# Isle Of Blood

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"Jesus Christ," said Carter.

"It's Savine,n Hobbs growled, playing his

light across the body.

Lupat Savine was bound to a chair with

wire around his legs and chest. He was

naked, and there wasn't much of his body that

hadn't been discolored from blows or cigarette

bums. There was a pool of dried blood be-

neath the table from his wounds. The coup de

grace had been delivered with a powerful pis-

tol from short range. The hole in the front of

his head was small and neat. The back of his

head was all over the wall.

AYou think he talked?" Hobbs asked.

"I'd bet the ranch on it," Carter said.

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ONE

It was one of those sharp, clear, early-summer days that

take away inhibitions, soothe taut nerves, and make one

realize that if there were no people, the world would be a

tEautiful place.

The woman rose from the sand, yawned, and stretched

her arms. Absently, she scratched her smooth dark stom-

ach. Then, jiggling softly in her bikini, she walked to the

water and gingerly stepped in. She sucked in her breath as

a small roller washed across her knees.

Twenty yards behind her, relaxing on a chaise, Nick

Carter grinned. The woman could suck in her breath with

great effect.

She bent over. Her back glistened with oil as she

slapped water over her body. She walked farther out until

she was thigh-deep in the water and shivered, wiggling her

rear end.

Her face tumed toward Carter and the tip of her tongue

came out and traveled along her lower lip. She knew ex-

actly what she was doing.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"I'd rather watch," Carter replied.

She laughed and dived, submerging for a moment and

then surfacing, her arms rolling in a smooth crawl.

Carter watched her for a moment and then shifted his eyes

to the left. To the left was the beautiful resort of Izmir, tucked

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into its own bay on Turkey's Aegean coast. To the right, the

tree-studded coastline stretched north in green splendor.

It was an idyllic spot. They had been there for five days.

He could easily have taken another week.

But that wasn't to and Carter knew it. As if in an-

swer to his thoughts, the telephone rang in the bungalow

behind him.

He turned and jogged up the sand. The bungalow was

isolated, standing in a grove of trees facing the wide, sandy

beach. It had two bedrooms, a living room and kitchen,

and a tiled terrace spread around the front affording a mag-

nificent view of the sea.

Carter crossed the terrace into the living room and

grabbed the phone. "Yeah?"

"We'll go tonight." It was the voice of Carl Hobbs,

Carter's CIA liaison in Ankara.

' They've left?" Carter asked.

"All but a few flunkies closing the place up until they

need it again."

"You've got the plans to the house?"

Hobbs chuckled. "lhere's a young clerk in the building

administration office running around now on a brand-new

Honda."

"Good work," Carter murmured. "What time?"

"I'll be there in a couple of hours. By the way, how's

my secretary?"

"Fine," Carter replied, his eye wandering across the

beach to where Reela Zahedi was ernerging from the surf.

"I'll bet. See you in two hours."

Caner hung up and walked outside. Reela made quite a

picture walking across the sand toward him. She was a

very tall, very well built Amazon with handsome features,

no makeup, and long black hair wom in two thick braids

wound around her head.

About ten feet from Carter she unhooked the bikini's to

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and let it slide down her arms. Her heavy breasts spilled from

the skimpy garment, swaying delightfully as she moved.

"You have no shame," Carter said, his eyes glued on the

large,ciark areolas.

"No," she said, laughing, "but I have a lot of pride."

She expanded her chest with a deep breath, finished wring-

ing out the bra, and draped it across the back of a chair on

the terrace.

Tarl called."

She moved into his arms until just the tips of her breasts

touched his bare chest. "They have left?"

"Leaving," he replied, running his hand down her

smooth back. "He got the plans to the house. We should be

able to search it with a minimum of light."

"Is Carl coming out?"

Carter nodded. "He'll be here in about two hours."

She smiled and ran her hands down between their

bodies to the swell in his üunks. "That's a long time."

She moved by him into the bedroom and Carter fol-

lowed, catching her by the bed, turning her. They fell to-

gether and he molded his hands harshly over her breasts.

The soft flesh filled his palms and her head thrashed from

side to side.

"The rest of my suit," she moaned.

His hands slithered down over her ribs, over her taut

belly, and on past the elastic of her bikini.

She arched again and he pulled the bottom of the suit

down her legs. He stepped out of his own trunks and

moved his body back up over hers.

He ran his lips down the valley between her taut,

upthrusting breasts and then kissed her nipples until she

began to tremble. Her flesh was cool and retained the salty

tang of the sea.

Raising himself up, he crushed his mouth against hers,

and when she felt the fullness of his probing strength, she

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caught her breath with a gasp and orrned her thighs wider

to welcome him. And then there was nothing but motion,

hard thrusting muscle against soft yielding flesh, and while

her head rolled from side to side, she moaned softly.

He lifted her hips up off the mattress and the fingers

stroking his back became sharp claws as, suddenly, her

body stiffened in his arms.

"Now," she moaned, thrusting upward and roiling her-

self until she was sitting on top of him.

She spread her legs for him again and slowly sat up,

forcing him farther and farther inside her while her hands

moved sensually up over her stomach until they cupped

each breast with its firm pronounced nipple tE-

tween her fingers.

She began to move her hips with little bursts of aroused

passion. Her eyes stared down into his. And then tantaliz-

ingly, •teasingly, each time she undulated her hips, she

lifted her body a little farther away from him until he

her thighs firmly, roughly, so that she couldn't

escape completely.

"You're a witch," he whisFred. "A sensual, wanton

witch."

She laughed softly and sat down hard, until there was

nothing separating them. She reached forward and caught

hold of his chest with clawed fingers and her hips began to

undulate once more.

As though sensing the passion she had aroused within

him, her smile faded and her pelvic thrusts became violent,

urgent. Carter lifted his loins and she ground her hips until

suddenly her whole body stiffened in a frenzied climax and

she rocked back, holding her stomach with her hands

tightly. Her rrlvic muscles contracted and Carter reared up

in an orgasm that seemed to drain the air from his lungs.

Slowly, she collapsed over him.

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Carter sipped coffee and went over the floor plan of the

house for the tenth time since Carl Hobbs had arrived.

Hobbs lounged at the door, waiting for Carter to finish.

He was taller and thinner than Carter, but of comparable age.

Short dark hair curled over his ears. His skin was tanned a

deep golden brown. The heavy lids drooping over his blue

eyes lent them a melancholy weariness. His long girder of a

jaw seemed to have fallen against his neck under its own

weight. His nose was short and had wide nostrils. His lips

bunched together as though he had fought against the habit of

having his lower lip open. Fine hair covered the backs

of his big hands and went down each finger almost to the

nails. The sunlight made them shine like silver wire.

Carter glanced up from the plan and sensed the tense-

ness in the other man's body. "What is it, Carl?"

Hobbs shrugged. "Nothing, really. I just wish my man

could have gotten around to the back and counted them as

they came out."

"According to what Savine told Reela, they never leave

a guard. The house is just used for meetings. When the

meeting is over, they close it up until the next time."

Hobbs nodded with a growl and retumed his attention to

the sea. Caner tumed his eyes back to the map, but his

mind was on the situation.

He had gotten the assignment nearly three months ear-

lier, and had busted his butt on it ever since.

Drago Vain was an Irishman, from Belfast. He had

started his career twenty years earlier, when he was still a

teenager, as an IRA But he didn't stop there. He

went op to mass murder, bank robbery, and just about

every form of terrorism imaginable.

He was as close to a wild-eyed maniac as a human could

come. He had been sent to Libya and Lebanon for training,

and graduated at the head of his class.

It had taken the British fifteen bloody years to find and

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arrest Drago Vain. ne general thinking was that the Irish

revolutionaries were secretly glad to rid of him. His

indiscriminate killing was ruining them, public-relations-

wise.

After two years in jail, Vain finally realized that no one

was going to spring him. He made his way back

to Northern Ireland, and took his revenge.

