# Mayan Conneciton

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

PROLOGUE

In Albany, New York, businessman Duane Michaels

sto«i on the airport 's tarmac and rubbed the cashier's check

between his fingers.

"It is all there," Tiger Santos said cooly.

Michaels nodded. He was a stout man in his early forties,

dressed in an expensive three-piece suit. His sh(ES were

shined to a high gloss. He wore a diamond set in gold on his

pinky finger. He reeked of money, and a love of it.

'Indeed it is, " Michaels said, allowing himself a smile of

success as he again read the amount on the check.

Santos returned his wallet to the hip of his black

satin jumpsuit. He wore black leather boots to the knees and

moved with short, violent jerks.

"1'11 be going now," the young Latin American said.

"Montreal. "

Michaels nodded again, uninterested, as Santos swung

away toward the Gulfstream Jetprop 1000 that he'd just

bought. It glistened like new in the aftemoon sun. Airport

sounds floated across the tannac. A pickup loaded with

engine parts drove past. The smells of grease and hot asphalt

filled tie air.

Michaels tumed on his heel and toward his Mer-

cedes. He the check with his finger and grinned

widely:

1


ONE

San Antonio is a colorful city even at night. Neon lights

ash in brilliant oranges, yellows, and blues in the honky-

onk sections. Cowboys stagger up the sidewalks, their legs

nt as if still riding horses. Pimps beat their whores. Dogs

and drunks urinate on buildings. And Tex-Mex music blares

from bars, too big a sound to be contained in any rqx)rn, not

ven an outsize Texas rcx)rn.

Nick Carter, Killrnaster N3 of the United States' most

secret agency, AXE, considered this as he shambled along

e sidewalk, a bottle of Tokay clas1Ed protectively against

is side.

ne street teemed with cars and people. Big old Cadillacs

Iled horse trailers and waited at traffic lights next to

olkswagen bugs with fake Rolls-Royce hoods. Dodge and

evrolet vans moved smoothly , obeying all laws as hookers

front drove and others in back accommcxiated johns. In

an Antonio nothing is unexpected. Everything is

Carter, dressed in filthy Levi 's and vest, a battered Stetson

Iled low over his eyes, hugged the bottle of cheap wine and

meandered after his quarry. Just another faceless cowboy

isappointed in the land of possibilities.

Ahead of him, the agent he trailed walked tiredly among

the pedestrians, slapped off the hands of clumsy pickpockets,

and shook his head at the hawkers outside bars who offered

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NICK CARTER

him sights he'd never seen. He too wore a cowboy disguise

but he had given up any pretense of believing in it. He 'd bee

successful—he'd made his contact and picked up hi

information—and now Carter was waiting only for a momen

of privacy to relieve him of his success.

•men a fist swung out from a black hole that was a door

way.

Carter ducked, then slammed an elbow into the void.

The bottle of Tokay smashed to the sidewalk as Carter fel

the satisfying crunch of ribs meeting stomach and heard th

screams of pain from the dark doorway.

Caner crouched low, swiveled on his heels, and watched

The quarry he'd been tailing darted into a bar with purpl

windows and a flashing gold neon boot outside.

ne corner was suddenly quiet, wary. Drivers in

waited at the traffic light with averted eyes. Pedestrian

disappeared down the sidewalk. There were no sounds bu

idling engines, soft moans from the unconscious attacker

the doorway, and the distant thud-slap of playing cards on

felt table.

Carter his head. His trained senses were as finel

tuned as IBM microchips and as sensitive as exposed nerv

endings. He knew he still wasn't safe.

Then hc heard it.

Leather slapping brick.

*Ihree figures leaped like uncaged animals from the bric

ledge above Carter.

One dropped toward his back.

Two more fell on either side of him, trying to cut o

escape.

Faster than a thought, Carter rolled and sprang untouch

to his feet, Hugo, his razor-sharp stiletto, steady in his hand.

He sliced through the stocking mask of the first attacke

Blood spurted from the man 's forehead, nose, and cheek

Carter spun as the man yelled and clutched his face. Bl

poured between the man's fingers onto die sidewalk. H

collapsed in a heap.

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Carter kicked a revolver fmm the second attacker's hand ,

wheeled, and a revolver from the third man.

The two uninjured men backed off, surprised eyes framed

by the narrow slits in their stocking masks.

Caner pursued, one step at a time.

Across the sidewalk.

Past a straggly magnolia.

Over an iron grate.

And a whip out, catching on the grate.

Carter tripped and fell, Hugo sliding away.

The whip released.

Carter grabbed, too late.

It retumed to the attacker who'd sent it immediately

lashed out again.

Across Carter's chest.

Drawing blood and pain.

Again Carter grabbed and missed, his spinning.

lhe attackers laughed.

great Killmaster! ' ' the one with the whip hcx:ned. He

had a Spanish accent.

'He isnot so go(xi, eh?" theothersaid. as

us! " He stood to the side, ams crossed over a thin chest, his

face thrown back, laughing. "Gringos!" He had a

high, throaty voice, intense with hatred.

Carter along the sidewalk and saw the attackers'

revolvers far behind him. But Hugo lay close, gleaming

green with light reflected from a café sign.

The whip again sang through the air.

Carter rolled, his head clearing.

The whip struck only concrete.

Carter sprang to his feet with Hugo, in one smooth

movement he sliced the whip, threw the stiletto into the

whip-wielding attacker's heart, and knocked the other at-

tacker unconscious.

The attacker with the whip now held a useless weaÆxyn, and

he stood frozen in horror and surprise. Then suddenly he

yanked Hugo from his heart. A brilliant red geyser gushed

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NICK CARTER

into the neon night, and he pitched over.

Carter picked up Hugo, cleaned him on the dead man's

sweatshirt, and slipped him back into the spring-activated

chamois sheath strapped to Carter's foreann from where,

with the tensing of a muscle, he'd be returned to Carter's

hand for action.

Caner observed the deserted sidewalk and busy street.

Safe for the moment, he bent over the blocxiy bcxly.

Ihe pockets were empty, No jewelry except a cheap

wristwatch with a wide band. No tags within the clothes. He

pulled off the stcxtking mask and saw a brown face

with black eyebrows. Latin-American, but from which coun-

try ?

Caner sensed movement beside him. ne attacker he'd

knocked out was on his feet, stumbling then running like a

nervous woman down the sidewalk. He favored his left side.

Caner was tempted to follow, but instead his attention was

caught by the edge of something white on the body . He

pulled a scrap of paper from under the wristband of the deid

man's watch. A tiny piece of with one word printed

carefully in Ixncil: ITZAMNA.


TWO

The café with the flashing gold neon boot was called Red

Sam's. The door was open, and cigarette smoke made the

night air acrid and gray even before Carter inside.

The long walnut bar was three-deep with thirsty oil roust-

abouts and cowboys. A Mexican cornbo played rough songs

of faithless love back-country violence.

Carter sat at a small wcxxlen table against the wall. The

table was carved with the indifferent marks of the lazy: no

traditional hearts, initials, or women's breasts, but simply

lines and hacked-out holes that showed someone with a sharp

knife, too much time, and no imagination had sat there.

Carter leaned back so his chair rested against the wall. He

lit a Marlboro-—-he didn't think one of his custom-made

cigarettes with his initials emtx)ssed in gold on the filter went

with his outfit—and stared around the room. Noone bothered

to look back, except for a girl with stringy hair and a beautiful

face. She stared from the bar at Carter's blocxiy , whiplashed

chest. He smiled at and ncxlded. She looked at him

boldly, then dropped her gaze as if to reconsider.

Carter continued to Fruse the rcx)m. He'd his

quarry to be gone, and he was right. There were plenty of

cowboys, but none looked as if he would be more comforta-

ble in a three-piece suit. There were plenty of

Mexicans but none had the air of a bureaucrat gone wrong.

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NICK CARTER

nie agent—Carter's quarry—had ducked in here and disap-

A waiter approached Carter's table.

'What d 'yall want?' ' The waiter spoke to the empty space

Carter's head. He had the air of a man lost to life, so

lost that his eyes couldn 't meet another's for fear of tEing

called back.

' 'Did you see a man about five-foot-ten in a red plaid shirt

and jeans come in here about half an hour ago?" Carter

asked. ' 'Had a scar across his forehead like this. " He traced a

jagged line above his eyebrows and down his left temple.

"Haven't seen no one like that all day," the waiter

drawled. ' 'What d'yall want to drink?"

Carter nodded. The waiter hadn't noticed, would never

notice, and if he had or could, wouldn't tell.

"Beck's," Carter said, "and give the lady another of

whatever she's drinking. "

'Ihe waiter followed Carter's gaze to the beautiful young

woman with the long stringy hair at the bar. Embarrassed, he

left to fill the order.

-me sound in the street started like a distant drumming.

Quickly it grew louder. The waiter put a full glass in front of

the girl, then ran around the bar with five more waiters and

bartenders toward the front door. Customers peeled out ofthe

way, watching with interest. 'Ihe girl looked at the drink and

then at Carter. She crossed her legs and her skirt rode up over

her knee.

'Out!" the bartenders yelled.

