahlmann nodded. Carter removed his hand.

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"Damn fool, you'll have us all arrested!" Pahlmann

hissed.

"Not unless you screw up," Carter repliled. "Things

have changed. We have to go tonight."

By now Pahlmann had put his glasses on and was digging

out a crumpled cigarette pack. At Carter's words he glanced

up sharply. "Impossible! The hangar doors are closed on

Sunday —everything is locked up. Any activity and the walk-

ing patrols would know something was wrong!"

*Monday is out. We have to go tonight." Carter withdrew

a wad of bills from his pocket and dropped them onto the

bed. "A bonus, two thousand marks."

Pahlmann's watery eyes devoured the bills and then

looked up at Carter. It didn't take him long to weigh the

money along with the risk and opt for the former.

"l don't have the duty tonight, but I can make a call and

switch with someone."

' 'The problem is that a second plane, a Stutz, is parked

in front of the Cherokee. I can't shift them around. Can

you fly a Stutz?"

"If it flies," Caner growled, "l can fly it."

Metzger replaced the telephone and scratched seven more

names off the sheet in front of him. Across the desk, Captain

Negatov mashed out his cigarette and spoke.

"How many more to go?"

"One hundred forty-two," the big man replied. "God,

I didn't think there were so many dentists."

"Can we get more men?"

"We have nearly a hundred on it now. The problem is

Sunday. We are breaking into those offices where we haven't

been able to contact anyone, but in some cases the record

and appointment books can't be found."

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Negatov nodded. It was a pleasant. warm Sunday. Den-

tists, even in East Germany, were well paid. Most of them

would tx spending a day in the country with their families.

the dentists can't be found, go after secretaries, recep-

tionists. ' '

' 'Ja, Herr Kapirån."

Metzger reached again for the telephone to get in touch

with the field leader of the search teams.

Negatov had really screwed up this one, he thought. The

hollow tooth was tcx) much of a long shot. The cutout didn't

necessarily have to a dentist.

Metzger would make sure that in his own report he made

a notation that he had urged further interrogation of Weist

before he was terminated.

Grundel Hagan felt physically ill as she was handed from

the car and escorted into the building by two men. They

had taken her away from her parents' table with no explana-

tion. But then the police never gave explanations.

"We must go to Herr Doktor Mueller's office at once."

they had said.

"But why .

"The car is waiting."

At the office door her hands were shaking so hard that

she couldn't get the key in the lock. One of the men did it

for her.

*Where do you keep your appointment book, Fräulein?'

' 'There, in that cabinet. "

"Get it. "

She had the same trouble with the file drawer. but finally

it was opened and the thick book was placed before one of

the two men.

For the next hour Grundel sat primly on the edge of the

chair while the one at the desk—a gawky person with a

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painfully thin face and a brown mop of thinning hair-—

poured over the appointment book.

The other one, a husky blond with mean eyes. smoked

and leered at her legs.

Neither of them spoke.

At last the gawky one slammed the book closed and stood

with a disgusted sigh. "Nothing," he said to his partner,

and started around the desk, "You may put the book away.

Fräulein."

Grundel Hagan was halfway to the file cabinet when the

husky one spoke for the first time. "That is your only

appointment book, isn't it, Fräulein?"

"Yes . . . except for the logbook."

"Logbook? What logbook?"

"We keep a daily log of every patient treated. When we

have an emergency, the patient is logged but they wouldn't

be in the appointment book."

"Quickly. Fräulein. let us see the logbook."

Afternoon was turning to evening when the gawky one

dived for the telephone and barked his findings into it,

ne door opened at the first knock. The woman was

small, with sparkling eyes behind rimless glasses. Her hair

was gray with a liberal coloring of blue rinse giving it a

peculiar sheen in the light. She wore a primly cut, high-

collared black dress with a single strand of pearls around

her throat. She held one arm behind her back.

"Frau Dorst?"

' 'Flowers, Frau Dorst, from Jedermann."

The words had barely left Carter's lips when Peter Dorst

stepped from behind the door. In his hand was a Makarov

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automatic. His wife's hand appeared at her side holding its

twin.

"Come in, hurry!"

Carter stepped into the foyer and the door, was quickly

closed behind him. "Herr Dorst, Frau Dorst, I am happy

to meet you both."

"What may we call you?" the old gentleman asked.

"For now, call me Willi."

"I understand. "

' 'Have you ordered the car?"

"Yes, for seven-thirty. They are always prompt."

Carter checked his watch. ' ' 'Ihen we shall relax as much

as we can for the next half hour. "

The old woman lifted the box of flowers from Carter's

hands. "1'11 just put these in water."

The two men exchanged smiles as she moved into the

depths of the apartment.

Dr. Walther Mueller stood at the window of his study

peering down at the street through a crack in the drapes.

He had been at the window for two hours, with only a

five-minute break to relieve himself.

When he saw the two cars pulled sideways at each end

of the block, and the black Volga sedan pull to the curb

across the street, he sighed. It was almost with relief.

It had been too much to hope that Dieter could hold out

against them. They were ruthless, and they had centuries

behind them in the fine art of interrogation and torture.

But they would be beaten yet.

Taking his glass of brandy, he went to the front door.

When he was sure all three locks were secure. he moved

into his bedroom. He kissed the fading picture of his beloved

wife gone these twenty years, and drank the brandy.

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Then he climbed onto the chair he had set in the center

of the room.

With a last glance at the picture, he carefully placed the

noose around his neck and tightened the knot.

The two of them. the old man and the old woman. stood

coatless before the door. When the knock came, Carter

flattened himself against the wall and nodded to the man.

The door opened.

"Herr Dorst?"

"I am your driver. The car is below."

"We are not quite ready. Would you care to step inside

for a glass of schnapps while you wait?"

"Thank you, mein Herr."

The couple backed off and a tall, rangy man in a dark

suit and hat filled the space.

Some instinct must have warned the man. Just as Carter

threw a chop at the softness behind the back of his right

ear, he ducked. The blow missed, striking his shoulder. and

he tried to retreat.

Carter thrust his leg forward. caught the other's ankle.

and the bolting figure spilled headlong across the floor and

crashed into a large oak table.

Carter dived.

The man was a driver, not a fighter. When he rolled

around to face his attacker, his features were convulsed with

obvious terror. His hat had fallen off and his straw-colored

hair was disheveled. His eyes were wide dark holes that

reflected his fear as he fought against Carter's weight.

His fist caught the side of the Killmaster's head and made

his ear ring. Then Carter had his flailing arms pinned to his

sides. With a grunted effort Carter hauled the man to his

feet and slammed him against the walli

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Panic broke the dam of fear that had built up in the man's

mind. He made a queer screaming sound and lunged at

Carter, hands like claws that scratched at the Killmaster's

face.

Carter ducked and threw a hard right that crunched solidly

into the man's face. He struck again. and the man slammed

against the wall with a thud. He lost his footing and slid to

the floor, his back to the wall.

Carter started to straighten him up again and then paused,

satisfied.

The driver was out cold.

Frau Dorst appeared at Carter's side.

"Is he dead?"

"No .

. out. Get the sheet you ripped into strips and

the adhesive. "

As she humed away. Carter stripped off the man's coat

and pulled it on. It was a little tight, but it wouldn't hamper

his movements enough to bother him.

Frau Dorst retumed with the long strips of sheet and the

adhesive. As Caner and the old man tied up the driver. she

got their coats and the small bag of valuables and mementos

they would take with them.

At the door, the old couple paused. their arms around

one another, looking at the apartment and then at each other.

"I think, folks," Carter said, ' •we really should be

going. "

' 'Yes, we really should," Dorst said, and, holding hands,

they followed Caner down to the street and the car.

Negatov knew that the chances that he would find Mueller

at his home were slim. but it was all he had. Dragging

deeply on his hundredth cigarette' of the day, he urged the

driver to go faster.

Before the Volga sedan was completely stopped he was

out of the car and running. He burst through the front doors

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and up the stairs with Metzger, the prison doctor, and two

agents right behind him.

He screamed at the slowness of the elevator and the dim-

ness of the hall when they reached the tenth floor. At the

end of the hallway was a heavy wooden door. Negatov

trained his flashlight on the door.

'*Break it down!"

It took three shoulder smashes from Metzger and one of

the agents before the jamb splintered and the door fell in-

ward. Negatov was in the room before the door hit the floor.

He flicked a light switch and got nothing.

The living room and the study beyond were empty. He

bolted for the open door of the bedroom, leading with the

flash.

The beam fell on the legs of a man. Tiey dangled before

him, the feet only inches off the floor.

Negatov raised the light, and it fell on the tightly wound

noose of a twisted sheet wrapped around the man's neck.

Mueller hung from it, his head bent awkwardly to one side.

Negatov jumped forward and grasped the body, lifting

it. ' 'Cut him down!"

One slice from Metzger's knife and the body sagged. 'Ihe

KGB man lowered it to the floor and dropped to his knees

beside Mueller. He was still warm, but there was no

heartbeat. no pulse.

He's dead. Negatov thought angrily, and then screamed

it: e SThe son of a bitch is dead!"

' 'Perhaps not," the prison doctor said, shoving Negatov

out of the way.

The doctor flipped Mueller over into position on his face

and was leaning forward to press air from his lungs, lean-

ing back lifting his arms, and then pressing forward and down

again. Mueller had stopped breathings but so do men who

drown, and often they can be revived. He kept working on

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him, losing track of time. They knew that Mueller could

have been unconscious only briefly; the breath couldn't have

been kept from his lungs and body and brain for very long.

But still he lay motionless.

The doctor kept on and suddenly got a slight response

from Mueller, a faint gasp for air. He continued the anificial

respiration, and then Mueller was breathing unaided. His

hands moved, and then he stirred. In a moment his eyelids

fluttered. Soon his eyes opened and he tried to sit erect.

The doctor started to help him. and Mueller let out a yell

and. swung a hard fist at his face.

The doctor ducked aside, the knuckles grazing his cheek,

then grabbed Mueller's arms and tried to hold them. Mueller

was surprisingly strong for a man just brought back from

unconsciousness . . from death, for that matter. He was

shouting and straining against the doctor's arms, trying to

slug him.

Then Metzger and the other two agents jumped into the

melees and in no time Mueller was subdued, helpless on

the floor.

Captain Negatov took the prison doctor aside. "How

long, after the drugs, can we get him to talking?"

The doctor shrugged. ' 'A matter of minutes."

"Make it seconds, Herr Doktor. "


EIGHT

The car was a Volga M-124. small but sleek and fast. It

was all Carter could do to force himself and keep the machine

at a steady speed.

As they moved through the warm night in a roundabout

way to Schonfeld Airport, the Dorsts, from the back seat,

kept up a running commentary. The subject was their be-

trayal. They were both positive that they had not been blown

from any brilliant investigative work on the part of the KGB

or the East German security police.

"Quite the contrary," Herr Dorst muttered. "We were

blown from the West. Too few people knew of us, knew

our identities. "

"What about Weist and Mueller?" Carter asked, maneu-

vering the car around a line of trucks.

"They, too," Frau Dorst replied. "We were a team, the

four of us. Not over a half-dozen people in your government

knew of our existence, let alone any of our names."

Carter listened and digested. It wouldn't be the first time

somebody screwed up and blew a couple of good agents.

He didn't say as much to the old couple, but he was already

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filing everything away in his mind that he planned to inves-

tigate when they got out of this mess.

Breaking down doors had become Metzger's srxcialty

that night.

When it was done, Negatov again led the way. lunging

into the darkened apartment, a gun in one hand, a flash in

the other.

They were in the middle of the living room, crouching,

listening, when they first heard it, a muffled cry, like that

of a wounded bird.

"You two, the kitchen!" Negatov growled. "Metzger,

follow me."

ney ran the length of the hall and burst into the bedroom.

It was empty. Negatov started to turn back, when he heard

a low, guttural moan like that of a trapped animal.

"The closet." Metzger rasped, already moving toward

the closed door.

It was yanked open. On the floor of the closet was a man

trussed up with torn strips of sheet. Half of his mangled

face was obscured by a wide strip of adhesive, through

which he was trying to speak.