He dropped out of sight after that.

About a year ago, Interpol and almost every antiterrorist

unit in the world got the word that a mercenary group had

been put together that would do anything for the right price.

Drago Vain had gone into business, and instead of

working for any cause now, he worked for hard cash.

By the time Carter got involved, Vain and his group

seemed to concentrating their efforts in Greece, Turkey,

and the island of Cyprus.

Instructions from the head of AXE, David Hawk, had

been clear and to the point: "Find out what this asshole is

up to and end it."

Carter had dug, and had almost gotten himself killed

twice in the process. Drago Vain played by no rules and he

had no masters. If anyone got in his way, he terminated them.

Caner had enlisted Carl Hobbs and his CIA counterpart

in Athens for help. It was Hobbs's beautiful assistant,

Reela Zahedi, who had made the first break. She managed

to turn one of Vain's lieutenants, Lupat Savine. From Sa-

vine they had leamed that Vain's group was no longer for

hire. They were going for much bigger things.

Vain, through intimidation and blackmail, had managed

to get several Cypriot pliticians under his thumb. He was

also negotiating for a backer, one big enough to bankroll an

enormous coup.

The question was, where?

And who had that kind of money?

The finalization of the plans was to take place at a safe

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house that Vain kept in Izmir, Turkey. For a new identity

and a lot of cash, Lupat Savine had agreed to tape the

meeting and surreptitiously photograph the participants.

With that kind of information—and some luck---Carter

was sure he could hold up the plan until he could get to

Vain himself and terrninate him.

A car stopped beside the bungalow and Carter saw

Reela striding across the terrace. She had changed into a

colorfully embroidered blouse with a low décolletage. One

full sleeve had slippd down off a brown shoulder, and she

was wearing a full skirt and her feet were bare. Her long

black hair was braided again in two thick ropes and fas-

tened at the end with ribbons. She looked like a peasant

ready to go to market.

Remembering the days they had spent together, Carter

wished they wouldn't need her that night.

But someone had to do the driving. The house was lo-

cated in a residential area where a strange car parked too

long in one place would arouse t(X) much suspicion. Reela

would have to drop them off, get out of the area, and return

for them at a specified time.

She into the room. '"Ihe car is all gassed, ready

to go."

"Reela," Caner said, "mn the business about Savine by

me again."

She shook a cigarette from Carter's pack, lit it, and sat

in the opposite chair.

"Like I told you, after our initial meet and agreement,

everything had to go through his sister, Deemy."

"She's in Damascus?"

Reela ncxided. "Sometimes I went there, sometimes she

met me here in Turkey, in Antalya. The last time we rtEt,

Savine had told her to tell me about the meeting. Drago

Vain had put a clamp on everyone in the inner circle. Until

the meeting was over and the plan was in full operation, no

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one was to communicate with anyone outside the group."

"So Savine couldn't pass the tape and film to his sister."

S snat's it. He told her he would leave it in the house,

behind one of the radiators."

Carter ran a finger across the floor plan of the house.

"Fifteen rooms, probably two radiators per room."

Carl Hobbs joined them at the table. "My God, Nick,

what's the problem? If we're quiet and don't show any

light, we'll have all the time in the world to hunt for the

talE. Hell, all night."

Carter rubbed his chin. "I know."

' 'lhen what's bothering you?" Reela asked.

"Drago Vain." Caner replied. "I've been living with this

bastard for over two months. He's crazy and he's cunning.

This business with Savine seems to tE too easy, like it just

dropped into our laps."

"Not so," Reela replied. "I did a lot of legwork to find

the weak link, Lupat Savine. Let me tell you, Nick, the

man is nothing but a thief, a cold-blooded killer who's

in most of the hellhole jails in the world. But he's

afraid of Drago Vain. In Savine's own words, 'the Chris-

tians think the Antichrist will come. Beiieve me, he is

here. I have seen him. He is called Drago Vain.' And while

he was telling me that, Nick, this big mean bastard was

shaking like a leaf."

Hobbs laid a hand on Carter's shoulder. 'C'mon, my

man, it's got to be done. Let's just do it."

Carter checked his watch. "All right. We'll leave right

after dark."


TWO

Sir Jonas Avery flew commercial from London to Paris.

He was accompanied by his usual entourage of two secre-

taries and a txxiyguaxd.

The reason for the trip given to the media was a mun-

dane conference trtween Sir Jonas and his French counter-

part in the U.N. In fact, he was on the mission of his life.

If it was successful, it would be the culmination of a

twenty-year dream.

Sir Jonas was Her Majesty's representative to the U.N.

He was known as a fair and brilliant negotiator. For the

past five years he had been trying to bring together the

Cypriot heads of the Turkish and Greek factions on the isle

Of Cyprus.

Since the island had achieved independence from Great

Britain in 1960, there had been ill feeling and little or no

negotiations the two sides. In 1964 open fighting

erupted until a U.N. peacekeeping force stepped in to ne-

gotiate a peace. This was done, but it was an uneasy truce,

with the island separated much like East and West Ger-

many.

Sir Jonas's dream was to unite the two sides and return

the island to Cypriot rule, and do away with the bamers

created by the Turkish and Greek governments.

Assim Kalvar and Nikos Proto were both Cypriots, na-

tives of the island. Kalvar was a Turk, Proto a Greek, and

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for as long as anyone could remember the two men ha

hated each other for that reason alone. Both were rebels

and neither of them held office. But both men held tremen

dous sway over their respective on the island.

Proto was the head of the Greek-Cypriot party o

Cyprus. He was an outlaw in exile somewhere on Crete

but that didn't diminish his IN)wer in his homeland. On

word from Nikos Proto and his Greek followers would re

move their guns from the hiding places of 1964 and s

the war all over again.

Assim Kalvar was the equal power on the Turkish sid

of the U.N. line. He, like Proto, wanted a united Cyprus

but ruled by •a government dominated by those of Turkis

descent.

Until Sir Jonas took an active interest, there was a stale

mate between the two men.

Through years of hard work, Sir Jonas had been able t

finally bring the two men together. Most of the agreement

had been reached. It needed now only a secret sit-dow

between the three men to formally sign the accord. Onc

this was done, steps could be taken to withdraw the U.

force and a Cypriot government could be re-formed.

The meeting was scheduled to take place on neutr

ground, in Nice, France, and that was the reason Sir Jon

had flown to Paris.

From Orly airport, the group was whisked to the Crillo

by limousine. There, a suite and three adjoining rooms h

been reserved.

Waiting for Sir Jonas in the suite was a prepacked ba

and a gentleman from the Paris theater. The bag was full

off-the-rack and out-of-the-bin French clothes, the type

clothing a middle-of-the-road salesman would wear on v

cation. The gentleman from the Paris theater was there

alter Sir Jonas's appearance.

Two hours later, the English diplomat was remov

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from the hotel through a basement entrance. He was driven

to a small village one hour north of Paris. There, his body-

guard reluctantly bid him farewell. Ihe man knew Sir

Jonas's mission was to be ultrasecret, but he disliked in-

tensely the idea of turning the elderly man loose without a

shred of security surrounding him.

An hour after his arrival in the village, Sir Jonas took a

bus to Chartres. There, he booked a room in a small pen-

sion, using a French passport in the name of René Fou-

laurd.

Ihe following morning he would board a train for Nice

on the French Riviera.

Petro Canavos enjoyed his job. For the last four years

he had lived the good life and traveled much of the world,

free. He also-made an excellent salary, much more than he

ever dreamed he would make as the semieducated son of a

Cypriot picker.

Canavos was the chauffeur and bodyguard of his boy-

hood hero, Nikos Proto.

It was a good life, especially when they would return to

the villa that Proto maintained on the Greek island of

Crete. On Crete there wasn't so much need for twenty-

four-hour security. Petro could slip away one or two after-

noons a week and rent a bungalow at the Olympia Hotel.