They flapped their white aprons and

'Out! Out! Get outta here!"

ne noise was like thunder, and the waiters and bartenders

backed into the room.

"Yippee!" a hoarse voice shouted.

A lariat swung through the door and fell around one of the

retreating bartenders. He yanked at it angrily, but it tightened

and dragged him back toward the door.

'Ihe horse and rider pranced into the barrx)rn, the cowboy

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

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low over the speckled Appaloosa, the bartender nose to nose

with the horse.

'That's MacDuff," the beautiful girl said and sat at the

table with Carter. 'SHe gets bad drunk every month or so. "

lhe cowboy wrapped the end of the lariat around his

saddlehorn, slid off the mare, and strutted up to the bar. "Ihe

Appaloosa snorted, and rolled her eyes. A cus-

tomer the cowboy 's shoulder and handed him a drink

while two waiters rushed to untie the writhing bartender.

s Of course, with his reputation," the girl continued,

"MacDuff can't get away with the wildness he used to. "

The Appaloosa's ears were laid back against her rust-

and-white head. Her tail twitched nervously as the waiters

walked her around and out the door. The bartender who'd

been lassoed sank onto a chair and mopped his face. The

customers reassembled at the bar around MacDuff, laughing,

retelling tonight 's story and others as they once again took up

the serious task of drinking.

"You should be caring for that front of yours."

The girl glared at Carter's chest as if it were an insult. She

had flecks of back in her blue eyes, and her cheektx)nes were

high and good, but her honey-colored hair was in need of a

good washing. She patted the matted strands back over her

ears as if she knew but didn 't care. She was a hooker who

didn 't have too high an opinion of herself.

"l appreciate your concern," Carter said seriously, "but

I'm looking for someone. Soon's I find him, I'll take care of

my chest. "

SSWho?"

She had a forthrightness that Carter liked. Direct. No

games. He offered her a cigarette. She cum:rd his hand and

stared into his eyes as he lit it. He stared back. Her eyes had

the color arui hidden intensity of uncut lapis lazuli.

He described his quarry. He wasn't surprised when she

ncxided knowingly.

' 'He 's staying at the Saguaro Motor Inn down the street, ' '

she said. "Alone."

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NICK CARTER

Part of her work was to watch everyone who came into the

"How long?"

She shrugged narrow shoulders beneath a blouse with

frayed collar and cuffs.

s 'A few days," she said.

'Thanks. " Carter laid ten dollars on the table and

up.

"You'll never find the place," she said.

She watched him, her sculpted face pinched, waiting for

him to refuse her company. She was very despite

her unkempt hair and shabby clothes.

' 'Want to show me?"

"l wouldn't mind," she replied softly.

He followed her to the door, watching her long legs prance

beneath the short denim skirt. They walked out into the gaudy

night. Down the street, the sidewalk was off. Three

patrol cars with flashing red lights blocked a lane of traffic.

nie bodies had been taken away, and detectives and patrol-

men were investigating. Nothing would come of it. *Ihe

attackers were from some distant county that kept poor

records and had little interest in dead agents.

MacDuff's mare nickered at them. The girl stroked the

horse's nose, scratched behind its ears, and rubbed between

the eyes. The mare was tethered to the handle of a large blue

mailbox.

"See?" the girl asked Carter. 'This is where she likes it. "

She worked on the spot between the eyes, and the horse

again nickered and blew.

"MacDuff's got a g(xxi horse," Carter said.

The girl n«xided.

SSDon't he know it, too. When he's s&r."

They walked up the sidewalk, away from the horse and

police.

"I knew you were friendly," the girl said. '61 could tell. "

"You were the friendly one. You were worried atXR1t my

As she walked, she swung her shoulder bag. She smelled

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

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faintly of a nicc perfume; Carter guessed she took advantage

of the sample bottles on drugstore cosmetic counters.

' 'Business good?" Carter asked.

' 'Not very. "

"You don't like the work. "

After two blocks, the buildings got smaller with occasional

untended lots in t:etween, Weeds sprouted in sidewalk cracks

and in rain gutters. Caner and the girl passed a junkyard with

the remains of an old Intemational Harvester aban-

next to a locked double gate of chicken and barbed

wire.

"See it?" the girl asked and pointed.

On the far side of the junkyard, away from the street on a

gravel road, were a cluster of ramshackle cottages that had

once tren white. They shone like old bones in the moonlight.

Before them was a painted sign illuminated by an overhead

light: Saguam Motor Inn---Air Conditioning—Refrig-

erators. The light was so small that the sign was almost lost in

the night.

"I think you can help me," Carter said

"I don't have to."

"I'll pay. "

She flipped gravel with the of her sandal. He looked at

the quiet street. Only an old pickup was parked at a curb three

doors away. In the faint glow of a streetlight, Carter saw the

silhouettes of two figures, heads together—lovers—sitting in

the front seat.

S 'What's your name?" Carter asked the girl.

' 'I'm nineteen. I left home when I was twelve. "

' 'Do you want to help?" he asked.

"Linda," she said. "My name's Linda. "

He held her chin and looked into her lapis lazuli eyes. She

trembled and watched him intently. His chest and head hurt.

He bent and kissed her. Her mouth was sweet, clean. Her

breasts tim and hot. She leaned into him, shuddering with

pleasure, and he pulled her closer.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.


THREE

The night sky was thick with twinkling stars, cleared of

smog by a rising wind off the San Antonio River. Katydids

and crickets sang. The grass was sun-dried arxi fragrant. In

the next block someone pumped an accordian song of fast

adventure.

Nick Carter at the comer of his quarry's ramshackle

motel cottage and considered the darkness. Sounds and

smells vary from country to country, but the mystique of

night remains.

Linda walked up the gravel driveway to the cottage door.

The cottage's single front window was blank, the shade

drawn over the dull flicker of a television within. Carter

listened to the girl's footsteps crunch against the gravel, the

blur of television voices, and the warm wind rustle nearby

sage and scrub trees. The sounds were heightened by the

potential for violence that darkness brings.

girl knocked.

"Yes?" a man's voice said.

The door opened a crack. Carter slid along the wall toward

the at an angle the quarry could not see. Light and the

sweet smell of rum spilled from the door's crack. The quarry

had been watching a Spanish-language TV station.

"I'm your present," the girl purred.

She slouched against the doorjamb. Her skirt lifted above

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NICK CARTER

the shapely legs. Her breathing intensified, breasts rising

against the thin cloth of her blouse.

' 'Happy Birthday," she said.

Carter could feel the quarry's stare.

"From MacDuff and the boys at the bar," she said.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded. Her tilted, her breath-

ing deep and irregular. She gave off a scent of lust thick

enough to bottle, and the quarry leaned forward hungrily.

"MacDuff?" he said eagerly.

She ncxlded and stared up through lashes thick with mas-

cara.

s 'But it is not my birthday," he said.

The girl slowly ran a finger down the quarry's cheek and

chest, stopping at his belt buckle. He sighed deeply.

"It doesn't have to be," she cocrd.

He let her push him back into the motel rmrn, grinning

from ear to ear with anticipation.

Until he saw Nick Carter.

Carter kicked the door closed, Hugo in hand.

Ihe quarry was a dark man with small, pretty features in a

broad face. He was in his fifties, a look of Ekmanent disap-

pointment engraved on his face in a deeply etched pattem of

downturned lines. He flung the girl into the television

The girl and set crashed to the floor. 'Ihe set sparked, and

she cried out, holding her side. Carter half turned to here

"I'm all right!" she shouted.

It was only a half turn, only a moment, but it was long

enough for an old guerrilla fighter. The quarry jumrrd from

behind and wrapped an ann around Caner's throat.

Carter jabbed an eltx)w back.

A piston into the quarry's stomach.

The stomach had been behind a desk too long; it was soft

and pulpy.

The quarry ga.SFkd and weakened.

Carter broke free, whirling around.

".Where is it?" Caner demanded, pointing Hugo at the

retreating man.

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"Nada!" the quarry panted and threw a plastic chair. "l

tell you nothing!"

Carter ducked.

The quarry ran to the dresser and pulled out a revolver.

Carter hurled Hugo through the air and pinned the quarry 's

red plaid sleeve to the cracked plaster wall. The revolver

dangled, useless.

The girl laughed.

'SI saw you get it, " Carter said, walking slowly toward the

Ihe quarry growled and pulled frantically at the stiletto.

' 'It would be easier on you to tell me where it is," Carter

said, now close.

Ihe stiletto popped from the wall.

The quarry crouched free, red-eyed with rum and rage,

Hugo in one hand and the revolver in the other.

Carter shook his head.

"Darnn«i fool," he muttered.

Before the quarry could aim, Carter kicked Hugo into the

bathroom and rammed the side of his rock-hard hand into the

quarry's ribs.

Ribs cracked and broke, and the man doubled over.

ne revolver fell.

Carter sccxpi up the gun and pointed it at the quany's

head.

'Vlhis isn't the way to get a promotion, " Carter said.

The girl giggled again.

*Ihe quarry lunged, a bull elephant gone mad, pushing his

head into Carter's belly.

He shoved Carter back across the room. The gun dropped

from Carter's hand under the furious force of the quarry.

"No!" the girl screamed.

The pair crashed through the window shade and window.