Negatov ripped the adhesive off and roared at the man

on the floor. "I am Captain Igor Negatov, central unit,

KGB. Who are you?"

"Zeisman, Ruger Zeisman. I work in the motor pool. I

was sent to pick up Herr Dorst and his wife and take them

to the theater."

"They did this?"

"No, there was a man, a big man, behind the door when

I walked in

Negatov listened, urging the man to tell more and tell it

faster, with quick, precise questions. When the driver

finished, Negatov turned to Metzger. "They are making a

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run for it. The man who did this must be the American they

sent over to bring the traitors out. Zeisman

"Yes . . .

Sir? • '

"Your car .. . and the number?"

"A black Volga M- 124. Fourdoors. The number is AR41-

43. "

"Metzger, alert the Wall. I want everyone out and every

light on. Also, I want every motor and walking unit in the

city alerted to that car."

"Ja, Herr Kapirän.j'

"Also, they might try to get deeper into East Germany

and out another way. Block all the roads, all of them,

leading out of the city. "

*'Jay Herr Kapitän. "

Metzger rushed out to radio the new information. Negatov

searched the apartment for a telephone. A man of Dorst's

position would surely have one.

He -was right. It hung on the kitchen wall, and thankfully

it worked.

Quickly he dialed KGB Central on Unter Den Linden,

and nervously tapped a countertop with his long nails until

a clerk picked up and answered in a bored voice.

' 'This is Negatov. Put me through to Crofus at once!"

A series of clicks and a husky hass voice came on the

line. ' 'Crofus . . : •

"This is Negatov. Have you magnified the tape of the

Mueller interrogation?"

"Most of it, Herr Kapitän," came the reply. "You must

have used too much of the drug. Much of what he said is

rambling, incoherent."

"Then there is nothing new?"

"Not much. One thing, perhaps. Twice he mentions es-

cape in conjunction with flying."

"Flying?" Negatov roared. "The only flights out of

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Schonfeld are Aeroflot direct to Moscow. Ihey are not

trying to escape to Moscow!"

'€1 am sorry, mein Herr. I can only tell you what I am

able to hear."

Negatov slammed the phone back onto its wall cradle and

sprinted toward the front of the apartment. Behind him he

heard the agonized wails of the driver, Ziesman. begging

to be released.

He paid no attention.

S 'Metzger!"

The big German was barking orders into a portable unit.

"Ja, Herr Kapitän?"

"Schonfeld. Put more units around the airport and beef

up security inside!"

"Ja, Herr Kapitån. "

'*And have a helicopter ready. I'm going out there."

"Ja, Herr Kapitån. "

Negatov hurried toward the street, a sinking feeling in

his gut.

Flying?

What the hell were they going to fly?

Carter parked the Volga in a cul-de-sac off Bidan Allee.

Beside them, a small stream meandered toward the Spee.

Two hundred yards beyond the stream was the rear of Schon-

feld. Nearly two miles in the distance he could see the tower

and the lights of the terminal.

The two new. major runways were well lit. They were

also far in the distance.

"Follow me!" he said.

The two older people splashed behind him across the

stream and through the trees on the other side. On the very

edge of the trees Carter called a halt and crouched down.

He spotted the big gate and the smaller door in its center.

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'The gate was conventional. insufficient in itself to serve as

a bar to anyone intent on entering. But it had been laced

with barbed wire. and there were heavy wooden beams

backing it up.

Extending from the pillars in both directions was a stock-

ade of hardwood posts, each as thick as a man's thigh. The

chain link from post to post was ten feet in height and strung

in altemate and loose strands along the top.

Making matters worse, all the brush and trees had been

cleared from around the fence. leaving an area of sixty or

seventy yards perfectly smooth and free of any cover. Only

in a particularly heavy darkness could one approach the gate

without being seen.

Thankfully, only a few interior lights were burning in the

hangar. cleared area outside the fence was in darkness.

"Herr Dorst. . ."

' 'Do you see that door in the gate?"

"l see it."

have a man inside. H0Ffully, that door is unlocked.

I'm going in. I want you and your wife to stay here, in the

cover of these trees. When you hear the sound of an airplane

engine start up, I want you to run for that gate. Can you

do that?"

The old man looked at his wife. She smiled. "We can

do it."

S 'Good." Carter said. "Once you get through the gate

you'll see me taxiing the plane."

Dorses brows knitted as he stared at Carter. "Willi, what

about guards? Surely there will be someone around .

Carter returned the old man's stare. "There will be, but

I will have taken care of them. One more thing. If you hear

shots and within a few minutes you don't hear the engine

of the plane, get out."

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"Get out?" Dorst said with a chuckle. "Get out where?"

Carter gave him the name of Winola Becker and her

address in Prisen Atlee. "She will hide you until they can

send someone else."

Carter took a deep breath and sprinted across the open

ground. He paused only a second to listen at the door, and

then tried it.

Jt was unlocked.

He darted through, closed it silently behind him. and

dropped to the ground.

Fifty yards away, two sodium vapor lights on tall poles

illuminated the front of the hangar and the concrete apron

leading to the runway. A bare bulb gleamed through a small

window on the far side of the hangar. That would be the

office.

Carter went over both conversations with the bespectacled

and acne-faced little man:

There would be one, perhaps two security guards in the

office besides himself. Once every hour or so, one of them

would take a turn around the outside of the hangar area.

Also, there were two perimeter guards on the fence using

flashlights as they made their rounds. They left the hangar

every hour, usually on the hour. One turned to the left and

made a casual loop, the other right and followed a mirror-

image route.

When they reached the opposite ends of the runway, they

retraced their steps.

No matter how hard Carter peered along the fence line,

he couldn't see their lights. That meant one of two things.

They were either in the hangar office taking their break, or

they were at the far ends of the runway.

Either way. Carter was not about to waste time locating

them.

He began crawling forward on his belly.

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Corporal Hermann Veggan angled his battered Volks-

wagen along the quiet street and through the uneven row

of decaying buildings on either side.

It was a sorry car for patrol duty. One headlight blinked

on and off, the other was so dim that it didn't illuminate

the road, And the radio was worse. All it produced was

static. He always patrolled with it off until he had to report

in on the hour.

It was off now.

In the dark, with the full rncx)n lending a milky glow to

everything in sight, it seemed as if this end of the airport

were haunted. That was why Veggan liked his duty. He

could stop any time he wanted for a smoke or a quick nap

during his tour, and no one would be around to catch him.

He turned in to his favorite napping spot, the dead end,

Bidan Allee, and hit the brakes.

There, at the end of the alley in the cul-de-sac, was a

Volga. He knew from the license plate that it was an official

car.

Tonight, with a KGB Volga in the area, was no time for

a nap. Quickly, Veggan reversed and backed out onto the

larger road. As he chugged away, he checked his watch.

He had to report to headquarters in five minutes. He

turned on his radio. As usual. he got only static that hurt

his ears. He shut it off.

As usual, he would have to use the phone booth by the

main terminal when it was his turn to report in.

As he drove over a set of railroad tracks and followed

the curving roadway around the airport, Veggan wondered

if what he often heard was true.

Did everything in the West actually work?

Carter was ten yards from the door when it burst open

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I

and a uniformed Vopo, his machine pistol slung across his

chest, came out onto the concrete apron. He paused only

long enough to slam the door behind him, and then headed

directly to where the Killmaster crouched. just beyond the

arch of the sodium vapor lamp.

He was only two feet away when Carter came up out of

the shadows. The Killmaster missed the throat with the

bailed, extended knuckles of his left hand. The blow

smashed into the center of the man's face. Carter could feel

the cartilage of the nose give way, and saw blood spun.

There was an angry groan of pain. Before the groan could

tum into a shout of warning, Carter used his right. It was

a direct hit, right in the windpipe.

The man staggered back and the Killmaster moved in to

set up the kill.

The guard must have guessed that this was going to be

it. Suddenly he tried to turn and run. He hit a patch of mud

on the edge of the concrete and his foot slipped.

As he went down, Carter nailed him with a brutal chopping

blow to the back of the neck.

The ferocity of the blow brought Carter to one knee. He

stayed like that for several seconds, listening. Satisfied that

the sound of the scuffle had alerted no one, he went to the

tips of his toes and peered through the thin rail of glass in

the big hangar door.

They were both there, the Stutz, with the Cherokee di-

rectly behind it, gleaming dully in the dim glow of a night

light over a rear workbench.

Crouching again, Carter moved to the doorway. Beyond

it the hall was dark, a sliver of light seeping from beneath

the door of the office.

He moved on until he was directly beneath the window.

Cautiously, he raised his head until his eyes were just over

the sill. Inside, a tall, muscular youth was splashing water

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onto his face over a sink. A holstered revolver sat on a

nearby table, and a machine pistol was slung over the back

of a high-backed chair.

*Ihe Killmaster moved back to the door and into the hall.

To his right, through a pair of swinging doors, was the

interior of the hangar. He could hear or see no one. To his

left was the office door.

He put one hand on the knob and the other on the butt

of the Beretta assembled from the pieces of the Hasselblad.

Then he thought better of it.

A shot from an unsilenced gun would bring the two

perimeter guards at a dead run.

He would have to take this one as he had taken the first

one, with his hands.

Boldly, he opened the door, stepped in, and walked to-

ward the sink. The guard was just reaching for a towel. He

muttered a name Carter didn't catch, and just before the

Killmaster reached him, dropped the towel from his eyes.

Alarm flashed in his eyes. He threw the towel and, in

the same movement, dived for the machine pistol. Cårter

toppled the chair with a kick and got a solid punch in, just

above the man's heart.

The guard staggered. but the blow wasn't enough to drop

a man of his size. He bellowed like a wounded bull and

charged, punching with both hands.

He was almost there when Carter dropped to the right.

Punching at air, the guard went right by. Carter slammed

him with a left. It landed dead center in the face. It almost

sank in, as into soft jelly. Carter smashed his right, bladelike,

down on the guard's neck.

The man toppled to the floor like a felled tree, his eyes

glazed, and stayed there.

"Are you going to kill him?"

Carter whirled. Zeisman stood in the doorway. He wore

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gray mechanic•s overalls, and his mouth gaped. Behind his

glasses the eyes seemed to be rolling around in their sockets.

"No," Carter replied, "there shouldn't be any need for

it. Heell be out for at least twenty minutes. That should do

it. I'll be gone by then. Is the Stutz fueled?"

The other man nodded. "And checked out."

"What about the two perimeter guards?"

Zeisman's eyes went to a big, round clock on the wall.

"They left about twenty minutes ago. They should be at

the ends of the runway now, making their turn."

"Good enough,"' Carter growled. "Let's get into the

hangar."

Zeisman turned and started down the hall, speaking over

his shoulder. "You'll have to give me time to get over to

the teminal. If I'm here when you leave, they will wonder

why I didn't try to stop you."

"No, they won't. "

"Of course they—

That was as far as he got. Carter chopped him twice

behind the ear and he hit the


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Corporal Hermann Veggan lit a cigarette as he strolled

listlessly toward the ielephone. He was five minutes late

reporting, but on a dead night like this he was sure there

would be no repercussions. More than likely, most of the

watch at Central sector were asleep or in the canteen.

He unlocked the box, the spindly phone, and hit

the single button.

The voice was there instantly, and tense. "Central, go

ahead. "

"Corporal Veggan, sector ten, two-hour check."

"Veggan„ you ass, where have you been!"

• Where have I been? I've been patrolling my sector—

"Why didn't you respond when I called you on the

"My radio gets nothing but static. If you'll check, you'll

find that I have put in eleven requests for a new one so far

this year."

"All right, all right. Listen good, we may have a Code

Seventy."

Good, Veggan thought, maybe some excitement for a

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change! Code Seventy was a high-level defection. He took

apad and the stub of a pencil from his pocket. "Go ahead. "

' 'Subjects are an older couple, married, late sixties. May

use own papers. names. Dorst, Peter and Ruperta. Will be

moving with a man, tall, dark hair, possibly West German

agent."

"Got it," Veggan said. 'Do they have transportation?"

"Yes, a staff car from motor pool. It's a black Volga

M-124, plate number AR41-43."

Beads of sweat were popping out on the corporal's

forehead and his hand holding the phone had started to shake.