This afternoon, Petro had done just that. Now he was

stretched out by the pool, glass in hand, surveying the lat-

est crop of American and British tourists. ney lined the

Hk)lside like a blanket of golden flesh.

He was finding it extremely difficult to make a choice,

when a long-legged, high-breasted, dark-haired goddess

blocked his light.

"Do you have a light?"

Petro smiled and rolled his bronzed, heavily muscled

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body from the chaise. "For you, I would burn the hotel

down just to light your cigarette."

"Just a little flame will do."

He lit her cigarette and one of his own. "Your Greek is

good, but you are not Greek."

"French. I am Channaine."

"l am Petro. Please, sit down. A drink?"

"What you're having is fine."

He poured another glass from the pitcher on the tray and

she sat on the chaise beside him. "The French are lovely

IEople."

"You are very kind. I myself find Greeks most attrac-

tive."

Ten minutes of chitchat and Petro knew he had scored.

He ordered lunch for the two of them, and by the end of it,

his eyes devouring the exquisite contours of her nearly bare

body, he had only one thing in mind.

"I have an excellent brandy in my bungalow." Her voice

was syrup.

Petro trailed her to her bungalow. Just inside the door,

he whirled her into his arms and mashed his lips to hers.

He was trying to free her breasts from her bikini top when

she escaped his arms.

"A drink first, remember?" she chided coyly.

'Of course," he replied.

She moved into the tiny open kitchen. "Oh, no ice. I

must have ice. you have any in your bungalow?" As

she spoke, she slipped the bra from her shoulders and let it

dangle from one hand at her side. "I'll get comfortable

while you're gone," she breathed huskily.

Petro practically ran from her bungalow across the man-

icured lawn to his own. He unlocked the door and hurried

to the small refrigerator.

"Damn," he cursed aloud as he tugged at the ice tray

that seemed to be frozen in place. He tugged harder.

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nen suddenly it released. Petro fell backward with his

own momentum. But he never hit the floor, at least not in

one piece.

The bungalow exploded with a thunderous roar. The

picture window blew out and part of the roof fell in as

flames shot skyward.

Petro Canavos never heard any of it.

Nikos Proto was a big man, with a powerful, work-

toughened body, and severe, uncompromising features. His

naturally dark skin was tanned even darker, not prettily

from the sun but from exposure to all kinds of weather.

Boto was not the kind of man who sat behind a desk.

He was a politician, yes, but he was a rebel first, a guer-

rilla fighter who loved in his mountains as well as

fight in them.

He thought about this as he carefully packed his bag for

Nice. 'Ihe fighting would over now. He trusted Sir Jonas

Avery, and the Englishman had assured him that Kalvar

had agreed to each and every one of his stipulations.

So now there would be peace. Proto growled a sigh. He

would miss the good old days. He had given up sex many

years and since that time the only thing he really

enjoyed in life was killing Turks.

He snapped the bag shut, and suddenly froze.

Was that a sound from the first floor ofthe villa?

His hand crept up inside his jacket, to the inside pocket

where he always carried the slender Beretta. With his other

hand he checked the thin knife inside his tElt.

He had released the maid for a week. Petro wasn't due

back from his whore hunting for at least another two hours.

Could someone have scaled the wall and entered the

house? Next to impossible with the alarm. And the dogs

hadn't barked.

Nikos Proto's hands moved to fold themselves over his

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stomach. ney rested lightly, almost in a priestlike fashion,

as he walked into the hall and down the stairs.

"Caryella, did you come back for something?

Petro . • g?"

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, his hands ready,

every sense alert.

He heard nothing.

Paranoid, he thought, even in Greece he was paranoid.

Just when he was ready to sign a pact of peace with his

enemy, he was paranoid.

He moved toward his office. He would have a glass of

ouzo and relax until Petro returned to take him to the

plane.

Nikos Proto was just inside the door when a heavy

wooden statuette swung at him from nowhere. It crunched

into his face, snapping bones in his nose and cheek.

Proto fell awkwardly against the wall and then slid to

the floor, ü•ying to maintain consciousness, gasping

through a bloody mouth, spitting broken teeth. He looked

up and tried to focus on the two men who stood over him,

but he could not. He could see, however, that one now

held an automatic pistol in a muscular left hand. The other

man reached down and removed Proto's Beretta.

'Get up!" the second man said sharply to him in Greek.

Proto sat there for another moment, letting strength re-

turn, He tried to rise then and fell back to the floor. *Ihe

room seerned to turn on an axis. He tried once more to get

to his feet, and succeeded. He could focus better now, and

saw that he was in trouble.

They were killers, pros, and no amount of talking was

going to deter them from doing what they had been hired to

do.

He had no choice. He would die, there was little doubt

of it. But he would die like a man.

He went for the knife, freed it, and thrust toward the

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nearest man. He heard a gasp of surprise and a growl of

pain as he twisted and withdrew the blade for another

thrust.

He saw the spurt of flame from the gun in L'..vcnnd

man's hand. He tried to cry out, but felt only air rush from

his mouth as his chest seemed to be smashed back into his

spine.

Proto looked up as the man bent over him. "Why ...

The killer said nothing. He raised his revolver and fired

another slug into Proto's chest.

ne pain was all-consuming, searing, as though scald-

ing steel was being poured into his body.

Proto had often wondered what the men he had shot felt

like as they were dying.

Now he knew.

It was a trick, all a trick, he thought.

Kalvar, you bastard pig!


THREE

Reela Zahedi drove just under the limit, maneu-

vering the car like a slithering cat through the dense traffic.

Carter sat beside her, with Carl Hobbs in the rear. All three

of them had remained silent since leaving the bungalow.

The moon was high, glittering off the sea behind them

and the whitewashed houses before them as they left the

city and drove up into the hills.

"How much farther?" Carter asked, his voice almost a

"Not far," Reela replied, "maybe a mile."

"Still nervous?" Hobbs chuckled from the back seat.

"Screw you," Carter said without rancor, and pulled

Wilhelmina, his 9mm Luger, from the shoulder rig under

his left armpit. He checked the clip, jacked a shell into the

chamber, and reholstered the piece.

In the back seat, he heard Hobbs doing the same with

the modified Uzi he would carry into the house under his

jacket.

Carter smiled.

Hobbs may not have doubts or be nervous about this

little carEr, but he was taking no chances.

"Just around the next corner," Reela said.

'Go past it," Carter ordered.

She made the turn and Carter's eyes searched the block.

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It was quiet, peaceful, no streetlights and just a few lights

burning in the houses.

Drago Vain's safe house was big and ugly with almost

all its garden in the front.

Reela drove around the block twice. There was no light

anywhere in the target house.

"Looks good," Hobbs murmured.

"Yeah," Carter agreed, nodding, thinking that at any

time the people next door might get a sight of them in the

garden or working the front door lock, and Turkish police

would be all over them like flies on manure.

Reela pulled up at the end of the block. Hobbs was out

of the car and walking within a second, as if breaking into

dim suburban houses was all he lived for.

Carter squeezed Reela's thigh. 'Take care."

He dived out and followed Hobbs. Reela made a U-

turn. She would park six blocks away and wait for them.

They moved along an alley and vaulted a low fence in

the rear. By the time Carter caught up with the CIA man,

Hobbs was already trying a ring of master keys in the rear

Nothing moved.

"Dead bolts?" Carter asked.

Hobbs ncxided.

If possible, they wanted no telltale signs of their en-

trance. That dealt out picks, and doing a window was out

of the question. They retreated to the rough stone wall and

edged toward the front.

Hobbs went up the stairs and studied the lock. "It's an

old Zeiss. I've got it." It took him sixty seconds to find a

key and he was in. Caner checked the street and adjoining

houses and followed.

They stood in the little square hall waiting for the dark-

ness to soften, with no idea where the furniture was. Ihe

front door was glass, and a long uncurtained hall window

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ran along one wall high up. They couldn't use flashlights

yet.