Glass shattered, slivers flying through the air, explcxling

into the night.

Carter hit the ground outside with the other agent on top,

but a second later the quarry scrambled up and ran away

across the gravel.

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NICK CARTER

Carter raced after the man who now held his sides as if in

straightjacket of pain.

Carter hurled himself forward and tackled the escapin

agent in the sickly light of the motel sign.

Gravel flew and crunched as the girl ran up to them.

The old guerrilla fighter twisted, trying to bring his

up Carter's legs. His face was fierce with determina

tion.

One shot rang out.

Sharp and startling.

lhe quarry fell into the weeds beside the motel. BJ

poured from his neck into the dry ground. He jerked and la

still.

'Ihe girl stocxi somber, the agent's revolver limp at he

side. She looked up at Carter with round, stricken eyes.

"He would've killed you," Linda said.

'Ten years ago he might've hurt me. But not now,'

Carter said. He gazed sadly at the crumpled man whose lif

emptied into a foreign land. ' 'He was tired of a dead-end des

job. He wanted excitement, adventure again. Something t

in. "

"Who was he?"

"A Cuban agent. "

Carter knelt and searched through the agent's clothing.

• 'How do you know?" she asked.

Carter worked rapidly, dumping wallet, credit cards

handkerchief, everything into a pile under the dim light.

"We're all players in the same game," he answered. "W

know one another, if only by reputation. "

Carter was looking for was not in the man's tElong

ings. He off the agent's shirt and examined it. H

unbuckled the belt.

"What are you doing?" Linda asked, her voice rising.

s 'I know you're afraid, " Carter said, still searching. H

tCX)k off the agent's pants. 'Go if you like. "

The girl twisted her head, looking around, obviousl

frightened. Cars passed infrequently in the street. The

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pickup was still the only vehicle parked at the curb. The

jukebox music and drunken laughter were distant, safe

sounds. The complex of dilapidated cottages was quiet and

had the feeling of being deserted even though lights glowed

in some cottages. In this part of town, only the reckless or

foolish investigated gunfire.

S 'Who are you?" Linda whispered.

"Your employee. "

Carter stared at the naked man, vulnerable and flaccid in

death. He knew the information wouldn 't in the room; the

agent would keep it on him.

Carter picked up the penis and searched around the testi-

cles. Nothing. Then he ran his fingers down the almost

hairless legs.

"You must a spy," the girl decided.

"Must be," Carter ech«xd.

He found the tiny black dot between the first and second

toes of the left foot. He took an addressed envelope from his

pocket, stuck the dot in the upper-right corner, licked a

stamp, and put it over the micrqxlot.

' 'Wow!" the girl exclaimed. "You really are a spy!"

Carter grinned at her. Sbe was a street urchin again,

dirty-faced but now sparkling with youth and vitality.

' 'We'd better get out of here," Carter said.

He took her hand, and they walked away from the naked

dead man laid out like a slab of meat beneath the dim sign of

the Saguaro Motor Inn. ney headed back toward San An-

tonio's honky-tonk sounds of sobbing guitars and blaring

trumpets.


FOUR

To the north, hidden by the night, were the hills that

panish friars had chosen as a backdrop when they had

ounded San Antonio in 1718. Tonight, as usual, music and

he hot, oily aromas of chili and tacos wafted across the old

ity called affectionately by residents San Antone. Others

idn't love San Antone---or Texas. After visiting there in

866, General Philip H. Sheridan observed, "If I owned

exas and all hell, I would rent out Texas and live in hell. s'

Nick Carter reflected on this as he heard the lone pickup's

otor turn on. Some might hate Texas, but others loved it

nough to make the state one of the fastest growing in the

ation and San Antone the tenth largest But along

ith progress came evil. And evil was attracted to growth and

ealth to feed on-—and to to hide

The old pickup's motor idled and the headlights came on,

atching Carter and Linda as if swtlighted on a stage. She

med to stare. The battered pickup moved slowly up the

treet, following them. Carter hurried Linda along the

idewalk.

As the bar with the flashing gold neon boot came into

iew, they heard the pickup 's tires squeal with a sudden bunt

f speed.

MacDuff's Appaloosa mare tossed her head and whinnied.

he was still tethered to the mailbox.

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NICK CARTER

"What is it?" Linda's face was stretched in fright.

Carter yanked the girl into a run.

"l don't know," he said tersely. "it should over. "

ney raced down the sidewalk.

At this late hour, traffic was light. A few SEX)rts cars

Lincolns.

The pickup roared txhind them, rapidly catching up.

Using his as a shield, Carter slid the enve10FE into th

mail slot. The girl leaned against the box, panting. The h

nuzzled her shoulder.

Shots from the pickup rang out in the neon night, spittin

into the concrete around them. Heads, shoulders, and hand

waving drinks emerged from the bar with the flashing gol

Caner leaped onto the mare, pulled the girl up behind him

and turned the horse up the street.

' 'MacDuff! " someone called into the bar.

Carter and Linda galloped away, gunfire streakin

alongside them, away from the mailbox that contained cru

Cial information for David Hawk, head of AXE and protect

Of security secrets the President of the United States coul

enfrust to no other.

V They're catching up to us!" the girl screamed.

The horse's hooves revenrrated against the street like

drum roll.

Carter aimed the horse around a parked low-slun

Porsche, then down a dark narrow alleyway between tw

bars, too narrow for the pickup to follow them. Red, whi

and green lanterns—the colors of Mexico—glowed festivel

in the distance at the end of the long alley.

Suddenly, headlights burst down the alleyway, illumin

ing the horse and its riders.

0Fned and slammed shut.

*Ihe mare pounded on toward the sounds of a mariac

band.

Shots bit into the buildings on either side.

Running footsteps pursued them.

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Caner and Linda hunched low over the horse, and rode

into the patio party, where they were slowed by the throng.

An ornate water fountain splashed, entertainers in swirling

costumes danced, champagne corks popped, and—on the far

side of the patio---an sliding glass door led into a home

or business from which some partygoers watched in amuse-

mente

' 'Compadre!" a man yelled at Carter, raising his glass in

salute.

"Is this part of the entertainment?" one woman wanted to

know.

"If it isn't, it should be," said her companion.

A white-coated waiter lifted a tray of full charnpagne

goblets for Carter Linda as they walked the mare by.

*'Dom Perignon! " the waiter announced.

Caner and the girl each bent for glasses.

' 'Gracias," Caner said politely.

' Thanks, " said the girl in her soft Texas accent.

ne celebrators cheered and patted the sweating Ap-

paloosa as Carter and Linda rode around the tinkling fountain

and into the plushly carpeted living room of some wealthy

San Antone citizen.

"Isn't that MacDuff's mare?" someone asked.

• S SSure doec look like her," agreed another.

The mare held her head high as she stepped past mosaic

coffee tables displaying objets d 'art. She shied away from the

fireplace hearth spilling with red roses snorted at a

six-foot specimen of Spanish armor guarding the entrance to

the parqueted foyer.

Behind them, Carter saw four men weaving through the

crowd. All four looked Mexican; all had Indian features. One

of them wore a shiny black jumpsuit, while the three others

were dressed in green military fatigues with no identification

patches. Two of them had been in the cab of the pickup

pretending to be lovers, and the other two must have been

lying in the truck bed out of sight.

The party guests stared at the out-of-place intruders, and

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NICK CARTER

the intruders stared at Carter.

"Salud!" Carter said, raising his glass to the room of

Texans.

' 'Salud! Salud! Salud!" shouted the partygoers.

They drank the champagne. Brut—beautifully dry.

Carter leaned down, set his and Linda's goblets on a high

sideboard, and swung the eight-foot-high walnut front

Gunfire exploded into the helmet of the suit of amor.

Pieces of metal scarred the immaculate plaster ceiling and

walls.

nie Texans ducked.

And came up mad.

Enormous roars of indignation swelled the room.

Two big Texans instantly coldcocked two of the pursuers,

who collapsed uncomplaining onto the thick carpet, one with

a Luger in his hand.

A woman in emeralds, silk, and high-heeled

stomrrd the foot of the third man from the pickup. Her

companion punched the man 's stomach and then his jaw. Ihe

injured man grabbed the elegant woman for support, but she

kneed him and shoved him to the floor.

The • fourth intruder—the one wearing the black

jumpsuit—stood jittery, trying to decide what to do in the

where he was so badly outnumtxred. He had a young,

cruel face, and kept his hand inside the deep V of material on

his chest where Carter knew he kept a gun. But the crowd

didn't notice. They swarmed toward the man, laughing and

talking, putting more and more people between him and

Carter md the girl.

"Let's get out of here," Carter said.

'They liked the way you set the glasses down so po-

litely, ' Linda said as they again walked the Appaloosa to the

front doors.

' The Texas frontier spirit of generosity and instant retribu-

tion," Carter said.

She looked at him and smiled.

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

'S You knew they'd like the mare, too. "

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THE MAYAN CONNECTION

'S You knew they'd like the mare, too. "

23

Carter grinned as they stepped through the foyer, but there

was a cool glint in his eyes as he looked back at his pursuers,

who were picking themselves up and retreating.

"Now I've got to find a telephone," he said.