He closed his eyes in concentration and conjured up the

Volga he had seen in his single headlight at the cul-de-sac

of Bidan Allee.

"Veggan, are you there? Do you copy?"

Slowly, so slowly the license plate became clear. He

could see the numbers again . . . AR41-43.

"Veggan, damn you . .

' 'l am here. sir. The car is in my sector. I saw it just a

few minutes ago. "

"At the end of the cul-de-sac of Bidan Allee—

"Get back there at once!"

"Yes, sir."

The line went dead and Veggan ran forthe Volkswagen.

The helicopter was a small JU-12. It was only a two-

seater, and since it was used primarily for Vopo surveillance

work over the city, it was unarmed. For this reason, Negatov

had already put an Mpik—the East German version of a

Soviet AK-47 assault rifle—in the passenger seat along with

three full, extra magazines.

The engine had warmed up and above him the rotors

whirred lazily, ready for takeoff. He was about to hoist

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himself in. when he spotted Ziegler, the control communi-

cations officer, running toward him waving his arms in the

air. Negatov dropped back to the apron when the man

reached him almost too breathless to talk.

"Slow down, man, what is it?"

"The car, Herr Kapitän, it's been spotted!"

"The Volga, same license number?"

"Yes, sir, in a cul-de-sac on Bidan Allee, just beyond

the fence around the old runway."

Negatov felt a twist in his gut as he the man's

shoulders. "Quickly, what's just inside the fence over

there?"

"An old hanger. It's used as storage mostly, and a place

for patrols on that perimeter. I've tried to call them for the

last five minutes and there is no answer.

Negatov stared at the two sodium lamps nearly two miles

away, and let his mind race. "Ziegler, are there any aircraft

over there""

"Yes. We park the short-range mail planes over there,

an old Cherokee and a Stutz."

"Damn, that's it! Get three trucks of Vopos moving. one

each to block both ends of the old runway, and send one

directly to the hangar."

"Yes, sir, right away."

The man scumed away, and Negatov pulled himself into

the chopper, "You heard?" The pilot nodded that he had.

"Then move, as fast as possible!"

As the machine lifted off, Negatov levered a shell into

the chamber of the assault rifle and clicked off the safety.

When the telephone rang, Carter almost answered it. His

German was good enough and he thought he might be able

to pass himself off as Zeisman. But, abruptly, just as he

reached the instrument, the ringing stopped.

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NICK CARTER

Quickly, he ran back inside the hangar. As quietly as

possible he rolled the big door up after extinguishing the

bench light. Grunting with the exertion. he rolled the Stutz

out onto the apron by handi

Then he was in the plane. He did a quick once-over of

the controls with his penlight, set the gun on the number

two seat, and fired up.

The engine caught, missed, and caught again, throwing

blue exhaust smoke as it picked up revs. In seconds it settled

down into the smooth, assured idle of a well-maintained

engine.

The packs on the disc brakes squealed lightly as he turned

the aircraft and taxied to the end of the apron. At the same

time, he turned his head toward the darkness at the edge of

the woods.

ne Dorsts were running across the clear space

the fence as fast as their legs would carry them.

'Run!" Carter exhorted under his breath. "Run faster! "

emen he saw the uniformed Vopo. He was standing at

the edge of the woods, shouting. his rifle raised to his

shoulder.

The couple passed out of sight behind the gate as the

Vopo fired. Carter grabbed the Beretta and vaulted from

the plane. He hit the apron running, and was about twenty

feet from the small door when it 01Ened and the Dorsts

burst through.

Peter Dorst was half carrying, half dragging his wife as

he kicked the door closed. Two slugs slammed into it from

the other side. He turned to Carter with tears streaming

down his cheeks.

"Ruperta, she's hit."

Carter looked down where the woman's white face

peeked from under her husband's arm. There were tears of

THE DEADLY DIVA

pain in her eyes, but she was smiling.

I think it is my back . . . somewhere."

"Can you get her to the plane?" Carter rasped.

think so."

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pain in her eyes. but she was smiling.

81

I think it is my back . . . somewhere."

"Can you get her to the plane?" Carter rasped.

think so."

"Then move!"

Carter dropped to one knee. He lifted the makeshift Be-

retta in both hands to the firing position and waited, Behind

him, he could hear the old man's dragging footsteps and

his heavy breathing.

The door in the gate slammed open and the Vopo lurched

through. All his concentration was on the plane and the

fleeing couple. He didn't even see Carter until the Killmaster

fired, twice.

Both 9mm slugs hit him center chest. The Vopo dropped

his rifle and fell back through the door.

Carter sprinted to the plane.

Dorst was struggling, trying to lift his wife up and through

the small door. As gently yet as swiftly as possible, Carter

got his arrns under her and brought her up and into the rear

seat. Then he hefted the old man in behind her.

" You'll have to take care of her yourself. I have to fly. "

g 'I understand. "

"Here's a light," Carter said. "There is a first aid kit

there, in the pocket. The main thing is to stop the bleeding. "

He slammed the door and scrambled over the console

into the number one seat.

He kicked the revs up and released the brakes at the same

time. The Stutz lurched forward.

In the distance, coming from the main terminal area across

the main runways, he could see a helicopter coming their

way in the air and the lights of a heavy vehicle on the ground.

He upped the revs and tumed onto the old, rutted taxiway.

Cool, he thought, be cool. He kept one eye ahead and

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I

one eye on the instruments going through a checklist as he

sensed the helicopter's dancing spotlight heading right for

the hangar.

The pitch was fine as he ran the power up to 17(X) rpm.

All the instruments were in normal ranges. Magneto drop

was 125 rpm. Carburetor was applying heat, good suction

pressure with a normal rpm drop.

He put the prop through a cycle from fine through coarse

pitch back to fine, and it sounded gutsy.

The gyros were set and the altimeter read sea level.

He flipped the boost pump to on and gave it ten degrees

flap. Out the window he could see the flaps cycling down.

He left the navigational and strobe lights off.

With any luck the helicopter and truck wouldn't see him

in the darkness, and wouldn't hear him over the roar of

their own engines.

Then he saw the truck, Vopos already pouring off its flat

bed. There were orange flashes everywhere as they hit the

ground and fanned out. A slug hit the Plexiglas and careened

away. Another came right on through and slammed into the

radio box above Carter's head.

He hit the rudders and swung the little plane in a 180 de

gree turn on the runup pad until the nose was aligned to the

center line.

"How are we?" he shouted over his shoulder.

"I don't know," Dorst answered. "I think I have stopped

the bleeding. She has passed out."

"Well. buckle her up, and yourself," Carter said. "Ten

minutes from now and we're home. "

He didn't add, if they don't blow us to hell first.

He lowered the flaps to their limits and put them back to

their trailing position. He fine-pitched the prop, and the

Stutz, pinioned by the brakes, seemed to crouch on its nose

gear, waiting to leap.

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In the side mirror Carter could •ee the orange flashes

getting closer. and he could hear the pings as the slugs

slammed into the plane.

He hit the throttle and released the brakes.

Half.

Three-quarters.

Full.

From the cockpit the movement of the center line stripe

became a blur and then a solid strip of faded white.

"Seventy knots, seventy-five . .

c'mon. baby!"

And then he saw them, two trucks, twin pairs of headlights

coming down the runway straight at them.

There was little doubt as to their intent. If bullets wouldn't

stop the little plane, then trucks would. They meant to hit

him on each side with the heavy vehicles and rip the slender

wings right off the plane's body.

"Dorst .

s 'Yes, I see them."

'Hold your wife steady and do the best you can yourself.

I'm going over the grass median to the main runway. "

The words were scarcely out of Carter's mouth when his

feet hit the rudders. The plane veered right and they were

in the pulpy mush of the median.

The tires bogged, but between speed and li ft they managed

to slog through. Carter bit his lip and held the throttle at full.

He only hoped that there were no drainage ditches. If

there were, the plane would nose over. probably flip, and

it was all over.

The two trucks had veered with him. Now they were also

on the median, but their tremendous weight was bogging

them down to a crawl.

At last there was a final bump and they were on the main

runway. Again Carter found the center line and in no time

he got airspeed.

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I

"One of the trucks is stuck!" Dorst called from the rear

seat. "The other is on the runway but falling

"Good,'S Carter said, and pulled back on the wheel.

Then they had liftoff and the runway fell away. The

landing gear hesitated but eventually lifted up into the belly.

Carter settled the airspeed for a fractional rate of climb,

trimmed out the control pressures, and checked his oil.

The heat gauge was popping the red and climbing.

The hell with it, he thought, and didn't bother easing

back the rpm. It was a twenty-mile flight. If the engine

blew on the way down, then let it blow.

Visibility was nearly unlimited and the air was calm in

the cloudless nighti Calm except for the banshee whcx)shing

as it came through the hole made by the bullet.

Off to their right was West Berlin. Carter put the Stutz

into a rolling bank and nearly collided with the helicopter

as it came up from beneath them,

"Jesus . . . "

' 'Willi, look out!" Dorst wailed.

The side door of the chopper was open. The machine was

so close that Carter could make out the features

in the panel lights as he let go with the assault rifle.

The slugs stitched across the Plexiglas, and Carter felt a

tug at his right shoulder and then burning pain.

From behind him there was a gargled gasp but he didn't

have time to investigate. He put the plane into a roll that it

wasn't designed to make, and came up under and behind

the helicopter.

The engine was still screaming. but the heat gauge was

clear through the red.

Much longer like this and it would lock up.

As Carter had hoped, the helicopter pilot was savvy. He

waited until Carter came out of the loop and then took the

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THE DEADLY DIVA 85 Kill master's dare. He dropped M right beside them and tilted his nose forward to match the Stutz's speed. In the open hatchway. Caner could see the second man jamming a new magazine into the rifle. Keeping the Stutz steady with his knees. Caner opened the vent window. Leaning far back, he held the Beretta out the window in his right hand, with a fresh clip in his left. The other man was just lifting the rifle when Carter fired until the clip was empty. He knew he had a hit when the rifle lifted, the orange fleshes going harmlessly into the sky. Carter rammed home the new clip and stinted firing again. This time he sprayed the slugs all along inside the chopper. The chopper pilot didn't mice two seconds with slugs flying around the inside of his canopy. He veered away and Carter banked enough to head straight for the Wall. Them was machine-gun fire from the turrets lining the Wall, but at two thousand feet they were a skimpy target. Then they were over. He banked right and headed for the lights of Templehof. He dropped to five hundred feet and started his glide. Suddenly them was a choking sound from the engine and it started to spuner. "Hang on, baby." he urged, "two more minutes." He cut back the throttle and dropped the landing gear. It groaned and clanked but finally dropped into place and locked. The runway was coming up fast. In the distance Carter could see the red and blue lights of fire trucks heading for the end of the runway. The tower would be alerted that there was a renegade, an them would be no other traffic to contend with., He was down to final approach. still coming in too low

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I

but not wanting to risk any furtheroverheat of the engine.

100 feet.

50 feet.

The Stutz nosed down in a long glide pattern. Carter

could see the shadow of descent from the ground lights. He

inched forward in the seat, his hips straining against the belt.

lhe plane touched down and bounced slightly.

And then the overheat hit. lhere was a grinding sound

and the pistons lcxked slightly. A second later the prop

froze, causing a side swerve.

Carter did his best to correct as the wheels banged down

again, jarringly. The jolt threw him forward. His head

slammed against the Plexiglas, and almost at once he could

feel blood running into his eyes.

Now it was all by feel. He could hardly see the end of

the runway coming up and the fence beyond. He knew his

speed was too great but he had no prop-thrust in reverse to

cut it down.

He waited until the last possible minute before he stood

on the brakes.

They screamed as the discs locked, and then flames shot

out from beneath the plane when the pads wore through and

it was steel against steel.

The nose swerved wildly. Carter moved his feet from the

brakes to the rudder. He veered from side to side on the

runway, ü•ying to reduce speed.

Then they were off the runway, skidding on the grassy

median. The right wingtip hit a light stanchion. lhe wing

buckled, but not before the plane had been spun around.

A tire blew and the left wing hit the ground. Again Carter

was head-slammed, this time against the heavy side brace.

The world was going black and foggy. . . .