To Carter the place smelled wrong. He couldn't say

what it was, but Hobbs seemed aware of it too. For a mo-

ment the two of them stood frozen under the window. Then

Hobbs dropped to a crouch and, marvelously light and

sure, moved forward. Carter heard a door open and Hobbs

whispered, "Here."

It was a room off the hall but far darker. That meant

lined curtains. Carter switched on his flashlight. As he did

so, he realized that, apart from the carpets and curtains, he

expected to find the house bare. In fact, as he raised the

light beam slowly from the floor it lit up first a long heavy

sideboard, then a grand piano, a large roll-top desk, and a

low, expensive settee in suede.

"Desk?" Hobbs asked.

"No, they wouldn't be that careless or dumb. Just the

radiators."

They moved from room to room on the first floor, thor-

oughly checking behind each of the radiators. Carter took

one side of the main first-floor hallway, Hobbs the other.

Fifteen minutes later they met at the foot of the stairs.

"Anything?" Hobbs asked.

"A lot of dust. You?"

'The same. Let's go up."

They started at the rear and moved forward, Carter on

one side, Hobbs on the other. In the second room Carter

entered, he short at the door.

Clothes had been thrown everywhere. The mattress and

pillows had been pulled from the bed and with a

sharp knife or razor. In the middle of the mess he spotted a

wallet. It had been ripped open and turned inside out.

Cards and snapshots had tren tossed carelessly aside.

He took only a few seconds to check. The moment he

spotted a Syrian identity card in the name of Lupat Savine,

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NICK CARTER

he scooped everything up and shoved it into his jacket

pcwket.

He was checking t*hind the radiator when he heard a

hiss from the doorway behind him. "Nick, across the hall."

Carter moved behind the other man into a large bed-

room fronting the house.

"Jesus Christ."

"It's Savine," Hobbs growled, playing his light across

the body.

Lupat Savine was to a chair with wire around his

legs and chest. Wire also bound his wösts together so

tightly that it had disappeared into the flesh. He was naked,

and there wasn't much of his body that hadn't tEen disco-

lored from blows or cigarette burns, There was a pool of

dried blood the table from his wounds. The coup

de grace had been delivered with a powerful pistol at short

range. The hole in the front of his head was small and neat.

The back of his head was all over the wall.

"You think he talked?" Hobbs asked.

"I'd bet the ranch on it," Carter said. "Look at him. No

one could have held up under that treatment."

"I'm gonna check the radiators in the last two rooms

anyway: "

Hobbs moved off and Cater crouched by the front win-

dow. There was little doubt in his mind now. They had

been set up.

Squinting, he checked the lawns and gardens of the ad-

joining houses and the street.

Then he saw it, slight movement in the big, tree-filled

front garden. He couldn't be sure if it was one man or two.

It seemed stupid for two of them to bunch and approach the

house. 'Ihen he saw a third man standing without cover in

a corner near the gate, out of the patch of moonlight but

clear enough to be seen.

"Nothing," Hobbs said, coming back into the room.

ISLE OF BLOOD

21


21

'Get down!" Carter hissed. "It's a setup. I've already

spotted three of them out there."

Hobbs dropped to his knees and took the other side of

the window. "Shit."

"There must be a gaggle of 'em," Carter said, "or they

wouldn't be bunching like that. They're probably all the

way around the house, and when they move they could

come from anywhere."

"Hell," Hobbs hissed, "they could even be inside,

downstairs."

"Don't think so," Carter whis1Ered. "We've been quiet.

I think we would have heard them."

He chanced another look and evaluated their situation.

He rejected getting alongside Hobbs and his Uzi and mak-

ing a run through the back garden if it looked clear. The

men in the front were too conspicuous. They were there to

dnve Carter and Hobbs out in the other direction, where

they could be nailed away from the street.

"How many do you think?" Hobbs growled.

"Three as diversion, so at leact seven."

'Too many," Hobbs reflected, as if this were disputed.

"What will they do?" Carter said.

"They'll come and get us. They've got to."

What was there to listen for? They would have a key, or

they would break a window. Breathing. Feet on the stairs,

A rush, and possibly some shots, and then it would be the

end.

"I can cover the stairs," Hobbs said, slapping the Uzi.

Tey'll play hell getting up here through the fire this baby

will lay down."

"Suicide shit," Carter breathed, peering out the window

again.

"Better make up your mind," Hobbs said.

Carter looked. Three of them were walking toward the

front door not even bothering with cover.

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NICK CARTER

Anger welled inside Caner. He could feel it like a

growth in his gut, a burning sourness in his stomach.

"Well, piss on waiting for 'em." Hobbs barked, and got

to his feet.

Before Carter could stop him, Hobbs was firing burst

after burst through the window. The three men fanned out

at once, running crouched for the shadows.

One man screamed and did a gainer over the wall. A

second one fell but struggled up in the grass and started to

crawl with a leg hanging out slack behind him.

"Now!" Hobbs shouted, firing at the third. "Jump now,

I'll cover you!"

Carter pulled himself up on the curtains, expecting re-

turn fire from tRlow. There was no reason for them to

remain quiet now.

Nothing came.

All he heard was the sound of running feet from the first

floor. There was shouting and the crash of falling furniture.

Hobbs cleared the fragments of glass from the window-

frame with the barrel of the Uzi.

"Go, for chrissake!" he roared. "I'll cover and follow

The Uzi barked again and Carter rolled over the sill. He

hit the tile roof on his backside and immediately started

sliding with nothing to slow him down.

Above and behind him the firing long enough

for Hobbs to change magazines. Automatic fire crackled in

the garden and, falling, Carter saw the bricks and

and Hobbs's face spurt under the line of shots. Dust,

splinters, and blood thickened the air, bounded on the roof

above, as Carter hit the grass, somehow feet first.

He dropped and rolled. Stunned, he rolled the wrong

way, toward the shed where two of them had taken cover,

possibly three. Looking up at the window as he revolved

on the sprouting ground, he glimpsed what itsed to

ISLE OF BLOOD

23


23

Hobbs hanging down over the sill, his hair trailing, and

blood splashing the ground and soaking the wall, running

from his mouth and skull. There was someone standing

behind him staring down into the garden.

Then there wa.s firing from behind the shed and the win-

dows of the house. They were shooting at shadows, but

with the abundance of fire it was only a matter of time until

they got him by accident.

Carter pressed his hands into the ground and hurled his

legs back so he jackknifed away from his spot, hitting the

ground again with his stretched-out right foot, his stronger

leg always, and jerked toward the drive and the little front

wall.

He saw dust and chips leap from the yellow brick gate-

pillar, the same tearing breakup that he had witnessed

under the window. The gun he had not heard. Zigzag was

the order of the day and he did, gasping to get air into his

straining lungs. He waited for the tiny high-explosive

shells to be among his feet and legs and the rest of him,

and then his knees struck the low wall and he fell forward

over it into the street without damage.

Rolling back immediately, he cowered into the

of the wall, shielded for a moment from no -matter what

angle, and then crawled fast, down along the wall and

away from the house, down the street.

He could hear all hell breaking loose behind him as he

raced for the comer. Lights were coming on in every house

now, and from somewhere he could hear the roar of an

engine and the scream of tires.

He tumed the corner at full tilt and practically ran right

into two cars nosed together to block the street. At the

same time he saw movement to his left and right and a man

stood up between the cars in front of him.

He dived toward the ground. The brick wall behind him

exploded with chips as the muzzle blast of a shotgun rolled

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NICK CARTER

over him. He hit and rolled, clawing the Luger into the

The man to his right had surprised by Carter's sud-

den appearance. Now he was snatching at the inside of his

jacket. The Killmaster squeezed off two rapid shots.

The man was slammed back against the car behind him.

He slid to the ground as Carter spun, looking for the one to

his left.