He clicked softly to the mare, and she walked daintily

down the mansion 's brick steps, across the sidewalk, and into

the quiet street.

Caner and Linda rode MacDuff's horse along El

Paseo del Rio, skirting the glassy jade flow of the San

Antonio River. They passed a sign giving directions to the

Alamo, "the cradle of Texas " It was now a carefully

restored mission, a stone emblem to the tragedy of man's

folly and greed. Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie died in that

battle in 1836, and only seven Americans out of almost two

hundxed survived the Alamo slaughter, but they were cap-

tured and ordered killed by Mexican General Santa Anna.

'Though tortured before they were these unfortunates

died without complaining and humiliating themselves, ' ' Car-

ter remembered one of Santa Anna's staff members had

written.

"What are you thinking about?" Linda asked.

"Liberty. Its price," Carter said. He looked ahead.

SOThere's that telephone booth I need. "

Carter put in his dime and dialed.

g 'What's wrong?" Hawk's gruff voice was suspicious.

He 'd not expected Carter to call in, escpecially in the middle

of the night.

Carter kept his back to Linda and the horse. No need for

her to know more than she had to.

' 'You should receive the information within a couple of

days," Carter said. "It's in the package we agreed upon.

Mailed tonight. "

If Hawk were the kind of man who sighed with relief,

Carter knew he would sigh now. Instead, Hawk would lean

back in t*d, reach to the brass cigar box on his bedside table,

24


24

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

and carefully select a cigar. He would roll it, bite the end off,

aml light it.

Carter heard the click of a butane lighter and smiled.

"I trust you know what time it is," Hawk growled.

"Yes, sir. Four A.M. in Washington. I have something new

to report. "

"It will be dawn here shortly, N3. It is discouraging to by

to fall asleep once it is dawn."

' Three guys jumped me I got to the Cuban. One of

them had a scrap of paper on him. Only one word. Itzamnå.

The Mayan'god. Thought the connection might be important.

Also. four men in an old pickup tried to get me after I got the

agent. I think they were watching him, not me. No idea who

they could tp. "

Carter heard Hawk inhale and blow. By now there would

be a cloud of noxious smoke above Hawk's bed.

'Any other identification on the three who jumped you?' '

Hawk asked.

"Nothing. "

"And you 're sure the ones in the pickup weren 't Cubans?

They weren 't after you?"

' 'I'm sure."

He heard Hawk puff again.

"Fascinating," Hawk murmured.

' 'The microdot should clear up the Cuban mystery down

there," Carter said.

Far off, Hawk cleared his throat, his mind made up.

"You have a new assignment, Nick. The FBI, State, the

FAA, and the Justice Department have all called in the last

twenty-four hours. We've got an irate taxpayer in Albany

whose jet has been stolen. He's got money and inherited

influence—just enough to imtate people with work to do, "

Hawk said and chomped the cigar. "But his greed may have

been helpful. ne taxpayer thought he'd sold his jet, but the

cashier's check was phony. "Ihe buyer has vanished. And the

jet's been found abandoned in New Mexico with no clues

except a torn map of southern Mexico with Itzamnå scrawled

on it. "

THE MAYAN CONNECr10N

"Texas, Albany, and now New Mexico. "

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THE MAYAN CONNECr10N

"Texas, Albany, and now New Mexico. "

25

"Precisely," Hawk said. taxpayer has been com-

plaining to event agency he can think of. He wants his money

back. But it doesn't end there."

"Barkov?" Carter said, the hair on the back of his neck

rising. Colonel Maxim Barkov—not his real name, of

course---was the KGB chief in Mexico. An irrational killer.

Very useful to the KGB.

' 'You remember the report," Hawk said approvingly.

"You confirm my ability to choose the best personnel, "

Hawk cleared his throat after the unaccustomed compliment.

"British M15 has passed on the most recent deccxiing. I've

been wondering whether to act or wait. You've settled the

issue. Here's the situation. The KGB is worried about Bar-

kov. Odd actions and strange reports from him to them. From

what M15's been able to intercept, the KGB may be on the

verge of either pulling Barkov or investigating him. Ihat in

itself isn't particularly significant—Russian spies do come

and go—-but one report on Barkov mentioned Itzamnå. It's

puzzling the KGB, too. "

*'Do you want to start in Albany or Mexico City?"

Hawk gave a short, pleased laugh.

"Albany," he said. ' 'Go see the taxpayer—Duane

Michaels is his name. Then find that pilot. He's the most

direct link we've got to whoever or whatever Itzamnå is. ' '

As Hawk gave Carter the details of how to locate

Michaels, Carter heard the oncoming sounds of running feet,

whoops of success, and the mare's high-pitched whinny.

"Nick!" Linda shouted.

Carter whirled around.

The street was full of cowboys running toward Carter,

Linda, and the mare. MacDuff was leading, waving his

Stetson in a big circle his head, his handsome face

flushed and grinning from ear to ear.

MacDuff pointed an accusatory finger at Carter, but his

eyes glowed with merriment.

"Horse thief! " he shouted and leaped up behind Linda.

She suuggled to get off, but MacDuff laughed and

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NICK CARTER

wrapped an arm around her. He leaned down for the reins.

flicked his heels against the mare's sides, and wheeled her off

down the street.

' 'II buy Linda a drink! ' " MacDuff shouted back to Carter.

"Best ride she'll ever have!"

Caner ncxlded and waved, his mind now on the best jet

connections to Albany.

Linda settled back against MacDuff, resigned, and he

hugged her.

The crowd of drunk cowboys surged and reorganized

themselves to follow the Appaloosa, cowboy, and girl back

up El Paseo del Rio toward their favorite honky-tonk bar.


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Albany, capital of the State of New York, displayed its

Dutch heritage in colonial architecture, tulip festivals, and

prominent names such as Schuyler, Van Rensselaer, and

Erastus Coming. Where San Antonio had the excitement and

dazzle of frontier fighters, Albany the hushed dignity of

successful bankers, businessmen, educators, and politicians.

Nick Caner thought this as he rode up the walnut-

paneled elevator to the top floor of the granite and limestone

office building. Female office workers in tasteful dresses and

pumps, businessmen in tailored three-piece suits, and an

unnecessary elevator (Fator in shott navy jacket and

pillbox hat didn 't necessarily mean money. But secretaries in

other cities sometimes wore polyester slacks with elastic

waists. Businessmen tried to fool their peers and clients with

off-the-rack suits frorn Penney's. And elevators with

pushbuttons didn't need operators to inquire respectfully,

"Which floor, sir?"

Carter ncxided at the sharp-eyed elevator (Fator and

stepped off at the top He walked to a wall of plate glass

windows that looked across the old Dutch city and the Hud-

son River. San Antonio's money was ostentatious. Albany 's

was tasteful—hidden but just as powerful. Ihe real excite-

ment in this city was behind closed doors.

Carter smoothed the lapels ofhis Savile Row suit, adjusted

28

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NICK CARTER

the sapphire ring on his right hand, and noted with approval

the shine on his wing tips. As he walked toward the secretary

who would be Michaels 's , he took out his gold cigarette case.

"Duane Michaels," he told her.

"Your name and business0"

She was a straight-from-the-bottle redhead with a long,

aquiline nose, mouth, and too much powder. Ihe

powder hid freckles that on another woman would be

flaunted and sexy. He watched as she calculated by his

clothes how much he was worth.

"Name's Nelson Calhoun," he announced.

He the case, took out a monogrammed cigarette,

and slipped the case back inside his jacket.

Her eyes flickered. Gold, the eyes said, five hundred

dollars.

*'My business is working for H. Banning Michaels,"

Carter said, lighting the cigarette. "Mr. Michaels wants me

to see his son about a missing aircraft."

' 'Of course, sir. "

Being impressed held more value to her than thinking did.

She pushed the intercom switch.

"Mr. Nelson Calhoun to see you regarding the

Gulfstream," she said.

"Who's he?" said a disembodied, voice. ' 'Not

the newspapers!"

"From your father," she said archly, glancing at Carter

conspiratorially.

There was silence from the other end of the intercom.

"You might tell him that his father has a solution to thc

problem, " Carter said mildly.

"Mr. Calhoun •says—" she began.

e 'I heard him! Send him in!"

Carter walked through double oak doors with brass

hardware that looked as if it came from an old whaling ship.

Michaels sat behind a long, wide, highly polished desk. The

desk was neatly piled with stacks of papers. A Cross ballpoint

pen lay 01M), ready to use. Whatever kind of businessman

Michaels was, at least he was one who worked.

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

29


29

Michaels looked Carterup and down, stood, and extended

a hand.

"What does the old man say?" Michaels asked,

Carter shook the hand and arui sat in a red leather chair.

Michaels liked to get to the B)int. He had a fleshy face, a

paunch, and a sense about him of unimaginative competence.

"Do you want the jet repaired?" Carter asked.

s 'Hell, no! It's a white elephant. Outlived its usefulness. "

"No chance of insurance money?' '

' Only to repair it. ' ' Michaels leaned forward, his flabby

chest spreading across the papers. don't want it repaired. I

don 't want to waste time selling it again. I want my money. ' '

' 'The buyer pay you a fair price?"