He was floating.

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And then he felt an agonizing pain where his right arm

was being clutched by an overanxious hand.

The pain brought consciousness. He snapped his eyes

open and Icx)ked up into a white, worried face topped by a

wide-billed fireman's hat.

"Hey, this one's alive!"

"The old man," Caner groaned, ' 'and the woman "

"Sorry, they didn't make it."

Carter said one he passed out.


TEN

Senator Paul Colber lay on the aft sun deck of the yacht.

He was naked and his body, at forty-three, was trim and

bronzed from the sun.

He heard the anchor drop. hold, and seconds later the

yacht swung around with the tide. When the slack was taken

up in the anchor chain, the big boat trgan to rock lazily.

Colber was on his belly. He opened one eye and. four

miles away. he saw the gleaming villas of St. Tropez glis-

tening in the Mediterranean sun.

The life, he thought. this is the life. If his constituents

could see him now, he would probably face a recall, If his

wife could see him, she would have his balls in the oven.

A pity he had ever married, he mused. But it was hard

to get elected without the family image. And then there was

the money. Small-town lawyers didn't get elected to the

U.S. Senate without money and connections. The woman

he had chosen to marry twenty-eight years earlier had both.

Something about marriage. he thought. made men and

women cease to become pleasure-seeking animals. Such

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was his own case, until a year before when he had met a

woman in New York who had reignited those pleasure-seek-

ing desires.

He felt the warm, gentle Mediterranean sun bathe his

bare body. The yacht bobbed gently up and down in the

water. Below, he could hear the four-man crew going about

their duties. They would never come up on the sun deck

unless they were summoned.

They were well trained and well paid by the yacht's owner,

their beautiful mistress, to be discreet.

"More oil. darling?" she said. "You're drying out."

"Please," Colber sighed, and felt her fingers and palms

working the sunscreen over his naked flesh. She oiled his

shoulders, his back, his buttocks, and the backs of his legs

down to the ankles.

"Hmmm."

"Turn over."

He tumed. For a few seconds the sun blinded him. He

shielded his eyes with a forearm and she came into focus.

She, too, was naked, her body bronzed from the tops of

her feet to her blond hair. Her body already glistened with

oil as she leaned forward over him on her knees.

Her small, firm, dark-nippled breasts wavered above his

eye. Her flat stomach and the dark triangle at its base

wavered inches from his lips.

"You're getting new ideas," she smiled.

"I never gave up the old ones," he countered.

Her fingers worked more suntan lotion into his chest and

glided downward. The palms kneaded his flat, spare stomach

and passed over his groin to pay close attention to his legs

and hips.

"Must you go this afternoon?"

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91

"I must, and you know it," he sighed. have a meeting

in Geneva tomorrow moming and it's important. "

"Arms talks," she pouted. "always silly arms talks. "

Her fingers began to tickle the inside of his thighs. It was

a magic that always worked. He could feel blood rushing

to his groin.

"Always the best forecast," she chuckled.

He moaned low in his throat, becoming languorous and

almost semiconscious under her ministrations, floating in

the pleasure her fingers brought him.

He listened to her voice and, without thinking, mumbled

answers to her seemingly innocuous questions.

"What can so important to the negotiators that you

must be there yourself?"

"It is always a delicate situation when you give in on

certain points. " His own voice seemed to float somewhere

above them both. Her magic fingers had lifted him to a

euphoric state.

"But surely some aide could tell your people in Geneva

what is to be given up to the Soviets?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" She ran her fingers like a velvet comb

through his pubic hair, bringing a gasp to his lips.

"It's a very delicate situation. We are prepared to agree

on their last initiative, but it must be delivered in such a

way that they think they must give up another point or two

before we will accede. "

"But if you are going to give them what they want, why

not just tell them?"

He smiled at her naiveté. "Because there is always the

chance that we can squeeze just a little more out of them

before we say yes."

His eyes were closed. He didn't see the smile that curved

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her sensuous lips and the narrowness of her eyes as she

weighed her position.

Should she try to glean more? Or would she be satisfied

with this?

She decided on the latter. They had told her to find out

Washington's position on the last offer, and she had done

just that. Further questioning and even this love-starved fool

might question the questioning.

It was time to give Senator Colber his reward.

It meant little to her. Long ago it had become pointless

to try and remember all the men she'd had and the number

of times they had made love to her. Only a few were memor-

able.

Physical satisfaction was an easy thing for her. She could

get it from any of them. She took it and accepted it as a

normal reflex of her body. It meant littles and it brought

them further under her spell.

The female orgasm.

It bolstered their egos so much when they knew they were

the cause of it. It was just a convenience; she never had to

fake it.

Her fingers reached his sex, She played with him, gently ,

knowingly, and he responded like a youth.

"Oh, my," she sighed, not needing to feign the pleasure

in her voice.

He opened his eyes to see her wide blue eyes gazing back

at him in innocence.

God. he thought. how superbly beautiful she was. She

was one of those rare creatures endowed with blond hair

and blue eyes whose skin could be tanned golden by the

sun. She never burned or turned a lobster color.

"if I have you for just this afternoon," she told him.

'*then I shall take so much of you that there will be nothing

left for another woman until I see you again."

THE DEADLY DIVA

"There is no other woman," he growled.

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He curled his fingers around her neck t*neath her hair

and tugged her down. She came willingly. stretching her

body full length over his. Their oiled flesh slid together.

When her lips found his, he her buttocks and ground

himself against her.

"I'm ready for you," she said softly, very softly, against

his ear. She knew he liked to feel her breath there, it excited

him.

His penetration made them both gasp.

She settled over him, her face a mask of concentration

on what was happening to her bcxiy. She pressed her knees

into his ribs and leaned over him, palms flat against his

heaving chest as he thrust harder and deeper inside her.

"Yes, hurt me, fill me," she hissed, rubbing her oil-slick

buttocks against his legs.

Beneath them the yacht bobbed up and down in the water,

moving with the rhythm of their bodies.

Her breathing became raspy. Before her slitted eyes, the

shore, four miles away, rose and fell. It undulated with their

liquid movements.

She gritted her teeth and tightened her thighs. He gasped

and bucked upward harder until their bones ground against

each other.

"Yes, yes!" she cried, looking down into his face. It

was twisted and contorted with almost unbearable pleasure.

"Now!" she groaned.

He nodded frantically.

The rhythm of her hips became like the pulsating piston

of a high-speed engine. And from her lips spewed words

of filth in three languages. There was no end to her range.

Verbally she abused him, calling up the languages of the

gutters of a hundred cities.

It made him wild.

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I

The intensity of his lust freed her own. She cried out.

The shock waves rippled through her groin, her and

made her breasts ache.

She felt him explode and tightened her hold on him until

the contractions ceased. Then the warm, weak limpness

came, and she fell over him.

They lay embraced, smelling the heady mix of their bodies

with the salt sea air.

But not for long.

Ihey never relaxed for long after their lovemaking. It

often bothered him, but he accepted it as part of her nature.

It was as though her desire was on tap—she turned it on

and off at will. And afterward she was always brusque, as

if to get on with something else.

"Hurry now," she said. "we can't have you missing

your plane,"

Colber complied. feeling oddly empty.

He was no longer in her mind. Already she was hurrying

through the night to Major Sergei Kostovichs so she could

pass on what she had learned and get it over with.

As she showered the oil and Colber from her body, she

remembered the last time with Sergei. It has tEen the only

time for years that she had made love for the sake of making

love.

She had actually felt and enjoyed it, mentally as well as

physically.

Idly, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she would

enjoy it again with Sergei.

The thought of this brought another: Was she actually

finding the life she had wanted so much now growing bitter?


ELEVEN

When Carter opened one eye, the sun winked at him

through a large window. The sun hurt. He closed his eye..

A few seconds passed and he tried again, this time in re-

sponse to a sound from somewhere in the room. He didn't

move his head, just the pupil ofone eye, until he saw her.

She was very pretty, around thirty, give or take a year.

She was puttering at a tray.

S 'Water," he groaned.

She turned. surprise on her face. Quickly she poured

water from a pitcher into a glass and moved toward the bed.

As she got nearer, the foggy aura disappeared around her.

Her face, without makeup, was striking, and what he

could see of her shape wasn't bad at all. She was wearing

a tailored white dress that didn't exactly put her on display,

but he could see that her legs were sharrly from ankles to

knees, plump at the calves, and just the right width at the

hips.

She held his head while he drank thirstily.

"Where am I?" he said, when she removed the glass

from his lips.

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I

"A safe house near the Havel. You srrnt one night in

the hospital, but when they learned that agents had come

over from the East to find you, they moved you here."

"Who are you?"

"Gerta. I am a nurse." She laid his head back and

plumped the pillows. The movement tightened her bodice,

revealing two very large breasts. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell. What was the damage?"

"A fairly serious concussions a fairly small wound in

your right thigh, and a slightly more serious one in your

upper right arm. You also broke the little finger on your

right hand. You will live."

Carter watched her move back to the tray, In the starchy

uniform she had a trautiful behind.

He told her so, "You have a beautiful behind."

She smiled over her shoulder. "Now I know you will

live. Are you hungry?"

There was no answer. Carter had already slipped back to

sleep.

She was still there when he woke up again, only the white

uniform had teen replaced by a skirt and sweater. She sat

in an easy chair polishing her nails.

She looked even better this time than the last. Dark red

lipstick, some rouge, and a little eye makeup had been

added. The red sweater clung loosely to the swelling outline

of her breasts. Her hair lay in careless swirls about her head

and coiled down around her shoulders. The swaying motion

of her breasts when she rubbed the buffer across her nails

fascinated him.

He told her so,

She threw back her head and laughed. "Are all Americans

like

"I certainly hope not. "

THE DEADLY DIVA

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She dropped the buffer into her purse and stood, "Are

you up to dictating a report?"

• 'I suppose so, as soon as I've had a steak. How long

have I been out?"

"Four days. 1911 telephone your "

'lhe steak was rare, over an inch thick, with boiled

potatoes and two vegetables. The wine was a good French

red, and Carter enjoyed watching her cut his meat almost

as much as he did eating it.

"Are you on a twenty-four-hour shift?"

She nodded. "The fewer people who know where you

are right now, the better."

He was dnnking coffee when Marty Jacobs from the

Berlin AXE office sauntered into the room.

*'My man, you are indestructible!"

"So they tell me," Carter said, grinning. "What's hap-

pening in the world? Or, rather, what happened?"

Jacobs spoke as he pulled a small tape recorder, a pad,

and a batch of from his briefcase. He looked more

like a CPA on his night off than a crack AXE agent. He

had an owlish face and a lean body with long, ropey muscles

in a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Aviator

glasses spanned his eyes and covered his cheekbones. em-

phasizing his wise-owl look.

"You raised hell on the way over. Two dead, and a few

banged up bad. One was a Vopo corporal. The one in the

helicopter was a hot shot, a captain. His name was Igor

Negatov. "

Carter smiled. It hurt his face. "I tried to get the helicopter

too. "

know. From what we can learn, you barely missed.

In short, you are on their shit list. They have all their locals

on this side turning West Berlin inside out trying to find

you."

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"Good."

"We've leaked that you're already back in the States"

The smile from Carter's face. "How did the

Dorsts get it?"

"Quick," Jacobs said, pulling a chair close to the bed

and setting up his gear. ' 'They took about five slugs each

in the upper body. You were lucky."

"That was the bastard in the chopper," Carter growled.

g $ Vvthat about Weist and Mueller?"

"Disappeared. You know what that means."

Carter nodded, the steak turning to lead in his gut. s 'So

they got all four of them. Double X is dead."

"That's the size of it. Want to talk?"

Carter nodded. "Gimme a cigarette."

"They said you shouldn't smoke."

'Bullshit. "

"Right. "

Jacobs lit him a cigarette and Carter talked. He relayed

every detail of every conversation and every move he had

made while he was in the East. He parroted back Peter

Dorst•s comments and theories about how they had been

betrayed, and added his own thoughts.

He talked for almost two hours, until his eyes started to

close.

"Well," Jacobs said at last, "not much doubt of it. Looks

like the leak was on our side. What about this Este?"

"No chance," Carter replied, slurring his words.