He was kneeling, leveling a pistol at Carter, and his lips

were drawn back from his yellow teeth in a frozen expres-

Sion of anger and fright. lhe pistol in his hand barked as

Carter pulled the trigger. He felt a dull blow strike his left

shoulder as the man was tossed backward. There was a

small red mark on the kneeling man's throat that suddenly

turned into a gushing stream of crimson. He dropped his

pistol and fell to the sidewalk, his eyes wide and staring

and a choked, gagging sound coming from his OEEn mouth

as he clutched his throat and kicked his feet.

Carter pushed himself up to a crouched position and ran

along the side of the car by him. A window in the car

suddenly caved in as the thunderous roar of the shotgun

split the air again.

Caner dived behind the car, and another blast from the

shotgun scorched the pavement by the rear wheel. He lifted

his head and looked through the back window. The man

was crouched down and trotting along the walk in front of

the wall, moving toward him.

Carter dropped to his stomach and looked under the car.

He saw the man's feet. He grimrd the Luger harder and

steadied it. He put the barrel on the center of the man's

trouser leg and squeezed the trigger.

The Luger cracked sharply and jumped in his hand, and

the man screamed hoarsely. He fell to the walk, the shot-

gun flying from his hands and rattling against the side of a

car.

ISLE OF BLOOD

25


25

Carter jumped up and trotted around the car. The man

was squirming toward the shotgun and reaching for it, a

pool of blood forming under one of his feet. He looked up.

Carter pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger. A tiny spot

Of red appeared on the man's forehead as his head snapped

back, and the back of his head exploded, spraying blood

and brains out onto the walk.

The engine roar he had heard earlier was louder now, a

torrent of sound. Ihen the car screamed around a corner

from the down side of the hill and its lights came hurtling

directly at him.

Carter dropped to one knee and leveled the Luger.

Just in time, the car veered. The lights went to the side

so he could see it was Reela's determined features behind

the windshield.

She slammed the brakes and spun the wheel, broadsid-

ing the car toward him.

Carter had the door open and was diving into the front

cent while it was still moving.

"What happened?" she cried.

"We were set up," Carter shouted. "Move it!"

"Where's CarP"

"He's dead."

s Oh no, oh my God, no..

'Goddamnit, yes. He's dead, so we can't do anything

about it. So move this iron!"

She was good. She forced her instincts to take over

from her emotions and put her foot to the floor.

"Back to the bungalow?" she gasped.

"No," Carter growled. "They've probably got it pegged,

too. Head up the coast. We've got to get the hell out of the

country."

Minutes later the frozen lack of feeling in his shoulder

was replaced by a throbbing. excruciating pain that sent

tendrils of fire lancing through his entire left side. His left

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NICK CARTER

arm was numb and unresm)nsive. He could feel warm,

sticky blood trickling down his ann and left side, and he

felt nauseated and slightly light-headed. But the need to

escape and get out of the vicinity was an imperative clam-

oring in his mind.

"Go left up there. Stay on the coast road."

"What then?"

"We'll find a fishing village. I've never met a Turkish

fisherman yet who wouldn't take a bribe."

He unbuttoned his coat and cautiously pushed it off his

left shoulder, wincing with pain. He turned on the courtesy

light and looked at the wound. It was a crease, and the

bullet had plowed through the skin and muscle tissue to a

depth of a quarter of an inch at the deepest m)int. The

sweater was stuck to his shoulder and arm with clotted and

drying blood, and torn shreds of the sweater were in the

wound. The bleeding had slowed, and it was painful, but

not a cause for immediate alarm.

Reela glanced over and gasped. "You're hit!"

"I'll live," Carter said, laying his head back against the

seat. "And you'd better slow down to the speed limit."

She did, and Carter fished in his pockets until he found

a cigarette. He got one lit and they rode for several minutes

in silence until Reela

"Did you find anything? In the house, I mean."

S' Yeah. What was left of Lupat Savine."


FOUR

The hotel was not the worst in Antalya, but it was far

from the best. But it was close to the airport, and that was

a necessity.

Two men waited in a top-floor room. They had been

waiting for three days. ne larger man lay on one of the

twin beds nearest the door. He lazily smoked a small cigar

and stared at the ceiling. He was naked except for a pair of

boxer shorts too large for his bulk.

The other man, younger and smaller, with dark eyes and

coal-black hair that curled over his ears and forehead, sat

cross-legged on the second bed. He was raptly watching an

American television show that had been dubbed into Turk-

ish.

"I wouldn't want to live in America," the younger man

said.

"No. It's so violent. Look at how they kill each other. Is

that all they do in America? Kill each other?"

The bigger man blew a smoke ring. "Americans are vio-

lent people."

lhe telephone between the beds rang. Calmly, the big

man swung his legs off the bed. He deliberately put out the

cigar. After the third ring he picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"It is on," came the reply.

"All right."

28

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NICK CARTER

"An envelope is at the front desk of your hotel."

"And the boat?"

"The Madji, pier four at Alanya. It will take you across

to Kyrenia on Cyprus. Everything else is just as you were

told."

The big man and the caller hung up simultaneously

without another word.

"Well?" the slender man asked.

"It is on."

They dressed in dark, silk suits, subdued

shins, carefully knotted neckties, dark socks, and custom-

made Italian leather shoes.

With a last glance around the room, making sure noth-

ing remained of their stay, they locked the door and took

the elevator to the lobby.

While the big man stopped at the front desk and a

large from the clerk, the younger man telephoned

for a taxi. They waited inside. The sun had gone down, but

the crushingly hot, humid air remained. The faces of peo-

ple entering the lobby streamed sweat.

During the taxi ride to the airport, the big man opened

the envelope. Inside he found two thick wads of money

and a single sheet of paper. The typescript on the paper

read: BLACK SIMCA VAN—UCENSEJJL-94333. TIER 2,

ROW A, SLOT 6.

He put the money in his flight bag and, when he had

memorized the information on the paper, rolled it into a

tiny ball and pushed it out the window.

They got out in front of the terminal building, two well-

dressed businessmen catching a flight. The younger man

paid the cabbie, counting out a modest tip.

Side by side, they entered the terminal and walked the

length of the lower floor to the exit leading to the parking

ramps.

Finding the van was a simple matter. When they

ISLE OF BLOOD


29

reached it, both of them glanced around. It was clear. They

each pulled on skintight surgical gloves, and the younger

man retrieved the keys from a magnetic holder hidden

under the rear bumper.

He opened the rear doors of the van. Inside was a long,

rectangular black case. They climbed into the van, tossed

their flight bags behind the seats, and opened the case.

Inside was a Czech Model 59 machine gun with a

bipod, telescopic sight, and two one-hundred-round, non-

disintegrating metallic link belts.

They both grunted their approval, and the younger man

spoke. "Who is the hit anyway?"

"Do you care?"

Ten let's go do it," the big man said, slamming the

trunk.

A truly classless society can be found only in the

second-class compartments of French trains. All manner of

humanity—rich and poor, ambitious and idle—come to-

gether on common ground for a few brief hours. Desiring

this general anonymity, Sir Jonas Avery slid open the door

to a compartment that contained four others besides him-

self.

As the disguised diplomat took his seat, he studied each

of them in turn. He felt safe, but in his day he had seen

enough violence and intrigue that he was never completely

off guard.

One was a Spanish Gypsy with a wrinkled, nut-brown

face and a gray stubble of beard. He talked incessantly,

telling outrageous lies as the train rattled along.

A peasant woman was paying a visit to her sister in

Avignon. She camed an enormous basket filled with bread,

bottles of wine, sausage, and cheese, all of which she in-

sisted on sharing.

NICK CARTER


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NICK CARTER

A student was on his way to Cannes where he hoped to

get a job on a yacht as a deckhand for the summer.

