# Deathstrike 444444444

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NICK CARTER

Lydell Harmon wasn't a man who visually inspired

confidence. He seemed to be constructed of all odds and

ends of body parts. His chest and torso were broad, almost

barrel-shaped. His waist was as big as his chest, and his

hips as big as his waist. There was little grace about him,

for his arms and legs appeared to move in opposition to

his body.

But he was the best bomb man in England, according

to Dakin, and he had taken over with a vengeance.

Now he approached Carter with a grim face.

"We're down to the lid of the box from the top," he

growled in a no-nonsence voice. "We've also tunneled

in from the side under the box."

"And?" Carter said.

"There's a bomb. all right, a bloody bad one with a

tricky double detonator."

"So," Caner said, forcing his voice to remain calm,

"what do we do?"

"I gather the target isn't living up to his part of the

bargain?"

Carter shook his head. "He won't answer."

"Then we'll have to do it ourselves. There's a pressure

pad directly under the woman. She's lifted up at all, takes

her weight off the pad, and boom. Follow me."

Carter followed him over to the grave and gazed down.

About two inches of dirt still covered the lid of the box.

From a hole near the top at the break between top and

sides, the pipe extended.

"She'll probably trust you more qhan anyone else,"

Harmon said. "You game?"

"Just tell me what you want me to do," Caner replied.

"Okay, you're going to be on top. I'll be below. Don't

let her move as you lift the lid. Get into the box with

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her. Get your hands under the small of her back. As the


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her. Get your hands under the small of her back. As the

lads pull her out, you keep the pad depressed. Got that?"

"Got it."

"When she's out, I'll disconnnect the wires to the

trigger device on the pad. But that's not all."

"An alternate?"

Hamon nodded. "Our boy wasn't taking any chances.

I'm going to rig a cut-around to the alternate with a long

breaker wire. We can't stop the blow but we can delay

it for maybe sixty seconds."

"Long enough for us to get the hell out of here."

"You got it, laddie," Harmon said. "And one more

thing .

"Your boy was lying to you."

"About what?" Carter asked.

"The unit on the bomb is not a receive unit. It's for

send only."

"That means he couldn't blow the bomb by remote

control . . ."

Harmon shook his head. "No way. When the boom

goes, an impulse goes out, not in. You ready?"

"Why not," Carter growled, easing himself down in

to the hole and leaning forward until his face was close

to the lid.

. it's me, Nick."

"Ravelle . .

"Yes."

'Can you hear me?"

'S Yes." She sounded out of it.

"Ravelle, it won't be long now. You must do exactly

as I say. You must not move when lift the lid until I

tell you to move. Do you understand?"

"What?"

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Carter heard groans from the men at graveside above

him, and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

Again, slowly, he everything. This time he

got an affirmative answer from her.

"All right, I'm going to dig the rest of the din from

the lid and then lift it. Don't move, and keep your eyes

closed. Are you ready?"

"Yes . I understand."

"Good girl."

Rain shrouded them now as Carter started to dig with

his hands through the last layer. He tasted dirt and he

got it in his eyes as he threw it over his shoulder.

Then, slowly, talking to her all the while, he lifted the

lid.

She was on her back, her face turned to the side. The

end of the pipe was in her mouth, and the water was

eddying around her ears.

Good God, Caner thought, another half hour and she

would have drowned.

'*Don't mOve, baby. For God's sake, don't move."

He tugged at the pipe. She grabbed for it, tried to get

it back into her mouth.

"No, Ravelle," he yelled, "quit fighting! You don't

need it now!"

Miraculously, she did.

He moved down and slid his hands between her legs,

then outward.

"Lift your legs ... not your hips, your legs, hear me?"

Slowly, the legs came up and Carterslid his hands under

the small of her back.

"Harmon?"

"I'm down here."

"I've got pressure on the pad."

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"All right. lads, get her wrists and ankles and ease her

They did. Carter ducked his head, and Ravelle's body

isappeared above him.

"Got her!" a voice called. "She's out!"

"Good show," Harmon said. "Now get clear your-

Ives. all of you!"

There was the slap of feet on soggy grass, and then

athly silence.

"You're doin' fine, lad," Harmon said to Carter. "Just

et ready to dive out and run like hell when I give you

e word."

"How do you know,' • Carter asked, "that the impulse

nder unit isn 't to detonate another bomb in the area?"

"I don't," Harmon chuckled. "But jt looks to be set

p on a high frequency. That would normally mean long

hope you guess right," Carter said, almost blind

ow with the sweat in his eyes.

"So do 1. You ready?'

"Ready."

"Then go, laddie!"

Carter took a deep breath, lifted his hands from the

ad, and leapd from the grave. He scrambled from his

nees to his feet and, with Harmon right tRside him, ran

'ke hell.

They were nearly two hundred yards from the grave

nd the blast still knocked them off their feet.

Roeario Duncan barreled out of the small lane onto the

3072. In an hour he would be at Hartland Point. There

e would hide until dark. when an obliging fisherman

ould, for five hundred quid, take him to Ireland.

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Duncan had friends in Ireland who would hide him

until all was quiet and another boat could smuggle him

to France.

He had done it! He had gotten away with it and he

was rich!

He was laughing wildly, rolling the throttle to full,

when the Colestar AV200 unit on his belt began to heat up.

Inside it, a tiny wire from a microreceiver unit glowed

red for only a millisecond, and then ignited the thrce

ounces of plastique that had been layered into the unit.

It was not a huge explosion.

Just enought to cut Rosario Duncan in half.


FOURTEEN

At seven o'clock in the morning. the rains had stopped,

the clouds had drifted away, and sunshine permeated the

drawn blinds. Carter roused from his sleep and found

himself in an armchair. He blinked sleep from his eyes

and it wouldn't go away. Finally he oriented himself,

and remembered.

A cleanup crew in the west, a chopper into London,

Ravelle into the emergency ward, and Carter passing out

on his feet from fatigue. A driver had brought-him to the

AXE flat where he had tried to make the bed, but had

given up in the armchair without even removing his

clothes.

His mouth felt like the Russian front and every bone

in his body ached.

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Hoisting himself with a graon, he stumbled to the bath-

room. He gargled with some mouthwash, rinsed, and

spat. Then he went back to the bedroom, trailing clothes

behind him, and picked up the phone. The hospital

number picked up at once.

"Special Ward, Sayers speaking."

"Miss Sayers, Nick Carter here. How's our patient?"

"Resting comfortably, sir."

"And the final diagnosis?"

"Shock, of course, and exposure. There were no inter-

nal injuries and her bruises weren't serious."

"Good. She isn't raving anymore?"

"No, sir. The sedative worked fine. She's sleeping

well."

"Any prognosis on when we can get a statement?"

"I believe the doctor is going to let some chaps from

your office talk to her this afternoon."

"Thanks." Carter hung up and dialed the hot line at

Special Branch. "Carter here. Anything new?"

"The motorcyclist was definitely our man. Got an ID

on him, one Rosario Duncan, small-time hood, minor

record."

"Nothing on the German?"

'SNO, sir, not yet."

"Please call me at one o'clock," Carter said. "And let

the phone ring until I answer."

"Will do, sir."

'Thank you."

He went to the bed, slid into thescool, clean sheets,

and slept until the ringing Of the phone woke him.

It was Ernie Nevers from the Home Office. "I'm mak-

ing your wake-up call myself to apologize."

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"Yes, for not reading between the lines. I think we've

had some wires crossed on communications between

agencies, Nick. But they're uncrossed now. We're finally

pooling information again, and it's hot. We're all meeting

with Hart-Davis in Whitehall at three."

"1'11 be there."