Michaels's face flushed.

' 'I pay taxes, " Michaels complained. "I pay a lot of taxes!

I expect to protected, not defrauded! "

Caner smoked. As he'd expected, Michaels had over-

charged for the jet, and his greed had made him careless.

'Your father is prepared to make up your loss in exchange

for information, " Caner said.

Michaels brightened. His fingers ran like crabs across the

desk top.

'Vlhe entire loss?" Michaels asked.

S What the jet's really worth. "

"It's worth top dollar."

' 'It was worth comparatively little, " Carter corrected. s 'It

was old. Overused and not maintained. You had it washed

and polished, and sold it for new. Now it's an abandoned

wreck in a New Mexico desert. 'Ihe longer you wait, the less

chance you have of getting anything at all for it. "

Michaels pressed his fingers together into a church steeple.

He rested his chin on the tops of his fingers.

' 'Why does he want information?' ' Michaels asked cagily.

Michaels was searching for something to barter with. He

couldn 't help himself. A deal was much better if the other guy

got screwed.

"We're talking about H. Banning Michaels, " Carter said

NICK CARTER

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NICK CARTER

and smiled. ' 'He doesn 't have to tell you a damnul thing. His

money talks."

Michaels the son stood and walked to the windows. He

out. Clouds like mounds of whipped cream had

formed across the horizon. Michaels glanced at the clouds,

then looked down on the city. He knew he wasn 't going to get

a deal. His father was a good businessman.

"What dces he want to know?" Michaels said at last, his

back still to Carter. His father had four times the wealth

Michaels had, and control of a trust fund Michaels wouldn 't

get until the old man died.

' 'Everything you remember about the buyer and where he

might be headed. "

"All right," Michaels said briskly, staring down at the

city. He wanted the interview ended and Caner out of sight.

' 'He said his name was Tiger Santos. Ridiculous narne, but it

was on the cashier's check. He was dressed outrageously.

Wore a black jumpsuit made out of some kind of shiny

material .

Carter's eyes narrowed.

"And black boots?" he gaid. "Almost like a storm

troorrr's?"

"Yes, yes, " Michaels said, waving a hand indifferently.

else would you exFRct?"

"And his nationality?"

. how would I know?"

"Mexican .

Spanish

Michaels replied, annoyed. g 'I told you his name was San-

Carter and thought about the four men from the

pickup the night before, remembered the one with the cruel

face arui shiny black jumpsuit. Carter lit another cigarette.

'Go on," he told Michaels.

"Well, I figured the check was go«xl trcause he looked

like one of those hyped-up drugrunners you read atxjut."

Michaelsbarked a short, bitter laugh. "Joke was on me.

When the check bounced, I tried to track him down through

my contacts. He'd filed a flight plan to Montreal at the

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

31


31

32

Albany airport, but there's no record of his arrival in

Montreal. Then I went to the authorities. That's all I know. "

"Were the jet's tanks full?"

'Don 't know. ' ' Michaels shrugged. He didn 't care either.

Carter put out his cigarette and watched the square, over-

weight back in the expensive suit. Michaels loved money

even more than he hated his father.

"l appreciate your help," Carter said politely and stocxl.

Michaels tumed. The thick clouds on Albany's horizon

were tuming gray with potential rain.

"When do I get a check?" Michaels asked.

"Mr. Michaels will in touch."

Carter walked to the door.

"How do I know you're really from my father?" Sudden

worry sharpened Michæls's voice.

"You don't. "

Carter walked through the doors, past the secretary who

smiled hungrily, and toward the elevators. He heard

Michaels's doors close. Michaels, who had not spoken di-

rectly to his father in five years, would have the secretary

make the call.

"First floor, sir?" the elevator asked.

Caner ncxided and into the enclosure that smelled

faintly of gcxxi tobacco. The elevator moved silently

downward.

No one but Hawk knew Carter was in Albany. AXE 's need

for secret information had to tE protected. Duane Michaels

had once again suckered by his own greed.

Nick Carter walked the airport counter and flashed

the wallet with the official-looking gold badge. It wasn 't real,

but it was close. With AXE's sFutacular technology. its

equipment department could duplicate just anything in

the world. But the clever AXE techmcal staff discovered

that ersatz was more effective than exact. Exact copies

bothered people; they sensed intuitively that something was

wrong, even though they couldn't tell you what it was. But

NICK CARTER


****** Result for Image/Page 1 ******

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NICK CARTER

give them something slightly inferior—ersatz—and, like in-

flation and plastic automobile bumpers, most trlieved it was

real every time.

'Plainclothesman?' ' the boyish-looking airport employee

whisErred looking up from the badge. It said

United States of America and Government Agent, ami top

and bottom crescents framed a bald eagle in profile:

"Detective," Carter admitted, dropping his voice to a

conspiratorial whisper. "I need the flight plan Tiger Santos

filed two days ago. He bought Duane Michaels's Gulfstream

Commander. " Carter slid the wallet containing the badge

back inside his pocket.

' remember. " The young man rubbed his hands and went

to work. "Been getting a lot of action on that one. Mr.

Michaels sent some people in. They went through every-

thing. Not that I give information to just anyone. .

yes. Here it is. Very popular flight plan. And it is good to help

the law. People with important jobs need to stick together,

Want a copy?'"

"I'd appreciate it: "

"No üouble at all."

Caner took the copy from the smiling clerk, whose face

practically glowed with excitement. Clerical routine had not

dulled his enjoyment of life.

'Thanks, " Carter said. "You know your job. "

The young man was speechless with pleasure. Carter

shook his hand and left.

'That was a detective," the clerk confided to the next

customer. "Very important man."

Carter smiled inwardly as he read the flight plan. He noted

that the tanks had checked out with just enough fuel to get

Santos to Montreal. He memorized the number that would be

painted behind the jet's cantilevered wings. Then he looked

up into the busy airport, saw telephone stalls, and sauntered

casually to them. As he walked, his mind worked, putting

together the few clues he had, figuring the (Xids.


ГЛАВА ШЕСТАЯ


srx

The sky was almost gaudy with the colors of sunset. Reds,

oranges, and purples spread over the horizon as the sun

settled to Nick Carter's right. In the Hamilton Westwind III

he'd found waiting in Albany, he flew over Kingston, and

would soon be over Poughkeepsie, following—if his think-

ing were correct—Tiger Santos.

'Ihe Pratt & Whitney turboprop engines droned and vi-

brated reassuringly through the steering and into Caner's

hands. He liked to fly, liked the feeling of being suspended

over the earth. For a time it made him different. Set apart by

borrowed wings. And the earth rotating below was distant

with its global problems of avarice, disloyalty, and the per-

verted values Carter fought daily.

As he swung the aircraft west to avoid the traffic conges-

tion above New York City, he thought about Linda. He

wished for a moment he wasn't committed to the importance

of his work. But a man had to follow his beliefs. Perhaps he

would meet her again when there was time.

He angled south again, the sunset washed away by the

night's grays and blacks. Lights below twinkled like stars.

Highways were defined in streaks of white and red. Tiger

Santos had had just enough fuel in the Gulfstream to comfort-

ably ny north to Montreal. But he had not gone there. He

hadn't wanted anyone to know his real destination. He had

33


34

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NICK CARTER

gone south instead and ultimately abandoned the plane in

New Mexico. What was the map of southern Mexico doing in

the cabin? Carter wondered.

lhe Westwind that Hawk had sent Carter was stripped of

passenger seats. Because it was lighter now, the turbojet

would get great distance with its oversize tanks. lhe tanks

carried 740 gallons, comfortably more than Santos's fuel

maximum of 474 gallons. Carter wanted the flexibility of

distance without refueling. And he wanted the cargo pod that

Hawk had sent. The pod contained two General Electric

miniguns and a special suitcase with AXE clothes and small

equipment.

Considering Santos's limited fuel, his jet could just have

made Philadelphia. Carter flew in a straight line toward the

city and circled above Philadelphia International Airport. A

thin, scudding bank of clouds was far atx)ve him. Below, the

runways were marked clearly, the lights flashing in sequence

with each plane that went in. To the east was the Delaware

River, black as ink

Carter listened to the chatter of air confrollers.

"Identify yourself, Westwind! " one demanded of Carter.

"Identify yourself! "

Caner ignored the increasingly angry voice. Instead he

listened to the other controllers and watched the sky around

him.

Slowly he descended until a break came in the traffic.

He tipped the turbojet 's nose into a quick landing descent.

The electronically retractable landing gear

dropped into place. He would go in secretly. If the G.E.

miniguns were discovered, he'd have too much to explain.

ne plane's three-blade propellers hummed, seeming to

catch the air as if it had substance.

Land rushed up.

Lights that had been pinpricks were suddenly walls.

He flew the turbojet between the walls of flashing lights

and skillfully touched the wheels onto the nmway.

He slowed.

THE MAYAN CONNECNON

35


35

Around him other planes came in, their engines screaming

and roaring.

He taxied the Westwind toward maintenance buildings

that loomed large and gray in the night. Lights made bright

rectangles of the windows where mechanics worked over-

time.

Carter parked the plane in front of a building that was

closed for the night. It was recessed trtween two larger

buildings and gave the AXE plane some privacy.