The fourth was a nun. Enveloped in her black robes

with her white, starched cap and black headscarf, her white

collar and with her face devoid of all makeup, she looked

scrubbed, clean, and very pure. She wore heavy, ugly

black shoes that protruded incongruously from under the

hem of her habit. She was very quiet and shy but had a

sweet smile that was breathtakingly beautiful in its inno-

cence. She held a small, well-wom, leather-backed Bible

open on her lap as though reading it, but her clear gray

eyes watched everyone and she listened to them with al-

most breathless awe. Yet she became flushed and embar-

rassed when they tried to bring her into the conversation.

Sir Jonas's French was fluent and almost without a trace

of accent, but he still kept his conversation to a minimum,

feigning sleep.

The train rolled on. Passengers left and new ones got

on. By the time they pulled out of Avignon on the last leg

toward the Riviera and the sea, there was only Sir Jonas

and the Gypsy in the compartment.

Then the compartment door slid OFEn and a man en-

tered. In a single, quickly comprehensive glance, Sir Jonas

noted that he was short, opulently stout, with a full face in

which a thin-lipped slash of a mouth seemed somehow out

of place.

With a brief mumble that could have been taken for

anything, the newcomer sat down in the far corner, away

from the window and opposite Avery, and spread open a

newspaper.

Sir Jonas glanced out the window as a small village

flashed by the speeding express. He refocused his eyes,

and saw in the reflection of the window that the man with

the full-moon face had shifted his watery blue eyes from

the newspaper and was studying him intently.

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ISLE OF BLOOD

Too intently, Sir Jonas thought.

31

He felt the sudden, sharpened alertness of impending

danger. Inside his shirt, under his belt, he had the small .22

automatic that his chauffeur-bodyguard had forced upon

him. He resisted the impulse to move his hand toward it as

he turned back from the window.

The man's attention had returned to the newspaper.

Avery's mind was glued to the other man. The unnatural

tenseness in the stranger's body increased his wariness. Sir

Jonas reached for his own newspaper, opened it, and be-

hind its protective shield glanced again at the window. The

moment lengthened as he kept his eyes fixed on the mir-

rorlike reflection. He became more conscious of the man's

growing nervousness.

Twice the man's right hand moved slowly toward the

inside pocket of his coat and then hesitated, stopped, and

retumed to the

Sir Jonas kept his face expressionless while his nerves

tightened. As though searching for a more comfortable po-

sition, he stretched and slid slightly along the hard leather

seat. He crossed his legs and began slowly swinging one

foot.

He waited, certain of what was to come. He might be

making a hell of a mistake, he told himself, but he doubted

it. He kept his eyes on those telltale fingers.

Suddenly the compartment door swung open. A red-

headed woman of majestic proportions came through the

opening like a galleon under full sail. The man jumped to

his feet. Before he was steady, the woman landed a whack-

ing open-handed blow to the side of his face.

He howled and cursed her. She cursed him louder, and

the battle was on.

In the next five minutes, Sir Jonas and the Gypsy

leamed that the heavyset woman was the man's wife, that

she had learned that he had not one but two mistresses, and

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NICK CARTER

that she had finally caught him off his way to meet one of

them.

*Ihe argument raged on for a full ten minutes, with the

wife buffeting the husband until he finally fled the com-

partment and the car, with her at his heels.

Sir Jonas looked at the Gypsy and they both burst out

laughing.

"A man must check his trfore he looks to ser-

vice his front," the Gypsy cackled, extending a flask. "A

drink, monsieur? It is the finest cognac."

With tears of laughter in his eyes, Avery accepted the

flask.

He saw the first blow coming as he the flask,

but he couldn't avoid it completely. He rolled to his side,

but the chop hit the left side of his neck, driving him to the

floor.

He managed to free the automatic from his belt, but a

well-aimed kick sent it flying from his hand.

The Gypsy moved with swift, deadly precision. In a

split second he was on his feet, looming over the huddled

figure of the diplomat. He swung his arrn, the hard edge of

his left hand chopping with brutal force across Avery's

throat. He saw the head loll sideways and down, like that

of a rag doll that had lost part of its stuffing.

He studied the man through narrowed eyes for a long

moment, considering his next move. Then he took out his

handkerchief, bent over, and picked up the gun from the

floor. That was the trouble with damned amateurs, he

thought impatiently. They never learned until it was too

late that a gun was more of a liability than an asset.

Swiftly he went through Avery's pockets. He found lit-

tle that was revealing. 'Ihat in itself told him much of what

he wanted to know. There were no letters, no cards, noth-

ing but the false passport and an old wallet stuffed with

ISLE OF BLOOD

33


33

bills. He slipped the bills into his own pocket and retumed

the wallet to Sir Jonas's jacket.

That done, he stepped to one side and slid the

compartment door. The long corridor was empty. The

men's lavatory was just two doors down, at the end of the

car: He walked to it and tried the door. It was open and the

space was unoccupied. Coming back, he glanced in casu-

ally at the two compartments he passed.

One was empty. In the other, a young couple were tak-

ing almost full advantage of their supposed privacy. Both

of the boy's hands were working feverishly under the girl's

blouse while their faces were glued together.

Back in the compartment, the Gypsy bent over Sir Jonas

again, feeling his pulse. He wasn't particularly surprised to

discover that Avery was dead. The vicious chop against the

man's windpiFE had been more than strong enough to in-

flict death.

The Gypsy had meant it to be.

He pulled the lifeless man to his feet, supporting him

upright with an arm across his back and a hand held tight

under an armpit. He slid the door again and stuck his

head into the corridor.

It was clear.

Half carrying and half dragging his unwieldy burden,

the Gypsy made for the toilette. Inside, he propped the

dead man up on the commode seat.

Tien, still using his handkerchief, he took the automatic

out of his pocket, adjusted it carefully in Avery's right

hand, held it against the right temple, and squeezed the

trigger.

The Gypsy jammed the lock on the door after closing it,

and returned to his compartment.

The coast road from Finike to Antalya wound down into

little sheltered harbors and up again to the heights above

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NICK CARTER

them. It sometimes hugged the rocky hillside to escape the

sea, and sometimes arched over the landward end of the

small peninsulas that jutted out every few miles.

*Ihe road was little nwre than a rocky track that ran

through deserted stone villages that had flourished ages be-

fore, when Greek and Roman ships sailed the nearby seas.

Twenty years before, when the Citroen was new, its

hydraulic shock absorber system would have taken even

these goat paths with ease. Now the shock absorber sys-

tem, like its air conditioner, was shot, and the battered old

machine seemed to drop off the end of the earth in jarring

shocks with every pothole.

All the windows were open, but even the car's speed,

such as it was, didn't cut the air's hellish heat. In the rear,

sweat poured down Assim Kalvar's neck and collected in-

side his shirt. ()ccasionally he rubbed his back against the

seat as though he had an itch. The bodyguard who sat be-

side Kalvar did the same.

ne driver, a Turkish army major assigned to Kalvar

during his exile from Cyprus, seemed immune to the bone-

jamng ruts and the heat.

"How much farther?" Kalvar asked wearily.

"About an hour, maybe a little more," the major replied.

"We top this last mountain, it's all downhill. Better road."

"Thank God," Kalvar mumbled, leaning forward to get

a better view around the driver.

*Ihe old Citroén bounced and squeaked and groaned.

Ahead, Kalvar saw foothills. If they rose high enough, it

would cooler. He found himself praying for high

despite the car's obvious frailty in such terrain.

They started climbing. •me road seemed to end abruptly

against a sheer wall of rock. He stared at stone, vines, and

stunted trees. Ihen they climbed another fifty yards and a

curve came into sight.

The road wound around it like a slithering snake. The

ISLE OF BLOOD

35


35

major slowed. They kept climbing, although more gradu-

ally, and started around the curve.

Then they saw the van.

"Shit," the major hissed, and slowed even more, his

right hand leaving the wheel to caress the Ingram machine

pistol on the seat beside him.

ne bodyguard in the rear pulled a large magnum re-

volver from a shoulder holster under his jacket.