Carter went over the statement that had been taken an

hour earlier from Ravelle Dressler:

And twice I heard him on the phone to someone

who must have been his superior ... and twice he assured

the person that the timing would be perfect, the ship

would be loaded and back at sea before any authorities

caught on .

he stressed this .

Carter set the statement down and picked up the Scot-

land Yard report on a double homicide. He scanned it,

set it aside, .and looked up at the men assembled around

the conference table.

"What about the woman?" he asked.

free-lance prostitute. Horst Layman had a back-

ground of abusing women. He was indicted twice for it

in Germany, but never convicted. Mrs. Dressler's de-

scription of the two men fit Layman and Duncan per-

fectly."

"Okay," Carter sighed, "that mystery is solved."

Jonathan Hart-Davis nodded. "And it looks like the

mystery of why is solved as well, Nick. I'm just sorry

we didn't put it all together right from the moment the

woman was kidnapped. Now it all fits."

Carter grunted his agreement. "El Adwan wanted me

out of the way, and he wanted to stall all of us until he

makes a try for this supertanker, the Thor I."

Avery Hopkins, head of the International Maritime

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Commission, spoke up. "The problem, as I see it, is

time. Is this terrorist, El Adwan, and his lot already on

the ship? And if he is, what will his demands be?"

Carter thought on this for a moment before he replied.

"I think it's back to the source. There is little doubt now,

with the connection of Oliver Estes and Horst Layman

to both Abu El Adwan and Hannibal St. James, that St.

James is behind this. My fear is El Adwan. Is he doing

this just for money? Or does he have a dual purpose?"

"Such as . . . Hart-Davis asked.

c 'El Adwan," Carter said, 'Vis a supreme egotist. Scut-

tling the Thor I for money would be one thing. But scuttling

the ship for profit while building his owns stock as a man

who will do anything would be an added plus. I think

we must go to Hannibal St. James himself and get the

original plan before we can guess how El Adwan will

deviate from it."

There was a general chorus of groans around the table,

until the Lloyd's representative, Sir Charles Dunwood,

spoke up.

"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Carter."

"All well and good," said Ernie Nevers, "but every-

thing we have is circumstantial. It all links to St. James,

but it may take months to prove it. And months we don't

have."

"Then we bluff," Carter said. "Bluff and intimidate. "

"Nick," Nevers replied, "we can't—

' 'You can't," Carter growled, "but I can. Sir

Charles

"How good is this Carolyn Reed?"

"The best. She is a graduate maritime engineer. For

the past several years her specialty has been these be-

hemoth tankers."

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'God. I'll be in touch with her after St. James. Where

is the Thor now?"

Sir Charles Dunwood replied. "In the Persian Gulf,

off Kuwait. She took on provisions and topped her own

fuel tanks during the night."

"And the crude?" Carter asked.

Dunwood looked at his watch. "They should start load-

ing about five our time."

"Jonathan," Caner said, turning to Han-Davis, "can

you get to the Kuwaitis?"

"I'm sure the P.M. can."

"Then do it, and very quietly. Instead of crude in those

tanks when the Thor I sails, J want water in them."

"I suppose that can be done," Hart-Davis replied. "But

why don't we just give a stop-sail order?"

"Because," Carter said, "if El Adwan is already on the

ship, I don't think he'll hesitate to blow it right there.

How many officers and crewmen are on board?"

Sir Charles did a quick shuffle of papers in front of

him. "One hundred and eighty-six."

" 'Nuf said," Carter replied. "I assume Horst Layman's

flat has been searched?"

"Stripped," Claude Dakin said.

"All right," Caner said, "I'll need a top-notch stenog-

rapher and your best forger. Let's get to work!"

No pier or harbor in the world was large enough to

handle the Thor I. For this reason, the behemoth tanker

was anchored a half mile from the main port of A1 Kuwait

in the Persian Gulf.

Captain Alonso Wakefield stood at the front of the

bridge and watched the last of the huge foodstuff contain-

ers being craned down into the hold. Halfway between

the ship and land he could see two tugs makingfor the

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Thor I. Between them they carried the huge tube that

would soon be pumping a million barrels of crude into

the tanks of the ship.

The first officer stepped onto the bridge and smartly

saluted the skipper. "Foodstuff containers all on board,

sir, and our tanks are topped off."

"Good, Mr. Richardson. How soon can we start pump-

"About an hour, sir."

"Excellent. Tell the lads to step lively. And for God's

sake, make sure there are no mistakes on the hookup."

"Yes, sir."

Jordon Conover was the head engineer for all pumping

operations at the huge port of A1 Kuwait. He was British,

and employed by the Kuwaiti government. This evening

he would supervise the biggest operation of his life and

the first of its kind in the world.

He parked his car and craned his neck to see the huge

tanker offshore as he walked toward his office.

"Good aftemoon."

"Good afternoon, sir," replied his secretary, and

handed him a stack of messages.

"Get me Obar on the phone right away."

"Yes, sir."

Conover laid the messages on the desk. He removed

his jacket and hung it on the back of his swivel chair.

He pulled down his tie, opened his •itt collar, and sat

down in his swivel chair just as the phone rang.

"Hello, boss."

"Obar, how are we doing?"

"They are sleeving up the cord now. We're running a

little behind schedule. Should be ready to pump in about

an hour."

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*'Good." Conover said, rising and pacing in front of

the big window that overlooked the enorrnous white tanks

that swallowed and stored the crude as it poured in from

the far desert. "Don't move a valve until I get there. I

want to check everything one time myself."

"Will do, boss."

Conover hung up just as a long Mercedes limousine

pulled up below his office window. The rear door was

opened and a white-robed figure emerged and hurried

into the building.

"My God," Conover said aloud, "what the hell is he

doing here?"

He met his visitor at the door and bowed him into the

office.

"Your Excellency, I'm surprised, to say the least.

Please, sir, sit down."

"There is no time for amenities, Mr. Conover," the

dark-skinned man replied in precise Cambridge English.

"I have a request that we must discuss at once."

For the next ten minutes, Jordan Conover stood, his

arms at his sides and his jaw agape, as his visitor spoke.

"Can this be done, Mr. Conover?"

'S Yes, Your Excellency, it can be done. But may I ask

Why?"

"No, not at the present time."

"Let me understand this completely. You want me to

fill the Thor I's cargo tanks with seawater?"

"That is correct, Mr. Conover. And I want the fewest

possible workmen to know about it."

"You realize, sir, that the expense will be enormous?"

The man smiled. s The expense will be far greater if

anyone on the Thor I discovers what you are doing, Mr.

Conover. See that they don't."

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When someone is killed on your very doorstep, the

best place to be at the time of the murder is somewhere

else, surrounded by witnesses . . as many as possible.

This especially holds true if you are responsible for order-

ing the execution in the first place. Surrounded by witnes-

ses, and with trusted people carrying out the actual killing,

you have an established alibi hard to ignore in court.

It's a matter of common sense, and one that Hannibal

St. James adhered to in all things.

That was why, immediately after ordering Horst

Layman on his errand and being reasonably sure that El

Adwan was in place for the hijacking of the Thor I,

Hannibal St. James had departed his immense estate in

Surrey, He had come by helicopter to his almost equally

lavish estate on the cliffs above Lyme Regis in the south

of England.

In his party were a film director and his wife, an aging

star, two executives from a French auto company who

wanted St. James to buy their failing company, and vari-

ous minor officials of his subsidiary companies and their

wives.

In such company he was safe and he had an alibi. That

was why, on this balmy afternoon, he felt at ease and at

peace with the world as he stood in his third-floor bedroom

and watched his guests frolic by the pool below.

