# Death Hand Play33333

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DEATH HAND PLAY

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"What does all this mean to you, Rojas?" Carter snapped

"I'm a professional gambler. This is how I make my living

You're rich. What difference does it make to you? Unless

..." Carter let it trail off. But he was watching Rojas's eyes

very carefully. At that last word, the man flinched. Carter

had hit a nerve.

"Unless what, Mr. Carter?'' Rojas asked softly.

"Unless you aren't so rich. Unless you're in need of some

untraceable cash for some reason."

Rojas came very close to Carter. He had a slight odor of

cinnamon. His breathing was rapid, and his fists were

clenched.

"Get away from me, Carter. Or, as I said, you will most

certainly get hurt."

Carter shrugged. Rojas turned and left the room. One of

the bodyguards opened the main doors out to the corridor,

and the others stepped aside.

Slowly Carter got off his barstool. This was not what he

had expected at all. It made him nervous. Rojas had not held

him, had not demanded his money be returned, nor had any-

thing been said about Carmella.

Carter reached back for his drink, but the goon next to him

batted his hand away. "Get out of here before we decide to

take you apart."

Carter looked up at him, then nodded and headed for the

door. It wouldn't take much, he figured, to set these guys off.

But that would come later, he decided. The odds were a bit

lopsided at the moment.

There had not been an elevator operator on the way up.

There was one now, however. Carter knew that something

would be happening tonight. If any investigation by the local

authorities were to be conducted, the elevator operator would

swear that he brought the American gentleman down from

Rojas's floor in one piece.

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The elevator lurched to a halt halfway down to Carter's

floor. The operator, an older man, was profusely apologetic.

He got on the house phone, and within five minutes they were

moving again.

This was a setup. Every nerve in Carter's body knew it was

a setup. Yet he could not just turn and walk away from it. He

was going to have to continue to beat Rojas at his own game.

He got off the elevator at his floor, and the car continued

down.

The door to his suite was slightly ajar. He approached

cautiously and shoved the door the rest of the way open with

the toe of his shoe. The suite was lit up. Even from the

doorway, Carter could see that the place had been ransacked.

He started to bend down for his knife, when the cool barrel

of a gun touched the back of his head

"I would like to blow your brains all over the floor, but

that would make such a mess,

" someone said.

Carter carefully straightened up and stepped inside his

suite. Three of Rojas's men were there.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Carter asked.

'There's no money here beyond a few thousand marks,"

one of them said in Portuguese.

"I told you—it would be in the hotel safe, " the one behind

Carter snapped.

"But I did find this," the third one said, holding up

Carter's gas bomb, his thumb on the tiny triggering stud.

'I suggest you put that down, or you'll end up killing us

all, " Carter said in perfect Brazilian Portuguese.

The one holding Pierre laughed and held the bomb up.

Carter shrank back, feigning fear. "Jesus Christ, " he swore.

The goon holding the bomb suddenly wasn't so sure of

himself. "What is this thing?" he asked

"It's a bomb, you stupid bastard, " Carter shouted.

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The goon laughed a little. 'It isn't so big. Maybe just a

firecracker?"

"Play with the trigger much longer and you'll find out just

what kind of a firecracker it is."

"Put the thing down, Alejo," the goon behind Carter

ordered.

The bodyguard did as he was told, and Carter was prodded

across the room, where he was forced to sit down at the desk.

*There is a lot of money downstairs in the hotel safe that is

under your control, senhor. I want it."

"For Rojas, " Carter said, mispronouncing the name.

"I don't know any Rojas, " the goon said, pronouncing the

name correctly.

Carter laughed. The bodyguard lashed out, the barrel of his

big pistol catching Carter in the forehead, just above his

hairline.

The other bodyguard was right there, his .357 pressed

against Carter's temple.

A trickle of blood ran down Carter's forehead

"This is most serious, senhor. There is no humor in the

situation. We wish to have that money. All of it."

"Sure. " Carter said, his blood simmering. "Just let me

go, and I'Il pop downstairs and get it in a big paper bag for

you, you dumb son of a bitch."

The pistol whipped around a second time, this time the

gunsight opening a long gash across the side of Carter's head,

but again it was above the hairline so that no mark would be

visible.