The hood of the van was up and they could see spumes

of gray steam spewing from the engine compartment.

"Keep going," Kalvar growled.

"I can't get around him," the driver replied.

A slender young man in a grimy white shirt and dark

trousers appeared around the front of the van. His dark

curly hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and he

sported a sheepish grin. As he approached the Citroen he

held his hands out from his side in a shrugging gesture.

"I am sorry: My engine overheated during the climb."

"Can't you move it to the side?" the major hissed, the

machine pistol in his lap, cocked and ready.

"Yes, yes, only a minute or two. I have a jerTY can of

water in the back."

"Be quick about it," Kalvar barked from the back. "We

are in a hurry!"

"Yes, of course," the young man said, his face showing

shock and fear when he saw the guns. 'SI am sorry, only a

minute, I promise you."

He practically ran to the rear of the van. As he ap-

proached, the doors were suddenly thrown open and he

dropped to the ground.

The first burst from the Czech 59 shattered the wind-

shield and tore the Turkish major's head from his body.

By the time the barrel of the gun swung back, the body-

guard was diving over the front seat, his magnum firing

blindly.

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Kalvar saw the man's bcxiy dancing. It was literally

driven back into him by the pounding of the 7.62 slugs.

Blood and flesh splattered him as he slithered from beneath

the body and yanked at the door handle.

By the time he rolled from the car, the firing had

stopped. He hit the soft tar on his knees and rolled to his

feet.

The big man behind the machine gun was a new

belt into the breech.

Kalvar ran.

He felt the first slug tear into his side, spinning him

around.

A crease, his mind recorded, not fatal. Run for the

rocks.

Then the second, third, and fourth slugs tore into his

chest. The bullets' driving force and his own pain made

him reel backward. He felt his feet lifting from the ground,

felt himself plunging and jumping. Another burst ripped

into his head with a bone-shattering crunch. He fell into the

dirt, feeling himself die, tasting blood in his mouth. He

grunted. Tried to roll away.

His muscles twitched spasmodically, clinging to life

even though he had already dead for several seconds.


5 глава Пятая глава


It was just after dawn when they down out of

the hills toward the seaside town of Ayvalik. For the past

hour Carter had fiddled with the car radio trying to find

something besides blaring, Middle Eastern music.

And then he did, an early-morning newscast.

Carter's Turkish was barely conversational. Reela inter-

preted as the newscaster shotgunned his words.

'Ihe police found the tx»dies ... five dead ... one criti-

cally wounded... he's in a comatose state and not ex-

to survive none identified as yet but one of the

dead is trlieved to be an American ... oh, my God .

"What?" Carter hissed.

"Turkish military security has been brought into the

case. They received an anonymous tip on the telephone."

"Me?" Carter said, already guessing the answer.

Reela nodded. "The caller identified you by name as

being involved. Nick, they have a description and the li-

cense plate number of this car. They want you for question-

ing."

"Great," he growled, "just great. Ten to one it was Vain

or one of his people. They would love to have me locked

up for a few weeks in a Turkish jail."

"It's going to be tough now," she said. "What do we

"Three things. Find a telephone, get rid of these wheels,

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NICK CARTER

and find a place to disappear until we can find a boat. All

in that order."

The first proved fairly easy. They were on the outskirts

of Ayvalik and businesses were starling to open up for the

day. Reela pulled into a gas station. A gnarled old atten-

dant with sleep still in his eyes shuffled out to the car.

Reela kept the old man occupied servicing the car while

Carter slipped into the station. The pay telephone on the

wall was old and battered bui it worked.

After three tries, an 0Frator managed to reach the AXE

safe number in London. A sleepy duty officer snapped

awake when Carter gave his location and N3 designation.

'*The airwaves are humming about you, old man."

"I imagine they are," Carter said. "You know we lost

one."

"We assumed that from the commercial broadcasts. "

"Any chance I can get a pick-up here?" Caner asked.

"Very unlikely. Your hosts are angry, to say the least.

Any chance you can take a Greek island-hopping vaca-

"If I can last the day I think it can be arranged."

"Afraid you'll have to, old man. Hold for a minute."

It was twenty seconds, and when the voice came back it

was considerably calmer.

"Do you know your nearest aigx)rt?"

Carter closed his eyes in concentration. *Ihe nearest

Greek airport would be in Mytilene, on the island of

Lesbos. '41 do," he said.

"Good. Do you have proper identification?"

"No, and my wife is, of course, traveling with me."

"l see. Then I suggest you have a good lunch before

your flight. The Taverna Aegean has excellent moussaka."

"I'll remember that."

"Have a nice flight."

ISLE OF BLOOD

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39

"Thanks," Carter said, and hung up as the old man en-

tered the station, hardly giving Carter a glance.

"Well?" Reela asked, as Carter slid back into the car.

"We're set if we can get to Lesbos. Take the coast road

and go south."

The hillsides south of Ayvalik were dotted with houses.

They had gone nearly two miles before Carter spotted a

likely one.

The house was set well back from the road, partially

hidden between two jutting rock cliffs. He had Reela slow

down in a pass-by. There were two outbuildings, and the

compound itself was covered with a tangle of woods and

vines. He could also see fountains in which no water was

playing.

"No one home?" Reela asked.

"More likely deserted," Carter replied. "Turn around,

go through the gates, and drive right to that building that

looks like a stable."

It was indeed a stable, with a rusted chain and padlock

securing the door. Carter made short work of the padlock

with a tire iron, and Reela drove the car into the corridor

between the stalls.

"We abandon it?"

'That's right," Carter said. 'C'mon."

"What now?"

"We take off our shoes, tie 'em around our necks, and

walk the beach back to Ayvalik, hand in hand like we've

been out for a morning stroll."

"And look for a boat?"

"Eventually," he said with a smile. "First we find a taxi

driver. That should be easy at the train station."

Her eyes grew wide. "Are you mad?"

"Not really. No matter where you go in the world, my

dear, and you need sornething badly, you can count on a

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NICK CARTER

taxi driver to find it. The key is picking the right taxi

driver. Let's go."

Carter let his glance roll along the line of cabs, the

drivers in little groups smoking and swapping lies. Then he

saw the one he wanted, a swarthy little man with a constant

half-smile under a full mustache and sharp eyes that never

moving.

"That one," Carter murmured, nodding toward the man.

Reela moved forward. She exchanged a few words with

the man and opened the purse that hung from her shoulder

so he could glance down into it. The comers of his mouth

lifted and Reela turned back to Carter with a nod.

The two of them climbed into the back as he climbed

into the front.

"He knows of a place," she said, "run by his sister."

"What did you tell him?"

"Just what you told me to tell him, that you were run-

ning from the police."

"And what did I do?"

"Murder. "

Carter shrugged. "Might as well go all the way."

They drove toward the sea, into the clutter of the old

city. They settled back and eventually the taxi slowed.

They scraped through a narrow cobbled street, turned a

comer, and stopped at last in a tiny square, one side of

which was a long building of wood that seemed to have

emerged at the whim of generations of owners. Parts of it

seemed wholly isolated from others. There were three

roofs and four entrances, and everywhere tiny, shuttered

windows. It was painted a fading green. A tiny sign to the

right of the center door welcomed them to the Sultan's

Rest.

Carter chuckled.

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ISLE OF BLOOD

"What is it?" asked.

41

"Now I know what haprrned to the Ottoman Empire."

They followed the driver into a dark, marble-tiled hall-

way with a battered desk and a short, stout woman behind

it who could only have been the driver's sister. The build

was identical and the mustache was close.

The driver exchanged a few quick nods with his sister

and then led Carter and Reela up two floors and down a

maze of corridors. At a dead end he flung a door with

a flourish.

niey stepped into a huge room with an enomous cano-

pied bed, more marble flooring, and a vast wooden fan that

stirred the sluggish air when the man pressed the switch.

Off the bedroom was a bathroom with a bath built

on the same scale as the tEd, and a huge copper shower

suspended above it. The man prodded the mattress and

grinned, talking very fast.