"Mr. St. James? Hannibal St. James?"

St. James whirled. The man was big, well over six

feet, with black hair. a granite face, and piercing eyes.

He was dressed in a pair of blue coveralls, and carried

what looked like a toolbox in his hand.

"Who are you? What the hell do you mean—

"My name is Caner, Mr. St. James, and we're going

to talk."

Carter went near, measured, drew a deep breath, and

struck

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stmck. It was a clean jolt, with all his weight it,

straight to the chin. Hannibal St. James went down and

out and lay breathing stentoriously on his thick-piled car-

pet.

First thing, Carter pulled the pants off the resting man.

Underneath he was wearing shorts, which Caner also

tugged off. When you're naked you lose your dignity,

and loss of dignity loosens the tongue. Carter had other

arrows in his quiver and he intended to use them all.

He dragged St. James to a massive armchair and set

him into it. Then he used the friction tape from the

to tie him into it. Then he tested. He had him good.

Hannibal St. James was firmly affixed. He was as much

a part of the armchair as the upholstery.

Carter a bottle of Chivas Regal. He put ice and

water into a pitcher. He took the bottle, the pitcher, and

a glass to an end table beside a chair facing the im-

mobilized man. He lit a cigarette, sat, drank, smoked,

and waited. Finally St. James his eyes.

"Well, hello there," Caner said cheerfully.

"You bastard, what do you want?"

"Your cooperation, Mr. St. James. Or your ass."

"Go to hell."

"Assuredly I will one day," Carter offered, "but in the

meantime I might send you ahead of me."

"Do you know who you are dealing with?"

"I sure do," Carter replied, his toolbox and

spreading papers in front of the other man. "The biggest

fish I've ever hung out to dry."

'41 ' II hang the American government out to dry for this

"Ah," Carter said, "I see you are quite aware that I

am a government agent."

St. James clamped his jaw shut and glared.

"Your hired killer is in the Old Bailey right now, St.

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James. Here is his signed confession, four pages. I think

you'll notice that he names you, quite specifically."

Carter slowly flipped the pages. making sure that St.

James read every word and took in the perfectly forged

signature.

"And here is the signed confession of one Rosario

Duncan, It doesn't implicate you, of course, but it does

state that he has worked for Layman in the past, on illegal

deals of which you or one of your companies was the

prime beneficiary."

s 'They are lying. The word of two criminals against

my word?"

Carter shrugged. "Here is an indictment that will be

filed against you and your companies at nine tomorrow

morning by the International Mantime Commission, for

the instigation of piracy on the high seas. And this indict-

ment is by Lloyd's of London, for attempted fraud. It,

too, will be filed tomorrow morning."

• St. James, cool-eyed but sweating, laughed. "They

can stand in line. I've had thirty indictments filed against

me in as many years. None of them ever stuck."

"True," Carter said, "but when they are filed in con-

junction with the Thor I's sinking, your stock on the

London and New York exchanges will plummet. That,

along with your losses and Lloyd's tying you in knots

for years, will practically bankrupt you."

A full minute passed. "What do you want?"

"The entire setup with El Adwan and what he plans

to do with the Thor I."

Time passed. A lot of time passed.

Carter could sense that Hannibal St. James was begin-

ning to fly distress signals. He was sweating, twitching,

involuntarily nodding. His lips were dry and he was swal-

lowing a lot of air.

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Carter smoked and sipped his drink.

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When the answer came, the Killmaster was surprised,

He actually thought that he had nailed the old thief.

"Carter. or whoever you are, I don't have the slightest

idea what you're talking about. I have never heard of

this El Adwan. Mr. Horst Layman was fired from my

employ a week ago. My accountants will substantiate

that. As for this Duncan you speak of

I've never

heard of him."

Carter got tense but held his ground. "And Oliver

Estes?"

"A good man, but flawed." St. James replied. "Also

fired from my employ. I have proof that for years he has

been embezzling from my companies."

The guy was no wimps Carter thought as he mashed

out his cigarette and finished his drink.

"Mr. St. James, you're a hard and clever man."

From the small of his back, Caner took a short-barreled

.22 revolver. Methodically, he removed shells from his

jacket pocket and slipped them into the gun.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It's small, only a twenty-two, but the shells are hol-

low-point. One •of them going in your left ear will do

about the same damage as a forty-five."

"You're crazy!" St. James said, laughing but without

any humor. "Even if you do it, you won't get ten feet.

There are forty people out by that pool!"

"That there are, Mr. St. James, but the doors are closed

and the music by the pool is loud and a twenty-two caliber

revolver doesn't make much of a bang."

Silence. The squat, heavy body strained against the

tape. The veins of the neck bulged, jaw muscles

to tight knots. The eyes were filmy.

Caner flipped the cylinder closed.

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"We'll leak everything to the papers tonight. Naturally,

reporters will be calling you. You will realize that your

plan has failed. You won't be able to stand the dis-

grace . .

"What? Me? Kill myself? Nobody would believe it!"

"Ohs I think they will." Carter said, taking an official-

looking document from his pocket and crossing to the

desk.

"What is that?"

Carter floated it in the air for a second and dropped it

in the top drawer. "It's your permit for this gun, dated

six months ago. It's very official, Mr. St. James, I assure

you. The master copy is on file at Scotland Yard."

"Good Lord, man, this is cold-blooded murder!"

"That it is, Mr. St. James. that it is." Carter moved

toward him, idly holding the revolver in his right hand.

St. James squirmed and lurched against the tape that

bound him. The sweat ran in rivers on his face and body.

Carter could smell him.

"What the hell kind of a man are you?" he said, his

voice almost a squeak.

"A bad man, Hannibal, a very bad man."

Carter freed his left hand. St. James tried to swing on

him, but before the blow landed, Carter had shoved his

thumb, hard, into the soft part at the front of his shoulder

just below the collarbone. The left arm immediately went

limp.

"What the . . . ?'

"Frozen, Hannibal. I bruised the ITerve. Your arm will

be that way, useless, for about three minutes. There's

another nerve in your hand, right here between the thumb

and first finger .

does the same thing."

Carter squeezed there. and the fingers that had been

fluttering immediately went limp. The Killmaster then

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placed the gun in St. James's hand and wound the fingers

carefully around it. He brought hand and gun up before

St. James's eyes. Carefully, he pulled the hammer back

until it clicked.

"You still think it won't look like suicide, Hannibal?

See, I even know you're left-handed."

The man's chin sank down as his eyes closed. There

was froth on his lips.

Carter brought the hand and gun up. He ground the

barrel into St. James's left ear.

"Good-bye, Hannibal."

"All right .

. all right, dammit. I'll tell you what I

Carter removed the gun from his ear and St. James

leaned forward and vomited.

"They're probably on board by now."

"How?" Carter said.

St. James was still shaking like a leaf and now he

really stank. "For God's sake, man, untie me and let me

Clean

' 'In the foodstuff containers. They're stored in the aft

hold near the galley. They went into them last night after

they were loaded in the warehouse."

"How many are there?"

"Thirteen, plus El Adwan himself."

"All fourteen in the containers?"

Silence. Carter clicked the hammer on the revolver.

"No. One was planted before the ship left Japan. He's

the third assistant cook. "

"What's his job in the operation?"

"Food poisoning, the evening meal."

"That means they hit tonight."

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"Yes, around midnight."

"And what's the sailing time?"

"Five in the morning."

Carter thought for a moment. They were probably out

of the containers already and spread through the bowels

of the giant ship. There was even a good chance that in

the vastness of the supertanker they had already started

to plant explosives.

"What's the plan once they've taken the ship?"