Carter gripped the arms of the chair so hard that the wood

cracked. Blood streamed down the side of his head, which

felt as if it were exploding, and his vision blurred for a few

moments before it finally cleared.

One of the other goons had laid something on the table. He

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shoved Carter around to the desk.

'This is a draft on your account downstairs. It is in the

amount of ten million marks. We know you have that

much. "

'You want me to sign this ridiculous piece of paper?"

The big man raised his heavy pistol to strike out again. But

Carter looked up and snapped, "If you hit me with that again,

buddy, you'd better kill me, because I will surely cut off your

cajones and stuff them down your throat so that you will

choke to death."

The goon hesitated, the pistol over his head. Carter stared

at him for a long time, then turned away.

'You'd better find out from your boss just how far you can

go, " he said calmly. His head was splitting.

'You will sign this!" one of the men ordered.

"No," Carter said, "I will not sign this. Nor would you

want me to."

Again a .357 was pressed against his temple. The hammer

was cocked, the sound very loud so close to his ear.

"It is

time to finish with this little game, senhor, " the goon said

"Sign the draft or you will die."

"Fuck you," Carter said. He knew he was playing an

exceedingly dangerous game, but he did not think Rojas had

ordered his people to kill him. Later Rojas probably would,

but not here in the hotel and not like this. Too many questions

would be raised. Too many fingers would most certainly be

pointed back at Rojas.

There had certainly been plenty of antagonism between the

two men. Gamblers in two casinos in two countries had seen

the instant bad blood between Carter and Rojas.

Such hard feelings could conceivably justify roughing up

Carter. But nothing could justify murder.

"What will we do?" one of them asked in Portuguese.

"Shut up, you silly bastard, and let me think!"


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The other one shoved the man holding the pistol against

Carter's head aside, and Carter looked up in time to see a

right hook coming at his face.

He just managed to pull his head to the left and fall back

with the biow, yet he was knocked backward with the force of

the punch.

Feigning grogginess, Carter just lay where he fell until the

one who had hit him bent down over him. Carter reached up

and grabbed the man by the throat, his powerful fingers

crushing the goon's windpipe while he wrapped his legs

around the man's back, holding him in place.

"Alejo! What is it?" one of the others shouted.

A line of spittle dribbled from the man's mouth as his

tongue came out, and his eyes finally rolled up into his head.

Carter let go as one of the other men grabbed his compan-

ion and pulled the body aside. In that moment Carter had

slipped out his stiletto, and he rose up like an angry bear from

its den, burying Hugo's blade to its haft in the man's chest,

then yanking the blade to the left between two ribs with every

ounce of his strength.

A gush of blood spurted from the man's chest as Carter

heaved him upward toward the final bodyguard, who had

drawn his gun. The man fired once, hitting the dead body of

his partner, as Carter kicked out and knocked him off his feet.

"Son of a bitch, " the thug swore.

Carter was on him, breaking his arm as his gun hand came

up, the bone snapping with an audible crack.

Just as the bodyguard was about to scream with pain and

fear, Carter reached up and covered his nose and mouth with

one hand. Using his other hand as a fulcrum, he pushed

backward.

The goon's legs bucked, his entire body heaved, and he

voided in his trousers the moment his neck broke, a powerful

stench filling the air.

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Carter rolled aside, his stomach churning, and he got.

shakily to his feet. His vision kept going out of focus, and he

was covered with blood, his own as well as from the gorilla in

whose chest Hugo's blade was still lodged.

The bodyguard with the broken neck was still kicking and

squirming. Finally he stopped, his entire body stiff.

For a minute or two, Carter just leaned back against the

edge of the couch, catching his breath and wiping the blood

from his eyes.

Carter had known this was coming, so he was not sur-

prised. On the contrary, he was angry.

'Push Rojas, ' his instructions read. Push the man to the

limit. He'll break.

Carter shoved himself away from the couch, then stumbled

to the door and locked it, making sure the chain was in place.

Then he went into his bathroom and took a long, hot shower,

followed by an icy cold spray, the bleeding from his scalp

wounds finally slowing down. But his vision remained the

same, going in and out of focus at the odd moment.