"What did he say?" Carter whispered.

'*That it's a fine bed for making babies," Reela said, and

grinned.

"Teil him, swell, and ask him if he knows of anybody

with a boat."

She did. "Yes. His brother-in-law is a fisherman."

' Tell him we'd like to do a little fishing tonight, late

tonight."

Reela rattled, the driver rattled, and she turned back to

Carter. "He says it is possible, but if the fishing is done in

Greek waters it can be very exlrnsive."

"How expensive?"

"A thousand ... American."

"Pay him for the room and tell him to set up the boat for

midnight."

She spoke to the little man as she counted out the cash.

He bowed to them both and backed out of the room.

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NICK CARTER

"Do you think we can ü•ust him?" Reela asked when he

was gone.

Carter nodded. "As long as we're willing to pay more

than the police ... and that's pretty easy in Turkey."

She started to undress. '*lirn taking a bath."

"Do that. I'll see if the sister can get us some food."

"Not much for me. I'm too nervous to eat."

He watched her turn away, start for the bathroom, and

sensed the sudden tiredness that came over her.

"Reela "

"Yes?" she said without turning.

"I'm going to tell you something you're not going to

like."

"I think Carl covered me and stayed in that house to

make up for screwing up."

She whirled. "What?"

"He had a tendency to careless about who he used. I

think he used the wrong person or persons for surveillance

on that house. I think he knew it. You think about it." He

closed the door quietly behind him.

The sister whipped up a huge plate of dolmades, vine

leaves stuffed with ground meat and rice, found an un-

opened bottle of ouzo, and set it all up on a tray with dishes.

When he returned to the room, Reela was standing at

the window, pensively smoking. Her hair was damp and

she had securely tucked a towel around her in all the right

places. Her long, full-thighed legs flowed sensuously

below it.

"I've never seen a towel look so good," Carter mur-

mured.

4' You're right," she replied, mashing out the cigarette.

"He was careless. I often warned him about it."

' 'Good, then we won't need to talk any more about it,"

Carter said. "Let's eat."

ISLE OF BLOOD

43


43

He opened the ouzo and she put the food on plates and

sat down on the bed beside him.

Carter ate as if it were his last meal. Out of the corner of

his eye he watched Reela eat slowly, doing a better job on

the ouzo than on the food.

When they were finished, she reloaded the tray and set

it in the hall. While she checked the underwear she had

washed and hung on the shower rack to dry, Caner went

through the contents of Lupat Savine's wallet.

"Recognize any of these people?" There were four

snapshots. Carter laid them out on the bed.

Reela moved to the side of the bed and glanced at them.

"Yes. That's the sister, Deemy."

"Who's the guy cuddling her?"

"I don't know."

"He's in this one with Savine. Recognize any of the

other three?"

lhe other two shots had been taken in a bar or café. In

each of them, Savine had his arms around a pair of girls.

"Recognize any of those ladies?"

"No," Reela replied. "But both of those pictures were

taken in a dive called the Caravan Club. I recognize that

big painting. It's all the way across the mirror behind the

bar."

OThat might help," Caner mused.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that, even dead, Savine and his sister may

still be the only way we can backtrack to Drago Vain."

"Then we're going to Damascus?"

"Maybe," he said, stretching out on the bed. "We'll find

out for sure in a couple of days."

Reela slithered across the bed and curled into his arms.

He felt her back where the towel had slipped down. For the

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NICK CARTER

briefest of seconds he began to get ideas. But sleep claimed

him before they did.

Carter's body was suddenly rigid on the bed, his eyes

open, his mind alert. Except for the moonlight through the

windows and a rectangular shaft of light from the partially

opened bathroom door, the room was dark.

What had awakened him?

Reela sensed that he was awake, and sat up beside him.

Before she could speak, he put a finger to her lips and

B)inted at the door.

He knew now. He had heard on the stairs and

then in the hall. But they hadn't continued on past the door

to their room.

Now, as they both stared, the doorknob began to turn

slowly, first one way and then the other.

"Maybe it's the woman or the taxi driver," Reela whis-

Carter shook his head, slipped from the bed, and pulled

her up beside him. They stood close together, her shoulder

touching his arm. He could hear her breathing, shallow and

rapid in the deep silence.

There was a metallic scraping against the lock. Carter

pulled her toward the center of the room and whispered,

"Get into the bathroom."

"What are you going to do?"

"Never mind. Get in there and close the door."

She seemed to understand him. She stared at the turning

knob, and then she slipped into the bathroom and closed

the door behind her.

Caner moved carefully across the room. He stopped a

few feet to the left of the door.

He waited in the darkness, listening to the sound of the

tool bite at the lock, trying to breathe deeply and evenly.

ISLE OF BLOOD

45


45

He didn't have to wait long. Something snapped in the lock

and the door swung inward, letting a bar of light fall from

the corridor into the rcxnn.

A heavy man's figure came into the room, moving fast

in a low, springy crouch. He eased the door shut with a

backward swing of his foot, and started for the bed, the

faint light glinting on the knife in his hand.

Caner took two steps forward and hurled himself on the

man's back, locking his arms to his sides. They went down

together, the man grunting and bucking against Carter's

weight. There was a bull-like strength in his body. The

savage twist of his shoulders almost broke Carter's grip as

they hit the floor. They rolled over twice, knocking a lamp

against the wall, upsetting a chair. lhen the bathroom door

opened and light spilled into the room.

Carter saw the knife on the floor, twisted, and kicked it

under the bed.

He sensed Reela run behind him, and then saw her tug

his Luger from the shoulder rig he had hung on the bed-

"No!" he hissed. "No noise!"

With a growl of fury, the man worked his hands up to

Carter's læked wHsts and pulled them apart. He then

rolled away and came bouncing to his feet. He wasted a

second peering about for his knife, and then lunged at

Carter, his massive hands searching for the Killmaster's

throat. There was no expression on his bearded face, but

his eyes were intent and full of what seemed to Caner as

fear.

He came on again and Carter snapped a hard left into his

face. The man shook his head and plowed in, his hands

spread, his knees crouched to leap.

Carter knew at that moment he could kill the man easily.

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NICK CARTER

This one was no pro, but to be sure he decided to keep him

alive until he could be made to talk.

' 'Turn on the lights!" Carter hissed.

Reela crossed the room like a deer: She snapped on the

switch and the room was flooded with brightness.

Carter shifted sideways, jabbing viciously with both

hands. In seconds the man's face had turned to raw meat.

Then Carter stepped in, whipping his body around, and

went to work on the man's gut.

It didn't take long. Without air and blinded by the

swelling of both his eyes, he began to fade. He slipped to

his knees and then toppled to his back.

A sound at the door made Carter whirl. It was the taxi

driver. He stood, glaring, not at Carter but at the fallen

man.

Suddenly he cursed aloud and bolted forward. Carter

backed off, ready, but he needn't have bothered. The driver

squared away and drop-kicked the man on the floor vi-

ciously in the side of his head. He was about to do a

follow-up, when Reela's arm yanked him to his toes. At

the same time, she drilled the snout of Carter's Luger in his

ear and started talking.

They jabbered back and forth for a full minute, so fast

that Carter couldn't catch a word. At last there was a break

and she translated.

"He says that the shit on the floor is a deckhand on his

brother-in-law's boat. He must have overheard them talk-

ing and heard about the American with all the money. He

swears it is no more than that."

'SI think I believe him," Carter growled, catching his

breath. "If hc were one of Vain's men, he would have

come in here with more than just a knife."

"He says the boat is ready," Reela replied. "We can

leave at once."

ISLE OF BLOOD

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47

"What about this?" Carter said, motioning to the uncon-

scious man.

Reela asked, got an answer, and interpreted. "He says if

you will help carry him, we can go out the back way to his

car. He and his brother-in-law will give this one a thief's

burial at sea."


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