He hopped out of the B)ttside his Top-Siders springy

against the tarmac. He wore the clothes of a man of leisure:

tan silk slacks, simple plaid Madras shirt, and green

Sol jacket that showed good taste. His appearance would

generate no questions, only approval, at the Philadelphia

airport. Behind in the jet were his AXE suitcase and his

faithful companion, Wilhelmina, a 9mm Luger. Now he

carried only Hugo and Pierre, the tiny gas bomb strapped to

the inside of his upper thigh. He was after information, not

bodies. And he was in the United States, not in danger. He

didn 't want innocent people killed. He would run on his wits,

the surest weapon of all.

Carter into the main terminal of Philadelphia Inter-

national. Instantly he noticed the security guards. There were

too many of them, and they were alert.

He watched their eyes scan passengers, stewardesses,

pilots, desk personnel, cafeteria workers, soldiers on leave,

young mothers with babies---everyone. They tied to mingle

unobtrusively, and those out of unifom were more success-

ful. Still, their roving eyes gave them away.

Caner took out his cigarette case and walked up to one in a

shabby brown business suit. lhe man had heavy cheeks blue

with a need to shave even though he'd probably shaved once

that day already.

"Would you happen to have a light?" Carter asked and

smiled.

The man looked at him once, twice, and stared suspi-

ciously.

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NICK CARTER

"Sorry, " Caner said. "I think someone stole my lighter. "

Carter the gold cigarette case, selected a cigarette,

and held out the case to the security guard.

Ihe terminal swarmed with people. Babies cried.

Machines clattered. The air was thick with sound and too

many stale cxiors.

The guard around, allowed his eyes to dull with

tiredness, then he chose one of Carter's cigarettes.

"Thanks," the security man said.

From his pocket he took a book of matches with the name

of a local restaurant in watery blue and lit Caner's

cigarette, then his own.

They puffed in companionable silence.

Carter finished first and dropped the butt into an airport

ashtray.

"Must've had some excitement around here," he said

conversationally.

Carter guessed the guard had been a heavyweight

boxer or football player at one me. He had the beefy shoul-

ders, chest, and belly that came with the right kind of build

augmented by carbohydrates and rigorous exercise. Now he

was in his fifties, the muscles dissolving into fat, and he'd

quit lying to himself that life was going to be a series of

wins.

S' Yeah," the guard said. "Some."

He ground out the cigarette on the floor, took a packet of

Sen-Sen from his jacket, and dropped Sen-Sen granules on

his tongue.

' 'More than the usual smuggling and dor? " Carter asked.

Already the guard smelled of licorice from the Sen-Sen. A

go«xi way to disguise the taste of a stomach gone sour with

disillusionment.

"Who're you, buddy?" the guard asked.

His tired eyes completed one last scan of the enormous

room and settled on Caner.

"FAA," Carter said with authority. "Investigating an

airplane theft. Took place in Albany. We think the pilot

might 've brought it here to refuel or for some other reason. "

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

37


37

Carter recited the missing jet 's serial numtEr and tcx)k out

the wallet with the fake gold badge. It was a combination that

convinced the guard. The man's eyelids lowered with emo-

tion when Carter said the plane's so the look that

took in the badge was only a cursory glance.

S Three people dead," the guard said curtly. "Friends of

mine. One more in the hospital, intensive care. "

"The pilot?"

"Joker in a black clown suit. Got away clean, " the guard

said bitterly. ' 'When I was that age, I was skating with the

Toronto Maple Leafs. Goalie on the team that won the

Stanley in '47. We worked together. Played together. Helped

each other. A real team. " The guard lifted his sagging chin

and made a circle of his arms to include the entire airport.

g That bastard sneaks in hete, kills gocxi men, and leaves

laughing. What the hell's the world coming to?"

guard 's face was masked in the thick veneer that years

ofdealing with the public had given him. But now, outraged

misery showed through as if the mask were glass. It was a

new world where old values were laughed at.

"He flying the Gulfstream?" Caner inquired.

' 'lhe same. I sve seen a lot where I've been. Liars, cheat-

ers, con artists. What does it mean?"

"Ihe guard didn 't want an answer to the question. Didn't

believe there was an answer. But it was gocxi to ask anyway.

' 'What happened?"

"Far as I can tell, nothing," the big man said. "Landed

over by the steam roller. No one particularly noticed him.

Made arrangements for fueling. Paid cash. No big deal. He 'd

got no clearance to land, but the jet was small and the

airport's busy. It happens. Same time, three of my men were

searching a small cargo plane su:vcted of carrying cocaine.

So the fuel attendant makes some remarks to a friend about

the pilot's getup. Nothing loud, but they start laughing.

Called him 'Fairy-pants,' I was told. So the pilot takes

offense, rips his money back, and shoots the attendant dead.

Runs back to his plane just as my three men barrel out of the

jet. He stops long enough to kill two ofthem and get the other

38


38

+ 110%

NICK CARIER

through the spine. Then he flies out, laughing like a hyena at

the air controllers. "

Ihe guard shifted from one to another, now tired all

over.

"So you've been put on double duty," Carter said.

' 'People upstairs say we've been too lax. Shouldn't have

let it happen. Not in Philadelphia. ' ' A short burst of pride was

in his voice.

"Any leads on the pilot?"

The guard's face sank again into exhaustion, not just the

exhaustion of t(X) many hours on the job, but the

exhaustion of working in a world no longer familiar.

"None," he said abruptly.

'Ms. Julia Cunningham. Please report to Lost and

Found, ' ' a metallic voice said over the ailport's loudspeaker

system. "Ms. Julia Cunningham. "

The guard sighål.

'That's me," he said and extended a hand. you

find the bastard."

Carter watched man's broad, wrinkled suitcoat disap-

pear toward a white customer telephone on an airline counter.

His sharp eyes quickly noted that other security guards were

converging on otherwhite elephones. Ms. Julia Cunningham

was not the ccxie name for just the man Carter had been

talking with, but was a general call for all guards to report in.

Carter strode across the airport lobby, ducked amund a

comer, and ran down a deserted hallway. It had tEen five

years since he'd been in the airport, but his mind had tren

trained to rememberdetails. He pushed through a door

marked Exit and Locked. was hit by the sudden freshness

Of unfiltered, unprocessed air.

He took a deep breath, stuck his hands into the pockets of

his expensive slacks, and sauntered toward the fueling area

where Tiger Santos had killed three men and injured a fourth

two days before.

THE MAYAN CONNECI'ION

39


39

A man with grease to his elbows, a dead cigar butt in his

mouth, and critical look in his eyes glanced up at Carter.

' 'Who're you?" He pulled a wrench from the underbelly

of a light transport. "FBI? Let's see the badge. "

Carter grinned.

"You win," he said. 'Guess I can't fool you."

He showed the mechanic the badge. The man squinted and

grunted.

w Only the FBI can afford clothes like yours," the

mechanic said, pleased with himself. "If it's about that crazy

guy night before last, I wasn't here. Edie was. "

The rnechanic his head at a young woman in

coveralls sitting crosslegged beside a fuel pump, reading a

thick

Carter walked across the tarmac. In the distance, jets

taxied into the night, and airport buses and tucks made

rounds, carefully stopping at nmway intersections. 'Ihe fuel-

ing area was bright with light, and only the faint odor of gas

indicated the giant lake of gallons available there.

As Carter approached, the girl looked up, then stood, She

was thin, flatchested, with curiosity pennanently imprinted

on her angular face.

"I understand you saw the murders," Carter said as he

siopped beside her.

"l did," she admitted. ' 'Why do you want to know?"

C CIA," Carter said. g Tracking the pilot. He was in an

incident in Paris. "

would be right," said. "The CIA does only

intemational investigations. Do you have identification?"

She watched Carter, interested but still appraising.

Carter held up the open wallet with the badge.

'*Your agent's number and CIA aren't on it," she said,

peering closely at it and then at him.

c That's because of the agency's need for secrecy," he

said easily.

He closed the wallet. She didn't protest.

40


40

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

' 'Not even Washington, D.C., is on it," she said.

'With the CIA, it 's the country. United States of America.

You saw that. "

'Vlhat's right, " she said, brightening. "What do you want

to know?"

"Were you talking with the attendant who was killed?"

' 'I was mopping up, ' ' Edie said, clasping the book against

her chest. "Jack and Billy were laughing about the pilot. "

She was thin but soft. Older than she looked. Probably

twenty-five or twenty-six. She cradled the heavy hardcover

novel in her arrns and looked off across the tannac as if it

were the sea. In an earlier generation she would have affected

glasses to warn people she had a brain that liked to consider

life.

' 'Watching," she said. s 'I didn't think the tX)ys were

funny, but no one's asked me that. All the police wanted to

know was whether the pilot shot Billy and the others like Jack

said. "

"But you saw something else. "

She brought her gaze back to Caner.

'How did you know? " she asked, her eyes big and round.

Carter shrugged and smiled.

"I'm not really surprised," she decided. "You would

know. You're different, too." She watched him as she

talked. ' 'Two men. I wouldn't have noticed anything except

they were dressed too dark and they moved too fast. They had

black sweaters and pants on, and they mn to the jet without

lcx)king around—like they 'd done their looking before they

ran. You know what I mean?"