He dried himself, got dressed in clean clothing, and felt

much better when he went back out into the carnage of his

sitting room.

The entire suite stank of death. Carter pulled the stiletto out

of the man's chest, cleaned it off in the bathroom, then

strapped it onto his right forearm beneath his shirt sleeve in its

chamois sheath. He donned his gas bomb, and in his bed-

room, hung over a chair, was his Luger in its shoulder

holster. They had brought it back.

As he strapped on Wilhelmina's reassuring bulk, he under-

stood that once he had signed the draft, they had meant to kill

him. Otherwise they would not have brought his gun back to

him.

Operations wanted Rojas stopped. But more importantly

they wanted to know what the man was up to. Who he was

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working for. What kind of mischief he would inflict on the

Caribbean basin.

At this moment, however, Carter felt he didn't give a damn

what his instructions were. Rojas had struck out at him. The

arrogant bastard had been so self-assured that he had struck

right here in the very hotel in which he was staying. Rojas felt

he was above the law and even above retribution.

Once again in the sitting room, Carter telephoned Rojas's

suite. The phone rang a half-dozen times before Carter got

the hotel operator on the line.

"I'm trying to reach Senhor Rojas, " he said, 'but there is

no answer."

'Herr Rojas and his party checked out just a few minutes

ago, mein Herr."

"Checked out?" Carter repeated dumbly.

"Ja, mein Herr. Would you care to forward a message?"

"What hotel is he going to?"

'The Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. Do you wish to

forward a message?"

"No, that's not necessary, " Carter said, and he hung up.

He lit a cigarette, then poured a drink from the sideboard

Rojas had evidently come back from the casino, had checked

out, and then just before he left had brought Carter up to his

penthouse suite for their little tête-à-tête.

Carter had an almost overwhelming urge to race out of his

suite, commandeer a car, and hurry out to the airport to

intercept the bastard

He looked around the sitting room. All hell would break

loose unless this mess was cleaned up. If the hotel staff came

in and discovered what had gone on here, the German au-

thorities would arrest him, and then there'd be a lot of

difficult explanations that would almost certainly tip Rojas

off that Carter was much more than a lucky, tough gambler.

Quickly he went through the three dead men's pockets, but

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he came up with nothing more than he had expected: the usual

innocuous IDs, a few marks in loose change, some odds and

ends.

Someone knocked at the door just as he was finishing.

Carter spun around, his Luger in his hand, a shell in the

firing chamber almost before he realized what he had done.

He hurried across the room to the door and put his ear to the

wood.

It was very quiet for a long time, until whoever it was

outside decided to knock again. There was no peephole in the

door.

"Nick? It is Carmella."

Carter opened the door for her, his Luger at the ready. She

was alone, and she appeared to be very frightened.

He pulled her inside. "What are you doing here?" he

demanded roughly.

Her eyes went wide as she surveyed the shambles and

finally saw the three dead men. Her hands went to her mouth.

"Mãe do Deus," she whispered.

"What are you doing back here?" Carter asked again.

"Rojas has checked out, I'm told. "

Carmella looked up at him. "Yes, he is on the way to the

airport. We are going to Monte Carlo."

"So what are you doing here?"

She looked at the dead men. "Juan said I was to ride back

with... Alejo and his people. He said I was to come down

here first, though, and explain to you that we could not see

each other again."

"The sadistic bastard, " Carter said half under his breath.

Rojas had meant for Carmella to come down here and see his

body. Her punishment for having so enjoyed her infidelity.


NINE

"I don't know what to do, " Carmella said. She refused to

move away from the doorway and step into the suite.

"You set this up, so you shouldn't be so squeamish,"

Carter snapped. He was having trouble figuring out just how

he felt about her.

She looked up at him with her dark, liquid eyes. "Juan

made me do it. He would have killed me. " She looked again

at the three dead men. "But now. ..I don't know what to

do, or where to go."

Carter shook his head. 'Take a cab out to the airport. If

you don't get there in time to catch your boss, then take the

next commercial flight out."

"But what shall I tell him?'

•Tell him that when you came here to my room, it was

empty. You didn't see me or the other three."

"What will you do with ...?"

"I'll have it taken care of. There is someone here in this

hotel who owes me a favor."