"You're sure?"

" Damn sure. He knows I would kill him. He likes living. "

Jacobs stood. "I'll be back in the morning. I imagine

Washington will want you quiet and out of the way for a

few more days. I'll let you know."

"Do that."

THE DEADLY DIVA

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The body beautiful came in as Jacobs went out. She had

a small plate and a glass of milk. On the plate was a pill.

"What's that?"

' 'A sleeping pill."

"Believe me, I don't need it."

His eyes were already at half-mast. By the time she hit

the door again they had fallen all the way.

The dreams, bad dreams, started right away. He saw the

old man and the old woman running. He saw the frail white

face. teary-eyed, staring at him from under her husband's

arm. He saw the old dentist's face smiling down at him,

and imagined what they had done to him to get him to talk,

He woke up screaming. Gena was holding him down.

He was wringing wet.

"You were having a nightmare."

"I know. I'll take that pill after all."

Jacobs came back the next aftemoon to clear up some

odds and ends.

"Hawk will be in touch," he said when leaving.

It was two days later when Hawk called.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, almost good."

S g We're putting a lot of ends together here. We should

have something concrete in four or five days. When we

do--

"l want it," Carter growled.

"Good enough. Stay quiet until then. BtV says the house

and nurse are ours until you don't need them anymore. "

"I think I'll move on. You can get meat Berlin 755-418. "

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I found out my nurse is married."

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Carter knew where he was going. where he was going to

hole up for a few days and nights, but first he decided to

exorcise his demons.

Only once before in his long career had he let death get

to him. That had been an old woman. too, in Spain. Now

he had the demon of an old man and an old woman to get

rid of. And a dentist. And a man named Dieter Weist he

hadn't even met.

The "sin strip" along the lower end of the Kurfiirsten-

damm was rErfect for his mood.

He walked through the pimps and whores and hawkers,

and hoped one or more of the young toughs who eyed his

expensive suit would try him on.

A garish row of neons in a narrow alley off the Ku-damm

drew him. Short-skirted women lined the doorways on both

sides of the street. One. all legs and bust, whispered to him

of the many apertures she was willing to place at his disposal

for the paltry sum of thirty marks.

He chose a subterranean sleaze palace called The Joker.

and went down into its dim bowels.

The place was jammed. A ten-mark note passed to a

maitre d' in a tacky tuxedo did wonders. Miraculously. over

the heads of the audience, a tiny table was passed from one

waiter to another until it was deposited at the very edge of

a small stage.

Would mein Herr step this way?

Mein Herr would, and ordered Niersteiner and a bottle

of brandy. Mein Herr was embarking on an epic drunk.

He was on his second glass when a baby-blue spot

skewered a beam of light to the center of the stage. A hearty

but bad three-piece combo flailed out a downbeat. *Ihe cur-

tains at the rear of the stage parted and—according to a

voice from backstage—Mademoiselle Fifi, direct from

Paris, stepped into the spot.

THE DEADLY DIVA

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Mademoiselle Fifi was about six-five in five-inch heels,

and minced out in a gold lamé dress that had seen better

days years before and had one hell of a time containing its

contents.

Ten seconds into the routine and she began peeling off

her gloves. Twenty seconds into the routine and the banana-

skin dress joined the gloves on a chair.

Beneath it was a lacy teddy that had also seen better days.

The teddy was as tight on her body as the dress had been.

Carter let his eyes run down over her neck and shoulders.

They dwelt on her ample bosom and slid down the hourglass

waist to the flaring fullness of hips and thighs.

s 'An Amazon!" someone called from the audience.

"The backside of a brood mare," hooted another.

' 'Shhh!" hissed a third.

Carter drank and held up his glass for another bottle of

brandy. Mademoiselle Fifi was doing nothing for him.

Either she spotted the man in the expensive suit or the

maitre d' had tiplrd her off about his good tip. In any event,

she moved Carter's way and started playing directly to him.

Slowly she turned to give him the full view—the firm

outline of the buttocks, almost shining through the satin

teddy. Her every movement was studied and voluptuous.

Then, making sure she had his attention, she reached for

the ends of a ribbon bow and started to unlace the bodice

from cleavage to crotch. In a single movement the teddy

fell to the floor.

Under the teddy?

Nothing. Nada. Not a damn thing.

Carter poured the last of the second bottle of Niersteiner

into his glass, and added a lot of brandy.

Then she began to dance to a lazy Latin rhythm which,

almost imperceptibly, began to accelerate. As the music

upped its tempo, Fifi matched it with her movements. Even-

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tually everything was shaking like a gigantic Jell-O mold.

At last, glistening from the exertions Fifi feli back in the

chair and grabbed her ankles. Her legs went high in the air

and equally as wide.

The spotlight flipped off and the patrons went wild.

Carter held up his glass for a third bottle of Niersteiner.

About five minutes later. Mademoiselle Fifi slid into the

chair beside him and squeezed his leg.

"You like my dance?"

"You were great," Carter said.

"You are American?"

"Russian, " he replied, slurring his accented Getrnan even

harder with a Slavic accent.

She looked like the bottom had fallen out of her teddy,

but came around to the fact that he still looked like the best

prospect for between-the-shows profit.

"You buy Fifi a drink?"

g 'Sure."

Carter paid ten marks for a glass ofcolored water. toasted

her, and drank his Niersteiner and brandy.

It was having the desired effect.

Girls, all shapes, all sizes, had erupted from somewhere.

Most of them were dressed like Fifi, and all of them had

managed to lure a customer from his table to dance on the

stage.

The stage became a sea of grinding loins before Carter's

watery eyes. Some of the girls wore skirts split to their

waists. lhe splits were open and there was nothing under

the skirts.

It was a surrealistic dream, a sight to dazzle the beholder.

even the sotrr beholder. and Carter was drunk.

"You' wish to dance?" Fifi asked.

"No,' • Carter replied.

THE DEADLY DIVA

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103

"We can be much closer on the stage, dancing. "

"I can see that." he replied.

Her hand went from his thigh to his crotch. have a

room upstairs, very nice. very quiet. "

"No, thanks."

"Only a hundred marks."

Carter turned his head to face her. "Mademoiselle, if I

were looking to rent a Mercedes, I wouldn't shop for it in

a place where they rent only used Volkswagens. "

The colored water hit him squarely in the face.

"You are a swine!" she hissed, and stood. "You cannot

insult Fifi this way!"

Carter saluted her with the last of his brandy as she stalked

away.

He waited five minutes and hit the street. The fresh air

was heaven after the smoky interior. He took time to light

a cigarette a few steps down the alley, and saw the black

leather jacket slip out of the door of the club and stand,

watching him.

He was big, with burly shoulders and loglike arms in the

sleeves of the leather jacket.

That was good, Carter thought. It wouldn't do if he was

small.

Carter chose the dark end of the alley and headed for it,

whistling. It at»ut a half block for Leather Jacket to

catch up and fall in step with him.

"Excuse me, mein Herr."

"Ja?j' Carter said, staggering slightly. keeping his eyes

front.

"My name is Bernau."

"That's nice. 'i

"Here, on the Ku'-damm. they call me Bernau the

Black."

"Is that right."

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I

"I do not like foreigners to insult my girls, mein Herr.

It is not good for my business, and it gives me . . . how

a bad image."

do you say . . .

Carter stopped, the smoke from the cigarette in his lips

curling up over his hooded eyes. They turned at once to

face each other.

"Image? My image of you. Bemau, is that of a punk

who smells, dresses in jeans, and needs a shave."

Bemau's broad, flat-nosed face broke into a smile.

"Mein Herr, I was only going to charge you fifty marks

for insulting my woman. Now you have insulted me as well.

That will cost you one hundred marks."

"Fair enough," Carter said. '"It was the figure I had in

mind. "

Ihe Killmaster held out his hand and opened it. Inside it

were two fifty-mark notes.

Bernau smiled and swaggered forward. He reached for

the bills and Carter grasped his wrist. At the same time, he

dropped to one knee and swung. Bernau sailed by him and

crashed, headfirst, into the brick wall.

He whirled, blood pouring from his nose, and roared like

a wounded animal.

"Come, Bemau," Carter said smoothly, "come here so

I can shove the money up your ass,"

He came like a runaway truck, big arms flailing, knees

high. trying to find Carter's groin,

Carter played. He sidestepped, backed off, and came in

again. Ali the time he danced, he hit; a left, a right, two

lefts, two rights.

Bernau•s head was on a pendulum. back and forth.

When the man's face was hamburger. Caner backed off

and gave his hands a rest. Instead, as Bernau came again,

he used his feet—to the shin, to the.knees, to the gut.

But Bernau took it and kept coming in for more. His

THE DEADLY mvA

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105

bloody face was a mixture of fear and hate, but he was too

stupid to know when to quit.

Carter backed to a wall and dropped his hands in invita-

tion. Bemau locked his own fists and swung heavily. He

missed his dodging opponent by a good eight inches and

smashed his hands into the wall.

He cried out in pain and whirled. His eyes were wild

with pain and rage, but he could hardly find the Killmaster's

darting figure.

"Over here, punk, right over here. "

g 'You bastard!" he howled, hurling his bull-like body at

Carter.

They slammed to the ground, Carter rolling out from

under even as they hit, regaining his feet and crouching as

Bernau carne at him again. It was like a steer hurtling toward

a dancing matador as Bemau's irn1Etus brought him closer

and closer to the speeding fist of his opponent.

The collision was all one way, blood spurting out of

Bernau's mouth as bone and flesh met his face at devastating

velocity. He sailed backward, careening onto and over a

trash can. He came to rest, belly up, in a puddle.

Carter knelt beside him and slipped the two fifty-mark

bills into his breast pocket.

"Thank you, Bemau the Black. nank you very much.

You're better than a shrink."

And then he walked on down the alley, whistling.


TWELVE

' 'Erica the Red." Carter said.

"Nothing. I was just musing. Erica the Red is even better

therapy than Bernau the Black."

'What in God's name dcrs that Erica von Falk-

ener asked, her green eyes flashing actoss the candlelit table.

"It means," he replied, "that you are trautiful and I'm

glad I came running to you in my hour of need."

She shook her head and, with a smile. slrared a meatball.

Carter did the same.

It had tren three days since he had shown up at her

apartment door with drunken, watery eyes, wounds, and

bruised, bleeding knuckles.

"You look like hell," she had said, her lips parted, a

curl of red hair straying over her right eye.

"I feel wonderful."

"You need a bed."

'*That 1 do."

She had trundled him into the trdroorn, undressed him,

and poured him between the sheets. By the time she had

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killed the lights and slipped in beside him, he was sound

asleep.

Not so the next morning.

When Carter had opened his eyes, the sun winked at him

through the window. He moved. Surprisingly, his body

didn't ache as much as he'd expected,

He closed his eyes again and yielded to the sensations

Erica's body offered. She lay on her back beside him, her

round behind nestled tightly against his thigh. The scent of

her teased his nostrils,

She lay still and let him gaze down at her. A soft smile

made her lips twitch.

"l hope," she murmured, "that you're thinking what I

think you're thinking."

"Coffee."

'*What?"

' 'I'm thinking about coffee."

She rubbed her bare buttocks against his leg and let her

hands roam over his body. After a few moments she purred

deep in her throati

"Still coffee?"

"Among other things," he chuckled.

"Ummmm." She turned over slowly and threw an am

arouml his shoulder and pulled him close. His breathing

roared in her ear, and when she felt him stir between her

thighs, she pressed herself tightly against him. "I always

eat breakfast," she said. "It's the most important meal of

the day."

There was something exquisite about making love early

in the morning, while the senses were still half asleep. It

was slower, more dreamlike. The smells were headier. The

sensations seemed to ooze and float, and it was all so liquid.

When the final tremors of orgasm died away, she said

softly, "We're quite good together, I think."

THE DEADLY DIVA

"Yes," he answered.

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THE DEADLY DIVA

"Yes," he answered.

109

He lay on his back and stared blankly at the ceiling, which

had a few cracks. His palm lay gently on one of her breasts;

he rubbed it idly.

"We could so much Ewtter."

She was right. In the times they'd been together, he felt

as though he could not leave her without a feeling of emp-

tiness. His tongue felt thick in his throat. So he just nodded

a couple of times.