"They sail through the Strait of Hormuz, around Oman,

and into the Indian Ocean."

"You're doing good, Hannibal. Keep doing good."

"Once they clear the Gulf of Oman, they break radio

silence . . . make their demands."

"And those are?"

"Fifty million American dollars, dropped by helicop-

ter. "

"And then?"

"They set the charges and then transfer to a freighter.

When the freighter is safely in Aden, they radio back the

combination to the master circuit to cut off the deto-

nators. "

Carter leaned forward and put the gun in St. James's

crotch. "That's the plan for Lloyd's benefit. Now, what

really happens, St. James? I know you don't want that

ship inspected. It has to be sunk."

The man's jaw was shaking so much he could hardly

speak.

it was a trade-off. El Adyan is going to sink

it in the Strait of Hormuz, crosswise in the channel."

"Jesus," Carter growled.

The Strait of Hormuz is the only access to the land-

locked Persian Gulf. Block it with something the size of

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the Thor and it would be years

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the Thor and it would be years before the Gulf was

usuable again.

"Let me fill in the blanks," Carter growled. "You re-

coup the loss of the Thor I from Lloyd's, scrap the Thor

II, and because of the instant Oil shortage caused by the

cutoff of the Persian Gulf, your Octagon reserves around

the world double in price. Right?"

Carter had risen and moved around behind the man.

As he spoke, he had withdrawn a hypodermic ampule

from the toolbox.

"Well, Hannibal, that's about the way it's supposed

to go, isn't it?"

"Yes . . .

yes," the man gasped.

"What about the hundred and eighty-odd crewmen?

Any provision for them?"

Silence.

"And the oil? A sea of crude oil in the Indian Ocean.

Evidently you didn't give a shit about that, did you,

Hannibal?"

Silence.

"Who's their lookout in Kuwait, Hannibal? They have

to have someone making sure they aren't nailed before

they get the Thor moving. Who is it?"

Silence.

"Who is it!"

it's my chief dispatcher. He has an office in

the harbor tower."

"Thanks, Hannibal. Have a nice sleep, you son of a

bitch."

Carter stuck the hypodermic into his neck.


FIFTEEN

"Nick, this is Colonel Vernon MacCreedy."

Carter shook hands with a man that had him by three

inches in height. He had straw-blond hair and a cheerful

face with dancing blue eyes. He looked like a young

lawyer, a businessman, or someone who should be staring

out of a television set with a beautiful woman on each arm.

As the Killmaster had observed so often in his long

and rather eventful career, looks could indeed deceiv-

ing.

A year before, MacCreedy had walked up a flight of

tenement steps in Northern Ireland with only a handgun

and a shattered left shoulder to take out four terrorist

gunmen.

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"Your men on board, Colonel?"

163

"An even dozen, sir, combat ready and with all the

gear you asked for."

'They're all volunteers, Colonel?" Caner asked.

MacCreedy smiled. "The whole SAS is volunteers,

sir. "

Carter turned to Jonathan Hart-Davis. "How are we

"Full cooperation of the Kuwaitis. They look the other

way, we do our own laundry."

"Landing clearance?"

Hart-Davis nodded. "We've got it all the way. Here

comes your final passenger."

Carter turned just as a four-door Rover pulled up beside

them. The woman inside didn't wait for the driver to

come around and open the door for her. She opened the

door herself and crawled out.

Carter really hadn't imagined Carolyn Reed, but even

if he had he wouldn't have imagined this. She was tall,

quite beautiful, and quite angry.

"Miss Reed, thank you for coming. I'm Jonathan Han-

Davis."

She swung her briefcase to her left hand and shook

hands with her right. "It's about time someone paid some

attention to my report."

"Er ... ah, yes. This is Nick Carter. He'll be in charge

of the operation."

"You're the American."

"That's right."

"l won't hold it against you."

"Thank you," Caner said. "Shall we board?"

She led the way to the gaping open hatch of the big

cargo jet.

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When they were leveled off, MacCreedy huddled his

men around Carter and Carolyn Reed. The woman opened

her briefcase and passed a blue-jacketed folder to each

of the men.

'These are detailed, deck-by-deck plans of every inch

of the Thor I." When this was done, she turned to Carter.

"All right, what do you need to know?"

"One hundred and eighty-some men. Where would the

terrorists put them to keep them out of their hair? With

a ship as big as the Thor, there has to be one or more

blind spots from the decks or superstructure. Where are

they? In case of high-powered automatic fire, what can't

we hit? Where are the stress points in the holds that

explosives would do the worst and quickest damage?

That'll do for a start."

Carolyn Reed let a tiny smile curl the comers of her

lips, took a deep breath, and started to teach.

Alfredo Dinebar slipped through the opening in the

deck of the number two engine room and slid down the

rungs of the ladder.

He had just finished his watch, but he wouldn't be

heading for the galley and evening chow just yet. Alfredo

wanted •a smoke, and the kind of cigarettes he smoked

didn 't go over too well with some of his fellow crewmen.

Lighting up and dragging the acrid smoke deep into

his lungs, he moved aft along the walkway

between the inner hall and the huge ait storage tank.

"Ah, man. lotsa crude. If I had just some of that crude,

I'd never have to ship out on one of these stinkin' wagons

again."

Dinebar dropped down to the lower "B" level and

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tumed into the valvewav be

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165

tumed into the valveway between the two aft tanks. Just

as he made the turn, he slid to a stop.

One of the big walkway templates had been lifted on

end, and over the hole two men were feeding wire down

to a third.

Jesus, Dinebar thought, a damned repair division crew

and I walk right into them!

Quickly, he mashed out his cigarette and fanned the

air around his head. He was about to step back around

the corner, when he was spotted.

"Say, man," Dinebar said with a laugh, "we ain't even

out of first port and the damn thing 's fallin' apart already.

How about that, man?"

The repairman was three feet from Alfredo when his

hand came up holding a silenced 9mm Beretta.

He shot Alfredo Dinebar directly between the eyes.

The light rap on the door awakened Captain Alonso

Wakefield immediately, He came up to a sitting position

on his bunk and snapped on the light.

The brand-new Rolex his wife had given him for his

new command said eleven o'clock.

"Yes, yes, come in," he called.

"Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but we've got a prob-

lem. "

"The umbilical cord?"

"No, sir, the pumping is going fine. We have a tank

and a half full, fore and aft. They will soon be switching

to the last two tanks."

"Well, what is it, Mr. Richardson?"

"It's the mid-watch, sir. Over half of them have re-

ported to sick bay with stomach cramps."

"Half the watch?"

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166

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Get volunteers for overtime off the eve-

watch, and have the cook send sandwiches up. Any idea

what the hell it is?"

"No, sir. But I've told the infirmary to let us know

whenever they find out."

"All right, Mr. Richardson. I'll be up, Can't sleep

worth a damn anyway."

The first officer backed out, and Captain Wakefield

started to pull on his pants.

Damn: he thought, haven't even taken on payload yet

and thé malingering has already started!

Caner looked around at the grim faces in the semicircle,

nodded his satisfaction, and turned back to Carolyn Reed.

"Good job. That's the most comprehensive crash

course on supertankers I've ever heard. "

"Thank you," she replied, and turned to the men her-

self. "Any further questions?"

"Yeah," said a fresh-faced young sergeant. "What's

yer favorite pub in London?"

Carolyn smiled. ' 'Why do you ask?"

"Obvious, ain't it? I want to run into ya!"

She laughed. "Tell you what. All of you come through

this without a scratch and I'll throw the party."

"Attention, attention," the intercom blared. "We're one

hour from set down. I have received word that your

ground transportation is ready and waiting."