Carmella was shivering.

She came into Carter's arms.

"Hold me, please, " she said in a very small voice.

Carter held her. She was a very complicated woman. Lost,

he suspected, in Rojas's spell of power. Somehow she had

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fallen into his circle, and now it was too late for her to

extricate herself. She knew it, and it frightened her.

She was crying. When they parted, Carter kissed her.

"We will not be seeing each other again ..." she

started, but then her eyes widened. She shook her head in

disbelief. She had read something in Carter's eyes. "You are

planning on coming to Monte Carlo?"

"Yes."

"That is insanity! He will kill you for sure!"

"I don't think so. Or at least it will not be as easy as he first

suspected."

"You mean to gamble with him?"

"I mean to run him into the ground."

Carmella backed away, reaching out for the door handle.

'You are crazy. You will be a dead man.

Carter smiled. 'But I will see you in Monte Carlo."

"Crazy, " she said again. She pulled open the door and

hurried down the corridor without looking back.

Carter watched until she took the elevator down, then he

closed and locked the door, and telephoned his contact man

for Germany in Berlin. Rojas was gone, and as far as he was

concerned, Carter no longer posed a threat. So it wasn't

likely he still had anyone on the hotel staff watching. There

would be no need for it.

"Amalgamated Press," a singsong

female voice

answered

"'This is Carter. Patch me over to the chief of station."

'Yes, sir, " the woman said. Within a few seconds the

connection was made. Considering the hour, Carter figured

the man was at home.

"Yes," a sleepy voice answered.

"Do you know where I am?"

'Yes." The voice was suddenly wide awake.

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“I am leaving soon. But first there is a housekeeping chore that I will need help with. Here in my room.”


“How many of them?” the chief of station asked. He understood exactly what Carter was saying. This had happened before.


“Three. Have you someone here who can be trusted?”


“Yes. It will be perhaps a half hour. You will wait there?”


“Yes.”


The connection was broken, and Carter hung up the telephone. Peter Bream was the man’s name. Carter had known him briefly during the man’s Washington stint. He was German, and he was very good at his job, very precise.


It took almost an hour for the two men Bream had called to show up. While he waited, Carter packed his bags, stowing his weapons in the cassette recorder. He telephoned the desk and found out that the next plane to Nice would not be until tomorrow morning, but he could make the train, which would place him in Monte Carlo by morning.


He ordered a cab to get him to the train station in Strasbourg and asked the desk to make his reservations at the Hôtel de Paris. He also asked that his funds be transferred to the hotel.


He put his bags out in the corridor for the bellmen to take downstairs.


Five minutes later Bream’s two men showed up. Carter let them in. They were dressed in evening clothes so they would attract no attention. They were both very large, and looked a lot like Rojas’s goons.


“You are checking out now?” one of them asked. The other was poking around the room, surveying the damage.


“My bags are already downstairs. A cab is waiting. I’m taking the night train to Nice.”


“From Strasbourg?”


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Carter nodded. "Will you have any trouble here, with

this?"

"None at all, sir, " the other man said. "Have a good

trip."

"It's essential that this be handled quietly."

"Of course," one of them said.

Bream was sharp; he would not have sent amateurs. They

would handle this with no problem. By the time the cham-

bermaid came in the morning, the room would look as if

nothing had happened.

Downstairs, Carter settled his bill, then signed the draft

order so that his funds, which amounted to something over

ten million marks, would be transferred.

There was some sort of a mix-up with the draft order, so it

took nearly ten minutes before it was actually completed.

As he was leaving the desk to go outside to his waiting cab,

Carter just caught a glimpse of two men dressed in hotel

maintenance uniforms stepping off an elevator. They were

pushing a large laundry cart. One of them glanced toward

Carter. He was one of Bream's people.

Carter's step was much lighter as he hurried outside and

climbed into the back seat of his cab. If word of what

happened had gotten back to Rojas, it would make things that

much more difficult in Monte Carlo. As far as Rojas was

concerned, Carter was still nothing more than a very good

gambler out for some kind of dangerous sport. If, however,

the Brazilian found out that Carter had had help here, he

would know that something bigger was afoot. Presumably he

would go to ground at that point, cancelling Carter's mission.