"l understand. "

She ncxlded.

s 'I don 't know who they were, " she wenton. "At the end,

oncof them stumbled and fell. The other helped him up. I

only saw their faces for a moment, then they got into the

plane. And then the shooting started. "

She was a woman not easily understocxi or appreciated by

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

41


41

the world. She lived alone inside herself, happy except for

the occasional loneliness that came when she remembered

that she had no one to share her dreams with. She looked at

Caner as if she'd found a soulmate.

'Vlhis is important," he told her gently. "What did they

look like?"

"South Americans, I think, " she said without hesitation.

' 'Or Mexicans. They had that Indian look to them. But ninety

percent of the people down there have Indian in them,

so I'm not sure that's important. Does it help?" She wanted

to help, her eyes said, to help him.

"It helps a lot," he said.

'Then you'd better leave. "

He heard the distant sounds of confusion and the gathering

of a mass of people.

"Harry's over there asking Ron questions," Edie said,

pointing back at the mechanic who had directed Carter to the

fueling area. "Harry 's in charge ofsecurity tonight. He looks

pretty mad. "

Harry was the security guard Carter had talked with in the

terminal. Harry listened to the mechanic Ron, then nodded

and glanced at Carter, His heavy face was growing ruddy

with an old rage recently refueled.

Your CIA badge is fake, " Edie said. "Butl don'tcare. I

know you couldn't do anything bad. "

Carter grinned.

Cffhanks," he said. "I try."

He kissed the cheek that smelled faintly of Ivory soap and

slipped into the shadows beside her. There was only one

explanation for Hany's Security had found the

jet with the miniguns, and Harry had connected the jet to the

stranger from the FAA asking questions.

Caner slid along the fueling area's shadows, watching the

security chief march to Edie. She talked to him, her fingertips

stroking the cheek were Carter had kissed her. Her eyes were

dreamy, and a small smile curled her lips.

Unifomed airport police and plainclothes guards emerged

42


42

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

on the tarmac from different enfry points. Some effort had

been put into organizing them.

Caner moved through the shadows while the security force

spread out. Harry shouted at some of them, gestunng that

they go in various directions.

Carter circled silently until he came to the end of the

shadow of a long building. Across from him was a wide-open

space of lighted tarmac. Harry stood in the center. Beyond

the former hqxkey star were more shadows that would lead

Carter back to the Westwind jet.

Harry surveyed the searching men, hands on his barrel

hips. He was an obstacle on flat feet.

An airport policeman walked by Carter, so close that

could smell garlic from the man's Italian dinner. *Ihe

gun he wore in the holster at his side glowed black and lethal.

Carter backed softly into the densest part of the shadow, flat

against the building, silent and still.

lhe man passed, the garlic trailing him like a dog.

Carter watched all the men, waiting for the moment when

their eyes were busy elsewhere, their backs turned.

When that split second came, he dashed soundlessly with

the speed of an ante101E He was the premier Killmaster, with

the accomplished skills and knowledge diat all men are

capable of but few are willing to achieve. He had the extraor-

dinary drive to set himself above all others.

Carter slapped a hand over Harry's mouth.

He grabbed his arm and dragged the former athlete into the

next path of shadows. The guard struggled, smart enough to

use his sagging heaviness as a weapon.

He threw himself back against Carter.

Carter used his legs as springs and pushed Harry against

the rough wall.

s 'I don't have a gun, " Carter hissed. "And I'm not going

to kill you or anyone here. "

Harry's eyes were wild with fury. His breathing was la-

bor«i with frustration. The aroma of Sen-Sen hung like a

cloud around his head.

THE MAYAN CONNECI*ION

43


43

"If I let you go, will you shc»t?" Carter rasrrd.

Hany growled deep in his throat. Then he ripped an arm

loose and violently bashed Carter's chest.

"Sorry, Harry, " Carter said, breathing hard. "You blew

it. "

He slammed a fist into Harry's double chin. Harry 's head

snapped back against the wall. The limp body slid down like

melting wax to the tarmac. Licorice smells drifted up.

Carter looked around.

The guards were still busy carrying out Harry's orders. If

Harry had been more rational and less emotional, he'd be

back out on the tarmac now, diverting his men so Caner

could slip back to the jet and get on with his mission.

Caner sighed and moved stealthily through the shadows.

Away from the fueling area, the smell of gasoline and grease

grew stronger. Water dripped from an outside faucet. Oily

rags were piled in a plastic bucket ready to discarded.

Carter moved on. lhe buildings were a series of squares and

rectangles with occasional splotches of light. Only a few

security men had investigated this far. Those few stepped

into the shadows and quickly out again; they had too much

territory to cover.

At last Carter stopped at the edge of another building.

Ahead was Carter's Westwind jet—guarded by three

armed airport police.

Nick Carter walked into the open space toward the three

young policemen. They were doing their jobs, loyal and

brave Americans, and Carter was proud ofthem. But because

of AXE 's need for secrecy, he couldn 't tell them who he was.

And if he didn't, they might, in the line of duty, kill him.

"Halt!" one of them cried out.

"AII right, men, " Caner said cheerfully as he continued

walking. "Who knows karate here0"

*Ihe three youthful police leveled their rifles at him.

' 'Who are you?" asked one.

44


44

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

' 'Identification! " another barked.

"I'm impressed," Carter said, pleased. "But it's impor-

tant to know martial arts, too. You might run into someone

like me. "

Carter broke into a run.

Ihe policemen's fingers were on their triggers.

Carter ran zigzags.

"Pay attention!" he shouted.

The young officers looked at one another, puzzled, not

willing to shoot yet, worried about the unarmed man running

crazily on the tarrnac.

Their fingers flexed.

"Feet! " Carter shouted.

"What?"

He leaped and sliced a foot into one young man's chin,

knocking him flat and unconscious.

The other two pulled out their billy clubs.

"Hands! " Carter yelled.

He spun and chopped the flat of his hand into the second

man's neck.

lhe policeman's eyes rolled up and he pitched over, also

out cold.

Carter swung back his elbow in a lethal punch that only

grazed the chin of the last man.

Carter tumed, surprised.

The young man had ducked. Now he crouched, his eyes

warily on Carter. He crab walked backward to the jet's door.

Still protecting, following orders.

"You learn fast, ' ' Cartercomplimented him. ' 'You've got

stamina and gocxi reflexes. "

The policeman pointed his rifle at Carter.

' This time I'll shoot!" he warned.

Carter nodded. He knew the guard would.

And he turned as if to walk away,

s 'Be sure to get some advanced karate lessons," Carter

advised.

THE MAYAN CONNECTION

45


45

Then he lunged back toward the young man in a somersault

rolled forward.

' 'Head! " Carter shouted.

Shots spit into the tarmac.

Caner came up and glimpsed the surprised eyes of the

oung policeman.

*Ihen he butted headfirst into a hard stomach. He stood up

let the immobilized youth drop, the wind knocked out of

Carter pressed his fingers against the boy's neck artery,

topping the to the brain just long enough for uncon-

sciousness to set in. He'd sleep for awhile.

Once the boy was out, Carter stood up and looked around

t the open space in front of the jet. No one was near. His

illmaster's luck had held. Still, he knew that luck wasjust a

fantasy. He made his own circumstances. He had knocked

t all three young men in less than two minutes. He hoped it

ad been a lesson for them: get more training or find a

ifferent line of work.

He dragged them one by oneaway from the jet, climbed in,

started the engines. He knew what his next stop was.


SEVEN

The Westwind rose in fre air like a giant bird, circled over

Philadelphia, and flew southwest above the twinkling night-

time earth. When Carter was on course, he picked up the

microphone and said the cc:xle words into the jet 's radio that

would connect him to Hawk.

' 'I I didn't wake you, sir," Carter said, listening

long-distance to the sudden explosion of air that told him

Hawk had just lit another cigar.

' 'Not this time," Hawk's voice said gnffy.

'I 'II be quick. " Carter told Hawk of the happenings at the

hiladelphia airport.

'Good work, N3. More Indian faces, eh?"

' 'Keeps reminding me of Itzamnå, the Mayan god.

' 'I'll mn a check on other airports—see if anyone else had

trouble night before last," Hawk said, puffing in the dis-

tance. "Where are you off to now0"

"New Mexico. "

hunting!"

Duane Michaels's abandoned Gulfstream turtx)jet sat

squashed and brittle on the New Mexico desert. Scattered

sage and junipers surrounded it on the rough sand a hundred

miles north of Santa Fe, not far from the Ojo Caliente River

where Tiger Santos—-or another pilot—had landed and left

the jet.

48

47


48

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

Already vandals had pulled out the seven passenger seats,

ripped wiring in the cockpit, stolen the controls, and un-

screwed nuts and bolts to take offthe turbojet 's soft tires. One

tire lay on its side, waiting to be picked up whenever the

vandals returned.

Carter went back to his Westwind jet for Wilhelmina. He

already carried Pierre and Hugo, and now he felt complete.

Desert vandals could be teenagers looking for thHlls, old

women looking for food, or scavengers with guns, a need for

money, and an absence of morals. This vandalism looked

like scavengers.