Colonel MacCreedy tumed to Carqr. "I've already got

an idea or two."

"Me, too." Carter nodded. "Let's hash it over. "

"Do you need me?" Carolyn asked.

"It would help," Carter replied.

' snen you've got me."

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She stood and with the two men moved forward to the

lighted chart table just aft of the cockpit.

"Bridge, this is Dobbin."

"Yes, Chief, this is the Captain."

"Captain, I'm getting a strange reading in the loaded

tanks."

"How so?"

"I'm showing more intake than capacity. And, also,

the sway ratio is off. "Ihe damn stuff is splashing around

in there like beer in a barrel."

"Are your tanks balanced, Chief?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then recalibrate the gauges and give me another read-

ing."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain . . e"

"Yes, Mr. Richardson?"

"It's food poisoning, sir."

' 'Oh, Christ. How bad?"

"Minor serious, sir. But it's hit some of the day watch

now."

"How many able men do we have?"

"Thirty-three crew."

"Any officers?"

"No, sir. Evidently it didn't hit the wardroom galley."

"Ail right. Get volunteers for overtime, and log it."

"Aye, sir."

"Abu?"

"Yes. "

"All of our people are in place. Less than a third of

the crew are on deck."

"The time?"

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NICK CARTER

"Eleven-forty."

"We move now."

The big jet had scarcely rocked to a halt when men

poured from the dropped hatch. In minutes the equipment

was unloaded and reloaded on two personnel carriers.

Behind the personnel carriers, a gray Mercedes sedan

was parked with a uniformed officer in the driver's seat.

"Nick Carter."

"Major Assad Dalfi, Mr. Carter. Here is the informa-

tion you requested."

Carter snatched the sheet from the man. "Clark Magam,

fluent Arabic .

thanks."

born Yorkshire, 1950 .

He ran to the rearofthe first carrier. 'Colonel ... "

"Yes, sir?"

"I know you have six men fluent in Arabic. Do any

of them speak English with a Yorkshire accent?"

"l do, sir. Name's Lamb."

"Come with me, Lamb. Colonel, I'll meet you."

Carter, with First Sergeant Arnold Lamb at his heels,

ran back to the Mercedes.

"Let's go, Major. You know where."

"Yes, sir!"

Clark Magam lowered high-powered field glasses and

rubbed his eyes. It was five minutes until midnight. They

would be close now, probably on the move.

He leaned over to a pipe rack, took a pipe, filled it,

tamped it, lit it, and produced evil.melling fumes. He

was a little man with a seamed face, a nearly bald head,

and a sepulchral voice. He was nearsighted and wore

heavy-rimmed glassed, thick-lenses glasses behind which

his eyes swam like fish in a bowl.

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But he could see well enough for thi night's w

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169

But he could see well enough for this night's work.

And this night's work would give him more money than

he ever dreamed of.

He had always told himself that doing whatever the

old man asked—and asking no questions about it—would

pay offl Two days from now he would out of this

hateful place and back in England.

He was about to raise the binoculars back to his eyes,

when the locked door behind him burst from its hinges.

He got only halfway turned before his eyeglasses were

knocked from his face and a fist flattened his navel against

his backbone.

"Get his glasses!"

Magam's glasses were reinstated and he saw a gun

nearly a mile long being waved in front of his eyes.

Behind the gun was a grinning face and the meanest pair

of eyes Magam's had ever seen.

"Know what this is? It's a nine-millimeter Luger with

a silencer. It comes with hollow-tipped slugs dipped in

cyanide. Anywhere shoot you, you die. Do you want

to die?"

$ Good, Mr. Magam from Yorkshire, because I don•t

want you to die. But if you don't answer all my questions

as fast as I ask them, I'm going to shove this silencer

down your throat and blow the back of your head all over

that window."

Mr. Clark Magam couldn't answer fast enough.

'Captain, Dobbins here . .

'WYes, Chief?"

"Sir, I don't know what the hell ... sir, my hatch .. e"

Suddenly there was a burst of automatic rifle fire on

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the intercom and the garbled scream of a dying man. The

scream was still echoing off the three officers on the

bridge when there was an explosion. The locked hatch

to the bridge exploded from its bolts and the whole area

was filled with acrid smoke.

First Officer Richardson was farther from the hatch

than the others. When he saw the two men—machine

pistols at the ready —emerge through the smoke, he dived

for the weapons on the nearby bulkhead.

He barely got the case open when a burst from one of

the machine pistols shattered his chest. He was thrown

over the main bank of computers and slammed to the

deck, dead.

The man who had fired—tall and rangy, with long

black hair and a heavy, flowing beard —jammed the barrel

of his pistol into the belly of the Thor I's stunned skipper.

"Captain Wakefield, my name is Abu El Adwan. I

am in the process of relieving you of your command."

"The bloody hell . . g"

The blow from the steel butt of the machine pistol

came so swiftly that Wakefield didn't even see the move-

ment. It struck him in the shoulder, driving him back,

and before he could regain his balance the barrel sliced

a deep, three-inch gash in his cheeki

"You will do as I say, Captain Wakefield, or every

man under your command will be shot. Do you under-

stand?"

Silence.

The two men stood glaring at one another, neither

blinking.

"Do you understand!"

"I will not give up my ship to bloody terrorists."

EI Adwan turned to the other officer. He flipped the

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171

machine pistol to single shot and killed the officer at

point-blank range.

"Do you understand, Captain Wakefield?"

The captain swallowed, blinked his eyes once, and

then averted them from the young officer's corpse. "I

understand. ' '

El Adwan found the proper switches on the ship's inner

communication console, and began using them.

"Radio rcx)m?"

"This is Antonia, Abu. The radio room is secure."

"Familiarize yourself with the equipment. I'll be right

back to you."

One by one, El Adwan went through the ship's stations,

and one by one he found them secure.

"Abu, this is Jadak at the main power plant."

"Yes, Jadak?"

"Five hands on duty. We have three. The two others

are in the heating and air-conditioning plant and refuse

to budge. "

"Are you in communication?"

"We are."

'Then give the two of them one minute to surrender.

If they don't, inform them that you will shoot their mates

one by one until they do."

"Right away."

"My God," Wakefield gasped, "you're a barbarian!"

"Not at all, Captain. I am a businessman, and, at times,

a patriot. Now, shut up."

El Adwan made some calculations on a pad of paper.

He checked them twice, and then turned again to

Wakefield.

"By my tally, I am missing eleven men. You will call

on all stations for any man hiding on the ship to surrender

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NICK CARTER

himself to my people. They will have five minutes. If

all hands are not accounted for by that time, I will begin

executing men in the forward crew quarters."

The captain knew he had no choice. He stepped to the

console and flipped the all-stations switch.

"All hands, attention all hands. This is Captain

Wakefield. We have been taken over by terrorists. They

are in control of the ship. It is futile, lads. Give yourselves

up and save your mates."

"Excellent, Captain. Pour yourself a cup of tea. In

fact, pour two."

In ten minutes, El Adwan ran through the stations

again. All hands were accounted for.

"Antonia?"

"Here."

"Contact Jellyfish!"

Carter's eyes burned as he stared through the night

glasses at the bulk of the Thor I. All the floods and

above-deck lights were on. The only movement was on

the tugs as the fitters constantly checked the flow and

the huge clamp that held the pumping tube to the side

feed of the ship.

"If they're moving, they sure as hell aren't showing

themselves," he growled.

Beside him, SAS Sergeant Lamb merely grunted in

reply, adjusted his volume and frequency controls, and,

now and then, glanced over at the trussed-up figure of

Clark Magam.