But no matter the gulf they tk)th knew lay between them,

they didn't stir from the apartment. For different reasons,

they hadn't been able to get enough of each other. And it

had gone on for the next three days.

Eventually Enca had asked, and Carter had told her, not

all of it, just enough to let her know that it had tEen bad.

Earlier that evening he had sensed that the time was draw-

ing near, The call was coming. He had suggested a night

on the town and she had agreed.

"Do you like them?" she asked, gesturing toward his

plate.

"Delicious . . .

for meatballs. "

"All," she laughed, "they are more than just meatballs.

They are Konigsberger Klops, named for that city in East

Prussia. A whole lemon and the black peppercorns give

them the distinctively tart taste."

Carter almost said that the town of Konigsberger was

now controlled by the Soviets and called Kaleningrad, but

her enthusiasm made him hold his tongue.

They ate and drank in silence for several moments. When

Erica spoke again, it was with a wistful sigh.

'*When will you be going to the opera again?"

Carter's gut tightened. but he made no outward display

of it. He also evaded the question. "When will you be going

husband-hunting again?"

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It broke the spell. She laughed. "No more, I'm afraid.

There's no need, really. My investments have made me

quite independent, actually."

"Good."

She came back to it. "Do spies ever retire?"

never said I was a spy."

'*You never had to. "

Carter thought for a moment, "I hate to you,

but in answer to your question. no, they rarely retire."

"Why?' • Her eyes were very serious now, more serious

than Carter wanted to see them.

' 'Why what?"

' 'Why do you care if you disappoint me?"

"Because you are very nice, very beautiful, and I enjoy

being with you, and the food is superb. I like you a great

deal, even though I don't really know you."

"Nor I you."

Carter shrugged a shoulder and took a sip of wine.

After leaving the restaurant, they walked, holding hands.

into the Berlin night. He put his arm around her waist and

she snuggled tightly against his side. His fingers felt soft,

yielding flesh beneath her clothes.

"Berlin is a lovely city," he said.

' 'A nice place to visit but you wouldn't want to live here. ' '

They walked the rest of the way to her apartment in

silence.

They were just inside the apartment when the phone

started ringing: With a quick. gloomy glance at Carter, Erica

answered it.

' 'Ja?" She listened for a few seconds and then held the

phone out to him. "It's for the American gentleman."

Carter took it and she disappeared into the bedroom.

"How is the weather there?"

THE DEADLY DIVA

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' 'Balmy , " Carter replied, s 'but there's a threat of rain. ' '

"lhen you probably won't mind moving south. "

"Not at all."

' 'Mr. Pause would like to meet you tomorrow evening. "

"Fine," Carter said. "Tell D.F. that I can make it around

seven. "

"Seven will be perfect. The corporate apartment?"

"I still have the key, " Carter said, and the line went dead.

D. F. Pause was the field name for David Hawk. head of

AXE. If Hawk himself was coming over for the briefing,

they had something hot and concrete.

"Time to go?"

He looked up. Erica had changed into a negligee, sheer

and almost the color of her skin.

He nodded.

"Well," she said with a sad smile, "it sure was fun."

"Fun's not over," Carter replied. "My plane doesn't

leave until a little after ten in the morning."

She beat him to the bed.

He bought a carry-on bag on the way to the airport, and

filled it with odds and ends of spare clothing and toiletries.

It seemed that he was always traveling light, buying along

the way. He wondered how many wardrobes he had left

strewn around the world over the years.

They started boarding shortly after Carter arrived. He

checked the bag. used his diplomatic passport to get his

tools—a 9mm Luger and a stiletto—on board, and walked

onto the plane.

He managed to eat the awful breakfast during the short

flight to Frankfurt. During the hour layover between planes,

he moved around the Frankfurt terminal almost constantly.

Twice he went so far as to actually leave the building and

stroll through the parking lot.

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As far as he could tell, no one paid particular attention

to him.

He surprised himself by sleeping soundly on the flight to

Paris. He had no guesses about the evening meeting, but

he had already decided that he would take it as it came.

Carter nodded courteously as the customs officer waved

him through. A second officer took the slip for his special

permit and guided him into a small room where the Luger

and the stiletto were handed over.

Paris was bathed in pale sunlight, but Carter was too

immersed in his own thoughts to appreciate the grandeur.

He instructed the driver to take him to a small pension in

the Montmartre section, and settled back with the morning

edition of the Paris Herald Tribune.

The pension was on a small, neat, quiet street made up

of shops and outdoor cafés. He checked in and paid three

days in advance. In the room, he unpacked the small bag

and then called the alert number in the Paris AXE office.

"Four-nine-three," came a woman's voice in clipped,

barely accented English.

"Would you please inform Mr. Pause that his star sales-

man is in?"

"l will do that. monsieur. The meeting is set for the same

time."

"I'll be arriving early, as usual," Carter replied, and

hung up.

He showered, shaved, and changed clothes. Beneath his

shirt he attached Hugo's chamois sheath. The Luger went

under his left armpit in a thin but sturdy shoulder rig.

At the door. he took a last look at the room. There was

nothing that said its occupant would not be back in a few

hours. Of course he would not return to the room at all, not

even for the bag and its meager contents.

In the street. he hailed a cab to the Place Vendöme. It

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was midafternoon and the crowds were heavy. Beautiful,

well-dressed women laden with packages moved with the

pedestrian traffic at a leisurely pace. Men sauntered, enjoy-

ing the day and the women.

Standing on a corner, taking his time lighting a cigarette,

Carter. without seeming to, squinted his eyes to pick out

another's faltering step or furtive glance.

Seeing none. he turned into the Rue de Rivoli and strolled

down to the Place de Ia Concorde. Then he angled off into

the maze of little back streets between Rue de Faubourg-St.

Honoré and Boulevard Malesherbes.

At the juncture of Avenue de Friedland and Boulevard

Haussmann, where the posh modem art galleries snared the

tourists, he found a café and ordered a leisurely lunch.

All through the meal he watched the street and his neigh-

boring diners.

Nothing.

After a brandy and coffee, he headed for the Champs-

Elysées where he picked up his pace. On the other side of

the Arc de Triomphe, he turned onto the Avenue de la

Grande Armée. and hailed another cab.

'Gare St. Lazare. ' ' he said, and checked the rear window.

If anyone had been able to follow him through all that,

he decided, more power to them.

The AXE apartment was in one of those charming old

houses of graying stone with cypress trees in the front garden

and a few hopeful daffodils that weren't doing too well.

He went up in the creaking elevator and opened the outer

door with a master key that opened the same kind of locks

in apartment doors all over the world. In the jamb between

the outer and inner doors was a small panel. Behind the

panel was a set of buttons. Carter dialed the correct code

and entered the apartment.

In seconds an old woman waddled into the room. "Mon-

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sieur?" she said, no surprise whatsoever on her face. If this

stranger had the combination to enter the apartment, then

he belonged.

"Café et Calvados, s'il vous plait. "

"Oui. monsieur."

She shuffled away and Carter checked his watch. It was

five sharp. He knew that Hawk would arrive at precisely

seven.

He would drink the coffee and the Calvados and force

himself to wait calmly.

At two minutes past seven, David Hawk slid into a chair

across from Carter and removed an inch-thick stack of neatly

typed papers from his battered briefcase. Carefully, he

spread them on the coffee table between them.

"We're not B)sitive, but we have enough coincidences

that we may have come up with a connection."

Here he paused to light the chewed stub of his cigar, and

then launched into it.

"Through the years, only six people knew of the existence

of Double X. Only two people knew the Dorsts' real names.

The think-tank boys have taken each of these people apart

and put them back together again. ' '

Here Hawk spread out the papers in front of Carter until

they became six dossiers.

g 'There is no need for you to go over all of them. We

think they all have one thing in common. "

"Which is?"

Hawk dived back into the briefcase and came up with

another file folder. fiis one contained a thick biography

and several eight-by-ten photographs.

Carter thumbed through the pictures first. They were all

of a tall, aristocratic-looking woman with golden blond hair.

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Her features were classic and her body was breathtakingly

beautiful.

One photo in particular seemed to catch all of her. At

first, Carter thought she was nude. fien he realized that

the dress was flesh-colored, a shimmering single piece of

silk that covered her from her neck to her slippered feet. It

was molded to her breasts, flowed over a tiny waist and

sharply swelling hips, then separated to cling like paint to

her firm thighs and calves.

Carter glanced up. "Lotta woman."

Hawk made a gmnting noise and clamped his teeth harder

over the remnants of his cigar. "Olga Siskova. The 'Great

Olga.' "

Carter looked back to the picture with narrowed eyes,

"Yeah. I'm not much of an opera buff, but that rings a

little bell."

"At five years of age she was a prodigy on the piano.

As she grew older it was obvious that her crystal-clear so-

prano voice would bring her even more fame than her

talented fingers. By the time she was nineteens she was the

toast of the entire Soviet bl(X. On her twentieth birthday

she charmed Moscow as well. But everything was not rosy

... not for her, or for her Soviet managers and promoters, ' '

"What do you mean?" Caner asked.

Hawk concentrated on a smoke ring that hovered about

his head like a halo. "Olga Siskova was—and is—an amoral

brat- Between twenty and thirty. her fame grew, and so did

her temper. In short, she became a royal pain in the ass.

No one could handle her. When they finally let her take an

international tour outside the Soviet Union, she defected.

It was generally believed at the tirne that the Russians let

her go with a sigh of relief."

"I remember now," Carter said. "It was in Italy, Milan.

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She refused to return to the company. She asked for, and

got, political asylum."

Hawk nodded. "And she was not only an exquisite artist,

she was also a naming personality. She the darling

of the jet set. All doors were opened to her. She rarely sings

anymore, but then she doesn't have to. She's fabulously

wealthy, and what she doesn't have she can get just by

asking for it. "

"Slowly it dawns." Carter growled. SSThe pack she runs

with could be talkers."

'*Exactly, 'S Hawk said, nodding. "After her defection

she was outspoken in her tirades against Communism and

the Soviet Union. She even wrote two books denouncing

them. The bCX)ks were best sellers, and made her the darling

of conservatives all around the world. "

"And opened a lot of doors."

"Speaking of doors," Hawk replied, s sone of the doors

that was open a lot of the time. to the right people. was to

her bedroom."

He paused here and then, as he spoke again, pointed at

the dossiers one by one.

"Charles Westlake, retired head of NATO security: Sir

Thomas Ryder, retired chief of European intelligence

analysis for M16. Wolfgang Boesch, former head of West

German internal security . . s'

"Her lovers?" Carter asked.

S *Every one of them. The other three are women who are

very social on an international scale. They coun Siskova as

though she were a queen. We're still going through the guest

lists for dinner parties and God knows what other functions

where these women introduced Siskova to the very biggest

guns in international business and politics. "

"You've gotten to them all?"

"Almost, " Hawk replied, a cloud dropping over his face.

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"We did it quietly, but not quietly enough. Wolfgang

Boesch hung himself in his Bavarian chalet just before we

got to him."

"And .

Boesch was the man who recruited and controlled Dieter

Wiest. "

"Damn," Carter hissed. "Is somebody on her now?"

"No," Hawk said. "We don't want to start anything we

can't finish .

at least not yet. But we might have a

look-see. Senator Paul Colber spent a weekend with her at

her villa on the Cöte d'Azur. Right after that he went to the

Geneva negotiations. Nick, the Russians were way ahead

of him. It jarred him. He's a smart man. He smelled a rat

and went back over everything. He himself came up with

Olga Siskova, and was man enough to come to us with it.

What he told us isn't enough to put a lid on her coffin, but

it points us in the right direction."

"What now?"

Hawk stood. "Read what we've got on her. I've got a

plan. It's got holes in it, but after you read that maybe we

can play them and get going." He lumtxred from the room

to order a meal for them from the old cook.

Carter turned to the first page of the thick file and began

to read.


THIRTEEN

Olga Siskova leamed very young, almost from the cradle,

that the KGB was everywhere. While her teachers taught

the glories of Soviet Socialist life, her parents taught her to

have a discerning eye and a cautious tongue when speaking

her thoughts.