It was a delicate situation.

Carter made his train with a half hour to spare. As soon as

he was alone in his private compartment, he retrieved his

weapons from their hiding place in the recorder, then latched

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the door, shut out the light, and went to bed.

Monte Carlo would be difficult, he figured. He'd need to

be at his best.

As he fell asleep, however, he kept seeing the two men to

whom Rojas handed over the attaché case full of money in the

Château Le Favre. They were so familiar to him . . . not

their faces, but their types. He had given their descriptions to

Lowenstein at the U.S. embassy, and the artist had come up

with reasonable likenesses. Yet something kept nagging at

the back of Carter's consciousness concerning them. Some-

thing he felt he should have known.

It was a few minutes before eight on a brilliantly sunny

morning when Carter got off the train at Nice and had his bags

piled in the rear of a rented Jaguar sedan.

He took his time driving up the El to Monaco, enjoying the

magnificent scenery and contemplating his next moves

against Rojas.

The South American would be surprised when Carter

showed up. Hopefully he'd be off-balance enough to make

some blunder that would reveal his plans, or at least give

some indication as to what he was up to.

If the man was planning something for the Caribbean, he

would not be doing it alone. He'd have to have help.

The only thing Carter could figure was that Rojas was

making a lot of noise on the gambling circuit as a cover for his

real activities. He evidently was meeting with his associates.

One fact did not fit that neat assessment, however, and it

bothered Carter. Why had Rojas handed over money to the

two men outside London?

He was paying them off. But for what? To do what?

Merely to help him cheat at the casinos? Carter doubted that,

although he had been certain that the young dealer at the

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Alhambra had been on Rojas 's payroll. He did not think the

pair at the estate outside Barnet were casino dealers. They

simply did not have the look. To Carter they looked more like

soldiers than anything else.

That did not fit either, he thought. If there was going to be

trouble in the Caribbean and soldiers were to be involved,

they'd most likely be Cuban troops, or perhaps even Soviet.

The two men at the Château Le Favre were neither.

There was a lot of traffic along the Corniche Inférieure

when he drove into the city, and it took him a while to make it

around the Port de Fontvieille and the Port de Monaco over to

the hotel just diagonally across from the casino.

The doorman, resplendent in an ornate uniform, arranged

to have Carter's car parked and his bags brought up to his

suite.

Inside, Carter crossed to the front desk, and the hotel

manager himself came around and shook his hand.

'Welcome, Monsieur Carter, to the Hôtel de Paris. I hope

you had a pleasant journey from Baden-Baden."

"Tolerable, " Carter said languidly. "Have there been any

messages for me?"

'Non, monsieur. Do you wish to see your suite now?

We've prepared a light brunch for you.

"How very thoughtful, " Carter said. "But first I would

like to leave a message for one of your other guests."

"Of course."

'Tell Senhor Rojas that I have arrived and would be

delighted to meet him this evening for dinner at the casino. "

"Naturellement, " the manager said. Two bellmen came

into the lobby with Carter's bags, and Carter and the manager

followed them up to the suite on the fourth floor at the front

part of the hotel.

The rooms were huge, furnished with exquisite period

pieces and fine carpets. In the bedroom was a large canopied


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bed. The windows looked down on the casino and on the

Place du Casino with its palm trees and other Mediterranean

foliage.

"We hope this suite will prove satisfactory, monsieur, "

the manager said without a hint of obsequiousness. After all,

he was the manager of Monte Carlo's best hotel.

"It'll do," Carter said indifferently. He had been looking

out the window. He turned back and smiled. "It'll be just

fine. If you could telephone the casino and make my credit

arrangements .."

"It has already been done, monsieur.

The bellmen had unpacked Carter's bags, and two floor

maids had come in and were putting his clothes in the closets

and drawers, while a third man, probably an assistant man-

ager, was opening a bottle of champagne. It was Moët et

Chandon, and a good year.

He poured Carter a glass, and moments later two room

service waiters, each pushing a heavily laden cart, swept into

the room and set up the brunch table.

"Do you wish us to remain to serve you?" one of them

asked.

"No, that will not be necessary," Carter said. "I will

manage on my own, and then I will need to get some rest for

this evening." He turned to the manager.