"It's a quarter past twelve. Unless they met resistance,

they should have touched base by now." Carter moved

to Magam as he spoke. "You see that commando knife

on the sergeant's belt?"

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"Yes ..

173

Magram was petrified. Carter was surprised he hadn't

already peed his pants.

"Let me tell you, Magam, that the sergeant can

three quarters of the skin from your body tefore you'll

die."

"For God's sake, man, what do you want?" Magam

cried. "I've told you everything!"

"Have you, Magarn?" Carter hissed. "Have you given

us the right frequencies?"

"I swear.. . "

Suddenly the two three-inch speakers above the console

crackled to life.

"Got something, sir . . ."

Cafier moved quickly back to Lamb's side as a

woman's voice came through the speakers.

"Jellyfish, this is Shark. Shark calling Jellyfish. Come

' 'This is Jellyfish, Shark. Over."

"I read you nine and fine, Jellyfish. Over."

"You are four and floating, Shark. Can you ease up

with a test?"

"Going up . . .

test . . . test . . . test . . . "

"There, Shark, lock in. You are eight and steady.

Over."

There was silence for a few seconds, and then a man's

voice, speaking guttural Arabic, came on.

"What is the first star in the desert night?"

"The one that shines the brightest," Lamb replied in

barely accented Arabic, and Carter squeezed his shoulder.

The woman's voice returned. "We are secure, Jellyfish.

What is your Over."

"Port side, bow, to about one hundred yards short of

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NICK CARTER

stern. Around bow on starboard side almost amidships.

Over."

"Thank you, Jellyfish. We will adjust. Fifteen-minute

checks unless you spot something. Clear? Over. "

"Clear, Shark. Out."

The two men sighed in tandem relief.

"They bought it," Carter said, and returned the glasses

to his eyes.

Less than a minute later, he saw men floating out onto

the upper decks. No firearms were showing, but that

meant nothing. Each of them moved to man a lookout

spot beyond Lamb's range of vision.

All of them were in place when the remainder of the

starboard spotlights came on, flooding the sea with light

for nearly a hundred yards.

"Time to go," Caner said. "You've got the picture?"

"Yes, sir. One-ten sharp, I spot surface movement off

the starboard bow."

"Good man."

Carter raced to the door and down the stairs to the

waiting Mercedes.


SIXTEEN

Each and every one of the SAS men was a highly

trained machine. When they moved, they did it with

stealth and grace. Hardly a sound was made and there

was no wasted movement,

Fifteen minutes before the planned diversion, four men

equipped with finger-gripped suction cups went up the

seven-story-high hull of the Thor I. Twenty yards apart

on the starboard side, thirty yards aft the hull, they looked

like tiny gray crabs moving through a field of rust.

They covered the height in exactly two minutes and

seven seconds. Another five seconds to clamp three

blocks of stronger, clamp-held devices, and four ropes

spiraled down the side of the ship. The ropes were knotted

176

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NICK CARTER

every thirty inches so the men climbing always had a

handhold, and were stabilized by the insteps of both feet

on a knot.

Two minutes Jellyfish would alert Shark to sur-

face movement off the stern to starboard, all thirteen men

hung, swaying gently, seven stories above the sea.

"Shark, this is Jellyfish. Come in!"

"Go ahead, Jellyfish."

have surface movement about two hundred yards

off your stem, starboard side. Over."

"Can you identify? Over."

"Negative, Shark. It would help if you could lift a

couple of the starboard floods."

"Will do, Jellyfish. Keep me informed. Out." Antonia

Perini shook the blond hair from her eyes and flipped the

console switch marked Bridge.

"Abu . .

"Here."

"Jellyfish has a sighting about two hundred yards off

the stern, starboard side."

"A boat?"

"Surface movement. He wants you to lift one or two

of the starboard floods."

"I'll take care of it."

El Adwan lifted the walkie from his belt and instructed

the five lookouts. Instantly, two of them were scampering

up the ladders on the starboard side of the superstnlcture

toward the floods. The other three hh the rail themselves,

night glasses to their eyes.

At MacCreedy's hand signal, the top four men rolled

over the bow lip and hoisted themselves to the main deck.

They had barely flattened out—almost invisible in their

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177

hooded gray wet suits against the matching deck—when

four more men followed.

Once again there was no wasted time or movement.

The first four men moved thirty yards to the two massive

screens guarding the air intake for the air-conditioning

plant far in the bowels of the ship. By the time

the last man had scrambled over the bow, the screens

were off and the first four were already descending.

Again, like crabs, using the sneakers on their feet and

the fins—worn over their sneakers while swimming—on

their hands, they made their way down the slick steel

sides of the vents, seven to a side.

Neither of the enormous fans were turning. In fact they

were hardly ever operational in port. Smaller fans,

generator-powered, saved fuel when the ship wasn't mov-

ing.

When the screens were off, each of the men slithered

between the blades into the lower vent area. This was

level, and twenty feet into it was the repair trap. Once

through this, they crawled along a narrow catwalk above

the huge unit itself. A hatch at the end of the catwalk

opened into the engineer's ready room.

It was empty.

Two by two, they emerged from the catwalk hatchways

and padded silently to the hatch leading into the forward

power plant. MacCreedy cautiously rose until he could

peer through the window.

It had been three minutes and forty-one seconds since

the first four men had come over the bow.

"Jellyfish. this is Shark. We have spotted nothing,"

"The light helps, Shark. I can't see it now either. Guess

I'm just jumpy. Over."

"Better to be safe, Jellyfish. Stay with me. Out."

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Sergeant Lamb lifted the glasses and sighed with relief.

They were all up, over, and out of sight before the five

men drifted back to their assigned places.

MacCreedy turned to Carter. He held up one hand and

curled all five fingers.

Five prisoners.

He held up one finger on his other hand.

One guard.

Carter nodded and slipped in beside him, the silenced

and compact Sten Model IV up and ready.

MacCreedy spun the revolving lock on the watertight

hatch. It moved silently. When it stopped, the colonel

turned to Caner.

The Killmaster nodded.

The hatch was yanked open.

Carter fired a three-shot burst from four feet, tearing

the side of the man's head off as he was turning.

In four seconds, all the SAS men were in the forward

engine ready room and Carter was interrogating the chief

engineer.

No, there had been no call down from the bridge since

the initial takeover. Yes, the five of them had been left

below to monitor the pressure gauges and keep checking

the automatic oilers.

As Carter asked questions and got answers, the two I

men who would be part of his unit moved in behind him.

There would be three units, with Carter's designated Unit

One. Unit Two—with five men commanded by Colonel

MacCreedy—would move forward to free the crew. Unit

Three—under Major Culham—would search for and dis-

mantle the explosives.

Units Two and Three had already moved out when

Carter gave his last instructions to the chief engineer.

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179

"If any of them show up down here, use his gun and

don't be sad about it."

"It'll be a pleasure, sir."

Carter, followed by his two men, moved up to "A"

lower level and aft.

Fourteen terrorists all told, with one dead and five as

lookouts on the main deck. Carter guessed that El Adwan

would be on the bridge with at least one other man.

That left six they would have to find.

The Killmaster hoped against hope that the scenario

that Carolyn Reed had set up for them was at least eighty

percent accurate.

"Saed, this is Abu. How is it?"

"Steady. They are on the last two tanks ... approaching

half."

"What do you estimate?"

s 'A little over an hour."

"Excellent," El Adwan replied. "Let me know the mo-

ment they top off."

Ten feet from the blown hatch of the tank control room,

Carter heard the man's voice and halted.

Using sign language, he gestured one of his men for-

ward. The SAS man dropped to his belly and, like a

snake, slithered forward until he was flat on the floor

adjacent to the hatch.