Most of these thoughts were put into her developing mind

by her discerning parents.

"Socialism is indeed the answer. But Communism?

"Tyranny under the czar was leadership of the masses

by one. Leadership under the Presidium is rule of the masses

by a few. Ihe Revolution changed the storekeepers, but it

is still business as usual!"

Olga had an enormous talent and a keen, quick mind. By

the age of ten, she began to realize the vagaries of what she

was being taught. She saw that in the Soviet "classless"

society there were indeed two classes: the peasant or near-

peasant, and the "new class" or elitist society.

By that age she had also become accomplished at

doublethink. She was able to absorb and spout back the party

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rhetoric she heard; she was also able to assess and understand

all that was said during hushed conversations with her par-

ents in their apartment or on outings in the countryside.

Her father, Petr: "Our way of life is ruled by just a few

men, Olga. They have splendid apartments in Moscow and

dachas on the Black Sea. Their every thought and action is

geared to the preservation of their power.

Her mother, Natalia: "You must find a way to acquire

party membership, Olga. and once that is done you must

hone whatever skills you possess to rise in the party. It is

not enough to be on the fringes: you must be on the inside. "

And both of them together stressed that, as Olga grew

older, she would see deprivation, cruelty, and injustice. To

all these things she must close her eyes, because she could

not change them. The only things that mattered were position

and money. Once these two things were achieved, Olga

could live her own life.

Shortly after she had applied to the Moscow Conservatory,

they came ... two men in long dark coats with stern faces.

"Petr Vasilevitch Siskov, you are accused of being an

enemy of the people. "

Amid the tears of his wife and daughter, Petr was taken

away. It was never stated what Petr Siskov had done to

become an "enemy of the people." For many months,

Natalia tried to see her husband. She begged friends with

party connections to intercede on her husband's behalf. Only

too soon, Natalia found that she and Petr no longer had

friends.

At the end of the years both mother and daughter realized

that it would be a long time before they saw Petr Vasilevitch

again, if ever.

Outwardly, Olga learned to avert her eyes when asked

about her father. She conditioned herself to be servile and

declare in an embarrassed and ashamed tone, "My father

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is no longer a person; he is an enemy of the people."

But in her heart she knew that the state had struck a blow

against her and her mother that she would never forgive.

Natalia had been a teacher of music and languages. Sud-

denly she was demoted. Even with Olga being a child genius

and a protégée of great musicians, the state stepped in and

the women were forced to move from the two-room apart-

ment they had occupied alone to another two-room apartment

they shared with another family.

This second deprivation only hardened the young girl's

resolve to heed her father and mother's words. She perfected

her foreign languages—French, German. Italian, and En-

glish—under her mother's tutelage. She studied Marxist-

Leninist theory until she astounded her instructors with her

knowledge and zeal.

And she turned to music with a vengeance. Long hours

were spent with her music teachers. As her voice expanded,

her body grew. It had long been apparent to her mother that

Olga was an exceptionally talented and beautiful child. Now

her instructors began noticing as well. Word was passed on.

By the summer of her sixteenth year. Olga was physically

and emotionally a woman. Her body had blossomed to the

point where male eyes followed every move. Long, graceful

legs, flowing hips, and provocative breasts gave her a seduc-

tive quality far beyond her years. A full mane of blond hair

and flashing blue eyes added to her allure.

To all those around her, Olga seemed perfect. Only the

girl herself realized the one glaring flaw in her character.

She was emotionless; she couldn't feel.

When she confided this to her mother. Natalia replied.

g *Perhaps this is good, my child. In our Soviet way of life,

to feel is to hurt, to have heartaches. If you can live without

emotion, you can live without pain. One who does not feel

pain cannot be conquered."

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I

Such bitterness had become common in her mother, and

it made Olga resolve to succeed even more.

But when one's very life and breath is controlled by the

state, success can be achieved only through the state.

For another year she studied. Twice she auditioned and

took the exams that would place her in the conservatory and

open the way for a career in grand 0ERra. Both times she

was refused. She was becoming convinced that her father's

reputation would forever cast its shadow over her own life.

Then one day a man apeared at her door. His name was

Yuri Kosyrev.

Kosyrev was listed on the conservatory staff as liaison

officer between the main school in Moscow and its Minsk

and Leningrad counterparts, But virtually all of his co-

workers knew that Yuri Kosyrev was, in reality, a recruitor

for the KGB.

"Olga. you have been accepted to the conservatory. But

in view of your high grades and your .

other talents. my

superiors feel that there is even a higher area in which you

could serve Mother Russia and our great socialist state.

am honored, Comrade Kosyrev.

It was the proper reply and delivered in a coldly imper-

sonal manner that seemed to please the man.

*There will be a great deal of intensive training involved,

and at its conclusion there may be risks."

"No risk is tcx) great for the good of the state."

'The dark pupils of Kosyrev's world-weary eyes studied

Olga's beautiful face and attempted to plumb the depths of

the emotionless blue eyes that stared vacantly back at him.

He couldn't. and it puzzled him. It also disturbed him.

He felt that he was in the presence of someone who was

not real, not complete, but totally in control. She had the

appearance, she said the right things, and she had done the

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right things. There was no earthly reason why Yuri Kosyrev

should not recruit her and recommend her.

Yet for some reason he found himself wanting to find one,

"There is the problem of your father . . A"

"Petr Vasilevitch is an enemy of the people. I have not

seen him or heard from him in years."

The sudden chill in Kosyrev's hooded eyes told Olga that

she had scored highly. There is nothing a KGB officer

admires more than a child who is willing to tum in his or

her own parent for the good of the state. Decrying her own

father as an enemy of the state made Kosyrev see that, since

her father's arrest. Natalia had raised her daughter in accord

with the moral code of the builder of Communism.

"You will be informed, Comrade Siskova. "

It was the end of the interview. As Olga closed the door

behind the man. she allowed herself a slight smile. She

hadn't meant or believed one word she had uttered, but she

knew she had convinced Yuri Kosyrev of the opposite.

That evening she the entire interview to her

mother.

' 'My little one. from now on you must think only of

yourself. Once you commit to those KGB bastards, you

have but one path, upward mobility and survival. It is a

dangerous choice, but one that will give you a better life

than this. Take it if they offer, and from this day on think

of only yourself."

Then, in the cold chill of a barren room, mother and

daughter embraced. A solitary tear ran from Olga's eye.

It would be the last tear she would shed for many years.

Yuri Kosyrev himself escorted Olga Siskova to the con-

servatory. For two nights she was installed in an apartment

not far from the Kremlin. It was lavishly appointed, with

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regal damask furniture, Oriental rugs, a kitchen. and a pri-

vate bath. It was unlike anything the girl had ever seen.

The first night she scarcely slept. Her eyes refused to

close as she lay alone in the huge double bed surveying the

spendor of a bedroom bathed in the moonlight of a clear

Moscow night.

It was the first bedroom Olga had ever seen that did not

also serve as a living room, a sitting room. and a kitchen.

It was also the first time Olga had ever slept in a room

without at least two other occupants.

"I have never seen such opulence," she exclaimed the

next morning as she sipped tea made in a silver samovar

and dabbed at her lips with a real linen napkin.

Yuri Kosyrev smiled and gave her hand a friendly, reas-

suring squeeze. "It is only the beginning, Olga."

And it was.

She attended the ballet. She ate in restaur•ants reserved

for the party elite and their families. She walked nowhere;

taxis were at her beck and call. And. guided by Yuri, she

bought presents for her mother in specialty stores that the

young girl had never dreamed existed in the Soviet Union.

'All this and more can be yours, Olga, if you learn well. ' '

In her mind Olga agreed completely. No matter what

could be asked of her in the years to come, the payment

would be minuscule in return for such a lifestyle.

Her talent grew, as did her reputation. Her voice was like

no other's, and all who heard it knew that she would be a

great star.

What the Russian public did not know was that,

her classes, her measured public appearances and her appren-

ticeship to the Moscow opera, she was receiving other train-

ing.

A part of each day was devoted to lectures on the

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philosophy of intelligence and the Soviet way of life as

opposed to life in the West. Olga studied the philosophy of

Marx, Engels. and Lenin as she had never studied it before:

how it applied to Soviet intelligence. Almost hourly it was

emphasized that the students learn the morality of Soviet

intelligence.

"Nothing is immoral. Kidnapping, liquidation, sex,

blackmail . . . all are moral acts when done in the service

of the state."

Many of the students were shocked. Olga closed her mind

to everything but the apartment in Moscow, and graduated

at the head of her class.

"Congratulations, Olga Siskova. You have excelled for

the good of Mother Russia . .

I have excelled for the good of myself.

"But this is only the first, and simplest, phase of your

training. One day soon you go to Verkhonoye!"

The Verkhonoye School was located about a hundred

miles from Kazan, near the Tatar Soviet Republic. It was

a desolate area filled with low-lying jagged hills and barren

plains. Because of its inaccessibility, Verkhonoye was an

ideal location for a spy school that technically didn't exist.

Olga sat silently in the rear of a dark sedan with two

other recruits. One was a shy, waiflike girl with large,

fearful eyes and an abundance of shimmering black hair. Her

name was Larissa Panova, and though she was a year older,

she had clung to Olga as a frightened child clings to its

mother from the moment she had stepped into the car.

The third occupant of the rear seat had offered no more

than his first name: Ivan. He was a slight youth, with darkly

handsome features marred only by a slight sneer each time

he spoke.

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"This is the outer perimeter," their driver growled as the

car approached a high, steel-mesh fence topped with barbed

wire. "The guard will inspect the identification cards you

have been issued. "

The guard was armed with a revolver at his belt and a

submachine gun slung at his shoulder. He was expressionless

as he examined their identification cards one by one. Only

once did the icy veneer of his features break. His thin lips

curled into an approving leer when his eyes fell on the

rounded expanse of Olga's youthful breasts.

Once through the gate, the road wound through low,

rocky hills and flat. lifeless prairies. Now and then in the

distance an armed guard could be seen accompanied by a

leashed dog.

The car came to a halt again at yet a second fence and

gate, even more heavily guarded than the first. Again their

identification was checked and they were ceremoniously

waved through to the inner perimeter,

As the sedan picked up speed, Olga heard Ivan's voice

in a thin whisper from the other side of the car. "One must

wonder if all of this is to keep others out, or us in."

The living quarters were four barracks broken up by par-

titioned cubicles. The partitions were made of paper-thin

plasterboard. and offered little in the way of privacy.

This didn't bother Olga, even when she realized that the

dormitories were to be mixed and the showers communal,

Other than the two nights she had spent in the lavish Moscow

apartment, she had experienced very little privacy in her life.

g 'I will not shower with men . I couldn't! And to have

a strange man sleeping there

right there .

. it's

unbearable! What if, during the night

Larissa's words brought a throaty roar of laughter from

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the third member of their cubicle. Tania Paramovna Tupit-

syn.

' 'Ah, little one, a few weeks from now you'll wish all

you had to put up with was one young stud's hard cock in

the middle of the night!"

Olga winced at the girl's words, but Larissa recoiled in

horror.

g 'What do you mean?"

Tania Paramovna was a tall. raven-haired girl with small

but taut breasts and miles of tapering, perfectly proportioned

legs. Though she was only twenty, her face had a hardness

far beyond her years, and her smoldering dark eyes were

as sullen as they were erotic.

Now those eyes studied Larissa's childlike features, and

softened slightly.

"Absurd," she murmured. "You really don't know why

you're here, do you."

Larissa's face hardened and she stiffened to as much

height as her diminutive body would allow. am here for

the honor of my family and the good of the state!"

"Yes, but to do what?" Tania rasped.

"To learn the gathering of intelligence."

' 'And you mean to tell me you don't know how we are

to gather intelligence?"

"I will be told that when the time comes," Larissa replied,

her voice cracking slightly under the intensity of Tania's

dark-eyed stare.

"Shits" Tania snapped, grabbing a soap dish and a towel

and stomping from the cubicle.

Larissa wilted. She fell, rather than sat, on the cot behind

her. Her thin, tiny voice was almost a wail when she spoke

again.

"Olga, what did she mean?"