Wilhelmina securely holstered under his arm, Carter

walked back to the jet. Eventually Michaels's Gulfstream

would be completely stripped, its carcass left to a long future

with little decay and less interest on the lonely desert.

He searched through the litter inside the jet. The air was

dry and stuffy with the faint odor of dust brought in by the

boots of earlier searchers. Tom wall paneling, chair stuffing,

magazines, and Albany restaurant bills for Michaels 's busi-

ness associates littered the floor. Carter sifted through the

mess, impressed that the FAA had discovered the map frag-

ment of southem Mexico amid the rubble.

He found nothing of interest on the floor and worked his

way back along the walls to the cockpit. He ran his hands

over the instrument panel, checked inside the holes where

wiring and expensive navigational devices had been

out, and finally squatted on the debris to survey the chaos—

and think.

In the distance he heard the pickup. He walked outside,

Wilhelmina ready at his side, into the ancient land of the

Anasazi Indians. Far off, the s}Eeding pickup hurled clouds

of yellow and brown sand into the desert air. As it ap-

proached, Carter saw four modem cowboys waving mttles

of tequila and riding the pickup as if it were a bucking bronco

and each were a rodeo star.

lhe pickup tore across the gray and brown desert, ripping

up the rock and cobble borders that the Anasazi had built by

MAYAN CONNECTION

49


49

hand centuries ago into troughs to catch the desert's rare

rainwater. Five hundred years ago, the Anasazi had made the

arid wilderness bloom with corn, squash, trans, and berries.

The Indians had carved pueblos with thousands of rcx)tns into

the faces of sheer cliffs. They developed astronomy and

highly artistic forns ofpottery, and spread their culture over

New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Colorado. In those days,

more people lived in some parts of southwestem Colorado

than did now.

Carter reflected on this as he watched the whcxving cow-

boys approach in the sand-eating, trough-destmying pickup.

Two sat in the cab, and two were in the truck in back. The

quartet guzzled their tequila and shouted their laughter into

the pristine desert air. They had money to bum, and they

wanted more. These four weren't really cowboys—people

whose spirits were nurtured by land and animals—but vul-

tures waiting for death to feed on. mee rifles and a shotgun

stuck out at different angles from the pickup, casually

threatening any who might cross them. They 'd come back to

Michaels's jet to see what else they could steal to sell.

When they noticed Carter's jet, they whooped with drunk-

en delight. 'Iheir attention riveted, they sped up to the new

prey, stopped in a hail of sand and gravel, and leaped out

carrying their guns. Carter retreated under the wing of the

Gulfstream to observe.

"Another one! " cried a short stocky man. He threw his

Stetson to ground and jumped up and down.

"Hot "

"All ours!" shouted a second.

The second man was of medium height and weight, his

grimy red bandanna knotted so tightly around his throat that it

bobbed with his Adam's apple.

yelled a third. S'Maybe there'll be this

time!"

Thc third had long sandy hair pulled back untidily with a

rubber band. Dirt stuck to the hair, a glaze of brown grease.

He threw his arm across the shoulders of the second man, and

50


50

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

they gazed with anticipation at Carter's jet.

While the first man danced in the sand around his Stetson,

the fourth man stood silent and weaving , holding a shotgun in

one hand and a half-full bottle of tequila in the other. He

lcx)ked at the jct much as a cannibal does at an unexpected

visitor during a famine.

"Want to sell yours?" Carter asked, stepping away fmm

the Gulfstream. Greed had worked with Michaels; it should

work with these clowns. unfortunately, was reliable.

"Wh0's that?"

ne four men spun around, their eyes narrowed. The

quartet were all in their late twenties and early thirties, still

strapping with the remains of youthful muscle. But they were

old enough to have been around, their cagey faces said, and

experience was a painful teacher.

Caner patted the Gulfstream 's wing.

' 'Know it 's not much, ' ' Carter went on casually about the

wreckage, "but I'm in the business of refurbishing jets for

executives. This one would sure look once it was fixed

up again. "

The men glanced at one another.

"How much're you offerin'?" the fourth man said, the

tequila and shotgun dangling at his side. The oldest, he

looked suspiciously at Carter's Luger.

"It's worth a lot!" the one with the bandanna assured

Carter.

"Damn right!" said the one with the ponytail.

Now that Carter had their attention, he had to offer enough

to get what he wanted.

"How does twenty thousand sound?" Catter suggested.

"Dollars?" The youngest man scooped up his Stetson

from the ground, whirled it around his hand, tlrn plopB:d it

on his head. ' 'We're rich!"

"Now wait a minute," the oldest one said. ' 'What's the

"No catch. Straight deal," Carter went on, cradling the

THE MAYAN CONNECI'ION

51


51

Luger across his arm. ' 'Just let me see the ownership pa-

pers. "

*Ihe four men 's faces drooped with unhappiness. Even the

suspicious face of the oldest man was deeply disappointed.

'Ihe jet wasn •t theirs to begin with, but with amazing speed

they had forgotten that little detail. The amount of

incentive can make any desire seem like an accomplished

fact.

"Too bad, " Caner said sympathetically. "Guess I'd bet-

ter look for the salvagers then. "

' 'Salvagers?" the oldest one said, his eyes growing wily

with

"Sure. You know the law of salvaging," Carter said,

thinking fast as he made up a mle to fit the situation. "If the

owner abandons something for three days on land,

whoever finds it first and takes possession, owns it. "

ne men were saved.

'"Ihat's us!" yelled one.

' 'We were here first!" shouted another.

"Can you prove that?" Carter asked, his turn now to be

suspicious. "Twenty thousand's a lot of money."

Suspicion was something they understocxi.

' 'We saw each other! ' ' theyoungest man said. vmat's our

proof! "

"Sorry," Carter said, shaking his head. "l don't know

"We're the Shews," the oldest man said, pushing the

youngest aside. ' 'I'm Dan Shew and these here are my

brothers. " He waved the hand with the tequila bottle in an arc

to include the others. He was their leader, m, and intended

to keep the position. S 'Come over to visit now and again. "

"You stripped this jet," Caner said.

"Salvaged," Dan Shew corrected. He Smiled, showing

broken teeth and some intelligence. "It was just lying

around. Not gocxi for much otherwise. "

" 'Danny tried to start it up, ' ' the brother with the bandanna

said proudly.

52


52

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

' 'We work around here," Dan Shew continued methodi-

cally. He dealt with one issue at a time. "Fences, hauling,

like that. We decided to work on the plane, too. "

'Tell him how you tried to make it go, Dan. Go on! Tell

him!" The brother with the bandanna ncxided encourage-

ment.

"Shut up, Ronnie," Dan said without looking at him.

"Did you see the pilot when you got here?' ' Carter asked.

g 'I was the only one that saw him," Dan Shew said. € 'I

came alone the first time. And don't you try to tell him any

different! " Dan Shew glared at his brothers. 'Ihey dropped

their gazes guiltily. ' Vlhat's better," he told them. "It was a

Mex," he said to Carter. "A pretty Mex in dime-store

clothes. You know, all dressed up?"

"A shiny black jumpsuit?" Carter suggested.

C'Yeah. That's it."

"What did you do when you got here?" Caner asked the

oldest brother.

"Nothing, " Dan Shew said and grinned. "Never had no

plane land here before. I just watched. The Mex gets out and

stands by the plane for a while. Pretty a Navy jet lands

t(X). lhe Mex talks to the pilot, and they have some kind of

argument. Then they both get into the plane it roars off. ' '

*United States Navy?" Caner asked.

"Sure. What I said. "

' Vlhey talk to you?"

"Naw. It was like I wasn't even here. They were arguing

about where to go. *Ihe Mex wants to go to Chiapas. •nie

pilot's not sure, says he's got to hit San Antone first. Y'

"A U.S. Navy pilot?"

Dan Shew considered.

"Guess not, " he said at last. "Another Mex, and he's got

jeans and a T-shirt on. None of the regular pilot stuff "

' 'So Tiger Santos got out," Caner mused thoughtfully.

"And with a Navy jet. "

"You know, " Dan Shew went on, "I didn't steal nothin'

Went on home, told the boys all atY)ut it, Next day I come

MAYAN CONNECITON

53


53

back, and there's soldiers in uniforms all over the place.

Didn 't come back again until that afternoon. 'Illen everybody

was gone, just me and my brothers here. Us and the plane.

All I wanted to do was fly it. " Dan Shew drank from his

bottle and staggered. Two of the brothers promxxi him up.

' *fianks." Carter walked past them, toward his West-

wind.

"What about our twenty grand0"

'II mail it to you, " Carter said, "in care of the plane you

wrecked. ' '

"Salvaged! " the brothers chorused.

"Send it to the El Rito post office!" the youngest brother

decided.

Caner got into the Westwind.

'Well , so we took a few things from the plane, sure! ' ' Dan

Shew called out. "Might as well. We needed the money for

important stuff.

Caner closed the door From the cockpit, he watched the

brothers and started the motors. neir faces were slack with

hungry stupidity. He taxied the Westwind across the New

Mexico desert, junilxrs and sage catching at the plane's

wheels and wings, then lifted off.


552