One quick look and he held up one finger. Carter gave

him a thumbs-up sign, and backed down the passageway

with his second man moving in step.

They went up another deck and then aft again until

they were directly below the forward section of the

superstructure. Carter dropped to a hunkering position

and took the walkie-talkie from his belt. Livingstone, the

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NICK CARTER

remaining man with him, checked the passageway to the

next turn and nodded back.

Caner depressed the red alert button once and waited.

A two count later, the red light on his own walkie blinked

twice. Another two count and it blinked three times.

Colonel MacCreedy and Major Culham were in areas

where they could talk.

"Caner here. 'A' upper-level deck. Ready to go up.

Valve control is covered. One man. Colonel?"

"Two of them in the forward crew quarters. Covered.

J am at the aft crew quarters now. Two here, as well.

Over."

"Major?"

"So far, Miss Reed has been right on the nose. We

have hit six jackpots, all exactly at the hull stress points

where she guessed they would be. Over. "

"Are they neutralized?" Carter said.

"Yes wait a second .. It was more like ten. "Sir?"

'Go ahead," Caner said.

"We just found the first one on the tanks. Sir, it's

remote-controlled like the ones on the hull, but it's locked

into a relay. If we crack it, sir, it will automatically pulse.

Over."

"That means it can't be cracked? Over."

"Maybe, sir, but it's going to be tricky. We'll have to

dismantle in the exact sequence or we'll all go boom,

sir. Over."

"Okay, Major, stay with it. Out."

Carter made a mental note. If radio was manned

by a woman, and she was alone, and there was one with

El Adwan on the bridge, they had all fourteen accounted

for.

"Jadak

. Jadak, Abu here! Can you hear me?"

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181

For the third time, the inner-ship line from the engine

room came alive, but only with buzzing and crackling.

If there was voice in there, El Adwan couldn't hear it.

"Dammit, Jadak .

"We have been having trouble with that line since we

left Japan," the captain lied, his knowledge telling him

that, with the ship's sealed communications units, that

kind of steady interference could never occur.

El Adwan turned to the dark-haired woman at the door.

"Pilon, go down to the forward engine room and check,

just in case."

"As you wish, Abu," she replied, and left.

"Antonia?"

"Yes, Abu."

"Anything more from Jellyfish?"

"Nothing beyond the last regular check."

El Adwan checked with the rest of his people and

found them all in place and everything quiet.

He was just turning from the console when Captain

Wakefield lunged at him. It was an unskilled and stupid

charge, considering the bigger man's swiftness and dex-

terity.

El Adwan countered the blow easily and slammed the

butt of his machine pistol viciously against the point of the

older man's jaw. Wakefield dropped like a stone to

the deck, and the terrorist leader kicked him viciously

in the side.

' 'Stupid old man!"

The communications center was one deck below the

bridge and just forward of it. Carter was halfway up the

last ladder to that deck, with Livingstone right behind

him, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching

on the steel deck of the passageway above.

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NICK CARTER

Both men slid back down using the handrail, and darted

through the nearest hatch, closing it behind them. It was

the chart room, and through an open hatch Carter could

see radar equipment. Leaving the other man to guard the

hatch, the Killmaster did a quick recon. Finding both

areas empty, he returned.

"Sir, it's a woman," Livingstone whispered, nodding

toward the passageway.

Cautiously Carter eased his head up until he could peer

through the double glass. A short stocky woman wearing

fatigues, a handgun holstered at her hip, and with an

AK-47 slung over her shoulder, was walking forward to

the next ladder.

"Well, now," Carter murmured as she disappeared, "I

wonder if that's our radio operator."

Major Bryan Culham peered over the shoulders of the

two crouched men with sweat pouring off his forehead

into his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then sighed as

the plastic case came apart and there was no mishap.

"Six wires," one of the men said, "just like the other

four. "

"Are they in the same sequence?"

"Yeah, but nothing tells me which wire is the relay. "

"Damn," Culham said. "Let's try the last one."

At the top of the ladder leading down to the forward

ready room that controlled one Of the two massive diesels,

the brunette called Pilon paused.

"Jadak? .

Jadak, are you there? Is everything all

right?"

There was no answer.

Pilon unlimbered the automatic rifle from her shoulder

and moved down the ladder, step by step. At the bottom,

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she went to her knees and dived, belly-up, through the

hatch. The moment she hit the deck she covered the room

with the muzzle of the weapon.

Nothing. Empty. No sign.

And then she saw it, a dark stain on the green deck

padding. Cautiously, she touched it with a finger and

tasted.

Blood.

Alert now, using only seconds, the woman moved in

a wide arc around the stain until she found a drop of

blood, and then another, until it became a trail. It led

her toward the starboard walkway and then down, toward

the lower decks and aft.

Colonel MacCreedy left his final two officers to cover

the two terrorists, and went forward again. Amidships,

he went down to the lowest deck level and checked his

position.

He was two hatches away from the generator room.

Pilon paused to orient herself. She was on the lowest

level of the ship now, just about amidships, and moving

fonvard.

The trail of blood had petered out twice, but by trial

and error she had picked it up both times. The last spot

was a foot in front of the hatch that led into the generator

room.

She crouched and cautiously moved forward. The spin

lock wouldn't rotate. The hatch was locked from the

inside.

What would Abu want her to do? Was the blood

Jadak's? Or had he killed or wounded part of the crew

and this is where they fled, with Jadak pursuing them?

The decision was made for her when she peered through

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the double-thick windows. They were masked. That could

mean only one thing.

She set aside her gun and took two blocks of plastique

from her utility belt. Quickly, she molded the puttylike

explosive into the cracks around the hatch, liberally at

the lock and two hinges. A mercury detonator with a

ten-second fuse was inserted into the mass, and then she

pushed the small button on the call box the hatch.

Faintly, she could hear the attention buzzer inside through

the hatch.

She put her lips close to the call box. "I know you are

in there. I don't know what you have done with my

comrade, but I am giving you ten seconds to open this

hatch or I will blow it open. Do you hear me?"

Three seconds passed and then a voice. in Cockney

English, replied. "We've got yer man in here and we've

got his gun. If ya blow the door, I'll kill him."

"Let me speak to him."

Pause. "No."

Pilon smiled. "I think Jadak is already dead. I'll give

you to the count of three. One

"Don't move, don't even twitch, or I'll cut you exactly

in half."

Pilon's whole being, her mind-set, was made up of

instincts. Instantly, she rolled to the side, grasped her

gun, and kept rolling. Out of the corner of her eye she

saw the figure in the gray wet suit.

She came up on one knee, but her right hand wasn't

fast enough.

All six slugs from the Sten's double three-shot burst

stitched her body from pelvis to breast. She died before

her body hit the bulkhead.

The gray wet suit moved to the hatch and gently re-

moved the mercury detonator from the plastique. He then

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185

tugged the woman's bloody body away from the bulkhead

so it could be seen from inside the generator room.

This done, he leaned toward the talk box himself. "This

is SAS Colonel Vernon MacCreedy. I need to get in

there. Take the mask off the window and take a look."

Carter and Livingstone had just hit the passageway

about thirty feet from the open hatch to the radio room,

when their question was answered.

"Shark, this is Jellyfish."

"Go ahead, Jellyfish."

"Fifteen-minute check. Nil, all's calm and quiet.

Over."

"Check, Jellyfish. I'm told topping off is about ten

minutes. We should be making way in an hour. Out."

Caner and Livingstone traded satisfied looks. Obvi-

ously there were two women. And the one they had

srx)tted coming down had been descending from the

bridge. The short brunette had been the "man" with El

Adwan.