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"I don't know ... but I'm sure we'll find out tomorrow. "

Olga's class was made up of ten woman and four men.

The following morning they were all ushered across the

compound to a large glass-and-steel building that housed

the school's lecture halls, administrative offices, and labo-

ratory rooms.

"Good moming, and welcome to Verkhonoye. I am

Lydya Penkovskaya."

She was a tall, willowy blonde, with striking blue eyes

and soft, beautiful features. Only a few tiny lines at the

corners of her eyes told the tale of her age. Her figure was

youthful, voluptuous, firm, and even dressed as she was,

radiated an aura of eroticism and seduction.

Lydya Penkovskaya was dressed in the uniform of a col-

onel in the KGB.

"You are about to embark on a course of training that

will be the most difficult you will ever experience. For some

of you. many facets of your training will be distasteful.

But you must remember that you are all about to become

soldiers in a hard ideological battle. As soldiers you will

be asked to do several deeds that might be repulsive. You

must consider .

these deeds are done for the good of

your country"'

In the front row. Olga nodded and thought and myself!

The welcoming lecture went on for three hours, and con-

sisted of the same propaganda indoctrination that Olga had

received at the Marx-Engels School,

During the lunch break. Olga found herself seated next

to Ivan. As usual. he was sullen and noncommittal. Except

when Olga asked if he knew anything about Lydya Pen-

kovskaya.

"She is a brilliant, ruthless woman who will stop at noth-

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ing to see the Soviet Union rule the world."

129

Olga nodded. "Then it is that kind of dedication that

made her a KGB colonel."

'*Yes. That, and the fact that she fucks well. "

Olga was shocked, but she hid it by withdrawing into

herself until she could sort out the meaning of his words.

"Do you mean she has risen in the party by sleeping with

her superiors?"

Ivan's chuckle was mirthless. "Not her superiors."

Olga was angered by his accusation. She toyed with the

idea of betraying his derogatory speech to the instructors.

'*How is it that you know so much about Lydya Pen-

kovskaya?' '

• •I should. She is my mother."

Olga was even more shocked and confused. This time

she couldn't suppress exhibiting her feelings, and when Ivan

saw her look. he laughed again. louder.

"My mother recruited me to Verkhonoye, because here

I can achieve status for her, rather than disgrace."

"Disgrace . . . "

"Of course. will excell here. You see, I am a homosex-

ual."

So then Olga knew. Besides her brilliant talent, they also

wanted her body.

Not far from Verkhonoye was the Gaczyna School. It

was literally a finishing school for Soviet espionage agents.

Few graduates from Verkhonoye were sent to Gaczyna.

Verkhonoye graduates were trained to use only their bodies

for subversion.

Olga was an exception. Her superiors had looked beyond

her exceptional beauty to what they sensed was an underlying

core of hardness. She completed her training at Verkhonoye

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with such detached resolution and fervor that it was

suggested she had many more talents than mere guile and

seduction.

The Gaczyna School trained the most accomplished assas-

sins in the world.

"At Gaczyna, you will be taught mental and physical

discipline far beyond any point you ever dreamed possible.

You will become proficient in armed and unarmed combat.

You will become adept at melding into the of any

Western country you may assigned to operate in. And

you will be thoroughly indoctrinated with every method

known to man in the liquidation of your enemies."

She leamed the credo of Gaczyna: "Any form of violence

must be introduced when other methods of persuasion fail.

Adversely, those who would kill must be prepared to die.

if necessary, in the interests of our mission and the cause.

Here you will be trained to fear nothing ... not even death

itself. "

Olga spent myriad hours poring over the uses of poisons

and their antidotes. She became adept at sleight of hand,

so a victim would never discern the method used to introduce

a narcotic into his body through a drink, a sweet, a cigarette,

even a kiss.

She was taught how to repair an automobile, and how to

drive it at high speeds through dangerous obstacle courses.

Twice a week she parachuted from a low-flying plane until

she could spot-jump within inches of a designated target.

One of the most rigorous courses was armament: knives

and guns of all types. She learned to use everything from

a small-caliber pistol to a single-shot snilrr's rifle that could

be broken down and concealed under her skirt between her

legs. She was taught to fire carefully placed single shots

into a man's heart with a .45, or cut a body completely in

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half with rapid, point-blank fusillades from a submachine

gun,

"Always aim at the center of a body. It is a larger target

than the head, and has many more kill B)ints."

She mastered highly stylized equipment, such as a si-

lenced gas pistol.

"It has a short range, less than twenty feet, and being

less than four inches long, it is easily concealable. It makes

barely a sound and kills in four seconds, leaving the cause

of death almost impossible to establish. "

In six months Olga Siskova was outshcx)ting her instruc-

tor.

The full training took a year, and in all that time there

was nothing in the curriculum about sex. Olga accepted this

as part of the system: turn it on at Verkhonoye and off at

Gaczyna, until it was time to turn it on again for the cause.

At last, at the end of a full year, Olga's training was

concluded. At eighteen, she was a beautiful and cynical,

hard and sophisticated woman who could seduce any

heterosexual man at any time. She was capable of giving

that man the time of his life, or killing him.

There was only one person who graduated with a higher

rank than Olga from the Gaczyna School, the only student

besides herself who had gone on to the advanced study from

Verkhonoye: Ivan Penkovsky.

After a month's holiday at a resort on the Black Sea,

Olga returned to Moscow and her singing career. She had

never stopped studying, even with the strain of her intelli-

gence training. In Moscow, she was given yet another com-

plete wardrobe and apartment, and began to work in earnest

on her career.

A year later she made her debut, and all of Russia recog-

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nized the birth of an operatic superstar. One success came

another.

For almost two years, she heard nothing at all from the

KGB. Then, as if from the woodwork, two of them appeared

in her dressing room before a perfomance.

That evening an English petrochemical engineer would

tv at the performance. He was an opera buff, and he had

expressed a desire to meet the world's next great diva.

His name was Sir Edmund Beals. He would be introduced

to her at a party following the performance. Olga's assign-

ment was to seduce him for blackmail purposes.

It tcx»k three days for Olga to break down the barriers

between them. Then. on the evening of the fourth day, Sir

Edmund invited her back to his suite in the Metropole.

He seemed slightly tipsy, but he was more than willing

as Olga got him to the bed, undressed him, and then un-

dressed herself.

In minutes they were making love. Olga used every trick

she had been taught, every position, every vocal intonation.

Just as Sir Edmund was gasping out the last of his orgasm,

Olga's enraged "father" and a friend burst into the room.

Olga crawled from beneath the man and began screaming

that Sir Edmund had forced her, raped her.

Her KGB "father" and his friend pulled Sir Edmund

from the bed and began to pummel him. At the same time,

they threatened him with arrest. prison, even death.

Sir Edmund wept. He begged them to stop hitting him,

begged Olga to tell them the truth. that it was she who had

seduced him.

Sir Edmund was a pathetic, broken figure.

Throughout it all, Olga stood, still nude, her eyes vacant,

her face an impassive mask of disinterest.

Suddenly it was over. Sir Edmund stood and, obviously

unhurt, pulled on his trousers.

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133

s 'Marvelous! You have passed your final test, Olga Sis-

kova," he said in perfect Russian. "Allow me to introduce

myself. I am Aleksei Smislov, Major, KGB, Congratula-

"Thank you, cornrade." Olga replied, willing the bile to

remain in her stomach and her face not to show the anger

she felt.

She turned to the two agents. "Did you have to wait until

he was through before you broke in?"

The two men shrugged.

'*You were wonderful in bed. Major Smislov said with

a broad grin,

•ne three men's laughter followed Olga into the bath-

room. where she intended on washing his filth from her

body as fast as

In her own words, it was at that very moment when Olga

Siskova made up her mind to defect from her Soviet masters

the first chance she got.


FOURTEEN

Carter Icx)ked up from the file and out over the veranda

rail at a park across the way i [t was bright green with fresh

spring growth. Buds were still bursting on the trees and

birds fluttered about them noisijy in their search for the

insects that fed on the rich new sap. He could see couples

strolling on the grass verges, arm in arms with all the time

in the world and not much to do with it.

Only slightly refreshed, he returned to the dossier. There

wasn't much more. A lot of her internal struggle as, for the

next seven or so years, she pursued her dual careers.

She detailed her plans for defection, and what she hoped

to do after she made it,

Carter finished the file, set it aside, and lit a cigarette.

The sun was starting to set in the park now.

Across the open briefcase and the mound of papers on

the coffee table between them, Hawk sat. studying the con-

centration on Carter's face.

"What do you think?" he said at last.

Caner answered the question with one of his own. "Have

you checked it out?"

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NICK CARTER

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NICK CARTER

I

W' The details," Hawk said and shrugged. g ' That was easy

enough. "

"And...

"It all checks, right down to the names and dates. Of

course, her internal strife and her ultimate decisions can't

really be checked. They are all in her mind."

"Just what I was thinking." Ihe Killmaster poured a

fresh cup of coffee. He sipped it, letting the liquid burn his

tongue and activate his brain. s 'It's one hell of a story, one

hell of an admission, and one hell of a denouncement of

the Soviet system."

"Exactly," Hawk agreed. S 'How could this poor woman

be anything but what she is after what those monsters put

her through?"

Carter turned to the older man and smiled. "But she is."

think so."

'*So do I," Carter said. ' 'It's too complete, too pat. She

says nothing we didn't already know . . . but saying it in

public, in a book, bares her soul in the good old American

way."

"Exactly," Hawk said. "And there's more, A lot more

that wasn't for public consumption. "

"When she defected to our legation in Milan, she was

flown directly to Washington for debriefing. The informa-

tion she provided proved to be a bombshell. Thirteen Russian

illegals were rounded up, and nine legals were deported

because of it. Remember Ivan and Larissa in her little

story?"

"Yeah."

"They were two of the illegals."

"Well, well," Carter chuckled, "that probably put a nice

believable cap on it. didn't it?"

'*It sure did. It was a coup, and Uncle Sam proved his

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gratitude. All kinds of strings were pulled with several coun-

tries so she could continue her career. The rest is history. "

S'So if it is just a great big hoax, if Olga Siskova is just

what she was trained to be—

"She has had twelve lucrative years as one of the best

damn spies ever to come out of Moscow. And, to top it

off, we're going to have one hell of a time proving it."

"She's revered. Nick, all over the world. My God, she's

practically a bloody goddess in some quarters. Also, she

has enough wealth that it 's almost impossible to get to her. ' '

"So what do you propose?" Carter asked.

Hawk sat back in his chair. Suddenly the cigar was going

full blast and, around it, the big man's lips had curled into

a leering grin. "I propose we recruit her."

Carter matched the smile. "You've got a patsy."

'SI sure do. His name is Horst Fender. He's a real hotshot

in the East German government. handles a lot of financial

deals between East and West. He spends most of his time

in Paris and London. He's working for us about three

years. For two years and six months, we've known he was

a double."

"How do I play it?" Carter asked.

"You go as yourself. Convince Siskova that you need

her help. Fender is an opera fanatic. That will make it easier

to get her to reel him in. "

"And then?"

"The Russians don't know we know about Fender. He's

valuable to them. They won't want to lose him if they can

help it. My guess is, she'll set him up for you and then. at

the last minute, go for you instead."

"Won•t she see through that?" Carter asked.

"She does what she's told. We'll give you a complete

team. You get close to her, Nick, keep the pot boiling.

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I

She'll run to somebody for instructions eventually. When

we have the whole net spotted, we pop them . . . all except

Siskova herself."

"And what do you figure from there?"

Hawk mused over this for a moment before he answered.

"Nick, that bio you read. What, in her own words. was the

running theme?"

Carter thought for a minute and then smiled. "Money,

success. prestige, power . .

"Right. All the things she couldn't get, even with her

talent, in the Soviet Union, All the things she's got here

because that's the price the KBG is willing to pay for what

she gives them."

' 'So if she has to run, she won't want to run back to

Moscow."

"You've got it. We set it up so that she blows her own

net. When she runs. we let her go."

" 'And let them take it from there. Hawk, you're a treacher-

ous bastard."

' 'That I am," the big man muttered. "You'll leave in

the morning. I've already had our embassy people set her

up . . . real cloak-and-dagger stuff."


451