And then they got another break. Antonia Perini spoke

again.

"Bridge, are you there, Abu?"

"Yes. The fool of a captain tried to take me."

"Oh, God," said the woman. "Did you have to kill

A laugh. "No, but he'll be sailing us toward the strait

with a broken jaw. Anything from Jellyfish?"

"All clear."

"Check."

Now they knew that Abu El Adwan was indeed on the

bridge.

Carter motioned Livingstone forward until he was

positioned outside the radio room, just as the other SAS

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officer was positioned outside the valve control room.

Then Carter slithered back forward and moved around

the enormous superstructure until he was at the ladder

leading up to the bridge.

The red light on his walkie-talkie was blinking.

"Carter here," he

' 'MacCreedy. I've killed one of them, a woman."

"Short, built wide, dark hair?" Carter asked.

S' You've got it. I'm in the generator room. I'm leaving

my walkie with the chief engineer, name's Harris. You

can give him the word on cutoff."

"And?" Carter said.

"We have two AKs. I'm taking two of the crew with

me topside. We can cover the five lookouts."

"Good thinking," Carter said. "That makes it com-

plete."

Yeah, he added to himself, complete if Major Culham

and Unit Three don't blow us to hell!

He lifted the walkie-talkie back to his lips.

"Jadak . . . Pilon . .. dammit, somebody down there

answer me"'

El Adwan slammed his palm against the console and

cursed again.

His senses, tuned over years of living on the edge,

were telling him something was not right. First Jadak,

and now Pilon.

What the hell was going on?

"Kroil .

Kroll, where are you?"

am on the fantail, main deck. What is it?"

"Get down to the forward engine room. Jadak and

Pilon should be down there, but I can't get an answer

out of them."

"What's wrong?"

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187

"Dammit, if I knew I wouldn't be sending you down

there. Move!"

El Adwan slumped into the captain's swing chair, and

for the tenth time checked the loads in his AK-47 and

pistol.

Then he fingered the battery-B)wered pulse-sender on

his belt, the unit that, with one twist of a dial and one

push of a button, would send them all to hell.

"Major . . . Carter here."

"Yes, sir," Culham said, making a conscious effort to

keep his voice level.

"How is it?"

"The search is complete, sir. Six jackpots on the hull,

all neutralized. We have found eight more on the tanks.

We are opening the last one now."

"And . . s?"

"Nothing to report further until we get it open, sir."

"Are you sure you've got them all?"

"Yes, sir. We've done two complete sweeps and that's

it, unless they've placed some above decks. And, accord-

ing to the Reed woman, that would be highly unlikely."

'SAnd you agree?"

"l do, sir."

"All right," Carter said. "We've got two dead and all

the rest are covered. Our main honcho is on the bridge,

alone. I'm going up now."

"Good luck, sir."

"Good luck to you, Major. And for God's sake, if you

find the relay key. let me know right away."

"Will do, sir."

Major Culham returned the walkie to his trlt and again

dropped to his knees beside the two men working over

the small plastic box.

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NICK CARTER

188

"Anything?"

"Maybe, just maybe," one of them replied. "See the

fresh solder on the blue and white wires?"

"I see it."

"It's the same on the rest of them. They've changed

the order from the way the wires were originally set up. "

Culham ran a finger along his forehead and flicked

away the sweat. "That probably means either the blue or

the white is the relay."

"Yes, sir, it does."

"Question is, which one?"

"Yes, sir, that sure as hell is the question."

Carter heaved himself up over the top of the last over-

hang and crawled forward through the maze of radio

antennae and radar scoops until he was just at the edge.

From here he had a clear view directly down into the

bridge.

The forward, port, and starboard sides of the main

bridge were all glass. He could see Captain Wakefield

sitting in a swivel chair holding his head in his hands.

The only other occupant was Abu El Adwan . . . tall,

bearded, long black hair—obviously a wig—to his shoul-

ders.

Catter sighted the Sten.

There was only a fifty-fifty chance that a burst would

get him before he could hit the pulser at his belt. The

thick glass would deflect the slugs.

One large pane of the window was open. Each time

El Adwan spoke into the control console, Carter could

hear every word.

Now, if the man would only walk in front of the open

window. .

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"Yes."

"We're topped. The tugs are leaving now."

189

"Good," El Adwan replied. "We'll get under way at

once. Kroll, where are you?"

"Engine room. No sign Of Pilon or Jadak."

"Keep looking. We're about ready to go."

"Major," Carter whispered into his walkie-talkie,

"what's our status?"

"We might have it. We've got it down to two wires ...

one blue, one white. We're testing."

"How long, man?"

"Sir, it's impossible to tell."

Carter thought. ney didn't have time. El Adwan was

getting nervous.

"Major, if the tanks blow, how long do we have

the ship goes down?"

"Probably a good twenty minutes, sir."

Time enough to get the crew out, Carter thought.

"Major, run a bypass and pick a wire. Is everyone else

on?" There was a series of affinnative answers. "All

right, everyone with your night glasses on. Chief Hanis?"

"Here, sir."

"Get ready to cut the generators."

"Ready, sir."

The wait went on for minutes. Caner could see that

El Adwan was beginning to sniff the wind.

Then the word came.

'Culham here, sir. We've run a bypass. I'm guessing

blue. When we cut, it's twenty seconds."

"Go, Major," Carter growled, in his mind seeing

everyone ready to take out their targets.

"It's a cut," Culham hissed.

Carter—and, he was sure, all the SAS men—were

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NICK CARTER

sweating out a pound a second. He forced himself not to

blink as he watched the sweep-second hand of his watch.

twenty . . . twenty-one.... Good

. nineteen

guess, Major. Chief Hams?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Kill the lights. Everybody .

The instant the lights went dead, Carter opened up

with the Sten on full automatic. Carefully, he kept his

fire away from the captain.

It had the desired result.

El Adwan fired a burst in reply, and reached for the

pulser. When nothing happened, and Carter's slug from

a new magazine started finding his range, he leaped from

the hatch.

The Killmaster dropped to the next deck and gave

chase.

El Adwan fired until his magazine was empty. then

he discarded the AK-47. Now he was on the main deck

and running aft, with Carter still firing.

MacCreedy appeared before him and El Adwan veered

left into the officers' quarters. Just as he did, one of

Carter's slugs caught him in the thigh.

Carter dived through the hatch into the officers' mess.

El Adwan was against the far bulkhead, a pistol held in

both hands.

"Give it up, Adwan," the Killmaster hissed. "By now

all your people are dead or captured. " Carter could see

El Adwan's face in the moonlight through the big port-

holes.

"I know that voice . . .

you're Carter. "

"That's right."

The man laughed. 'God, you don't give up, do you!"

"Never. Hang it up."

The face changed. The gun lowered and hit the deck.

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"Sure, why not?" Carter wasn't surprised. He had almost expected it Calmly, the man pulled out a cigarette case. He lit a long brown cigarette and smiled. "They'll try me and probably get a conviction. But do you know what, Carter? They'll give me five years . M the most. Any more than that and you'll have hijackings all over the world to get me out. And 1 won't even do the five years. Some government will want to make a deal with another government, and part of it will be my

Carter watched the smirking face and listened to the glib talk. And as he listened, he knew the man was right. The trial would take two years, a couple of million dollars, and he would be convicted. And two years later. Abu El Adwan would be nut. Caner pressed the trigger on the Sten and kept pressing until the magazine was empty. Then he walked back out on deck. Colonel MacCreedy was waiting. No casualties on our side, sir. And the officers and are safe." And theirs" Carter asked. viten accounted for—eleven men, two women—

o," the Killmaster said "Fourteen . . . all dead."