"Please see to it

that I am not disturbed at least until early afternoon."

'Bien sûr, monsieur,

" the man said.

Within a couple of minutes the last of the service people

had finished and had left, and the manager followed them,

firmly closing the double doors.

Carter had arrived in Monte Carlo with a big splash. With

or without his message to Rojas, the South American would

get word that Carter was here. And apparently none the worse

for wear.

Rojas was arrogant enough, and felt sure enough of his

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position, that he would be intrigued to the point of accepting

Carter's dinner invitation, if for no other reason than curios-

ity.

The only unknown, in Carter's mind, was how Rojas

would be reacting to the news that the three goons sent to deal

with Carter were missing.

Bream's men were professionals, Carter figured, which

meant that absolutely no trace of the three would be found for

a very long time.

The two serving carts held an assortment of gourmet

dishes, each under its own silver lid, including eggs prepared

four different ways, a half-dozen kinds of meat and smoked

fish, caviar, a beautiful array of fruit and cheese and four

varieties of crêpes.

Carter sampled a few of the items, then fixed himself a

plate and brought it out onto the small terrace overlooking the

city and the Mediterranean beyond.

The opening shots had been fired in their battle, and Rojas

had not gone for his bolt hole. The next salvo would come

this evening at the casino.

At around two in the afternoon, Carter arose from a short

nap, got dressed in a casual shirt and sport jacket, and left his

room.

There was one message for him. It had come in that

morning at just a little before noon, according to the desk

clerk.

It was, as Carter had expected, from Rojas. But unex-

pectedly, it was a note inviting him aboard the yacht Prin-

cesse Xanadu, berthed off the central docks of the Quai

Albert 1er

The docks were a pleasant walk from his hotel, but a car

would call for Carter at six and would bring him down to the

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yacht, where they would have cocktails. Later they would

dine aboard the vessel, and if the mood struck them, Rojas

wrote that they would go up to the casino for the evening.

Carter looked up. The clerk had been studying him. "Par-

don me, but is there someone in the hotel who might be able

to provide me with information about a certain yacht in the

harbor?"

"Oui, monsieur. I believe I may be of some assistance,"

the dapper man replied.

"The Princesse Xanadu-what can you tell me about her?

It seems I've been invited aboard for dinner this evening."

"Ah, monsieur—-you are in for a special treat. "

"You know the vessel?''

"Mais oui, monsieur. She is a hundred-fifty-six-foot

Feadship, and this is her home port."

'Who owns her?"

"Two gentlemen from Marseille who had the sense to

make Monaco her home port."

"Marseille?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Businessmen, perhaps?"

The clerk shrugged. "One would assume so, monsieur.

But one would never ask."

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your help."

"Not at all, Monsieur Carter."

Carter turned abruptly, bumping into a young, very attrac-

tive woman who had been standing right behind him. A

bellman was just coming up with her bags. She was apparent-

ly just arriving at the hotel.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, ' Carter apologized, and he

stepped aside. There was something familiar about her. But

he couldn't place the face.

"It is you," she said, smiling. She was French.

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Carter looked at her, suddenly remembering. He too

smiled

•You do remember . . .?' she said, amusement in her

voIce.

'London. The Ritz. I came to your room by mistake."

"Yes." she said. She held out her hand. "1 am Andre

Mallier."

Nick Carter." Carter said. kissing her hand

She laughed. "It is only proper to kiss the hand of a

married woman. Did you know that, Monsieur Carter"?*

'You're not married?"

She laughed again. "Of course not. You?"

Carter shook his head. 'A strange conversation we are

having, n'est-ce pas?"

But we mes under strange circumstanves. " She glaned

at the desk clerk, who had been watching them. "You have

my reservation?" she asked.

"Mais oui, mademoiselle. " the clerk said.

She stepped to the desk and signed. Then she rumed to the

bellman. "Just take my hags up. I will do my own unpack-

ing."

"Oui. mademoiselle. " the bellman said

She tumed again to Carter. "And now, Monsieur Carter. 1

propose that you buy me a drink and tell me what brought you

to London and now here to Monte Carlo. "

"Only if you agree to have dinner with me this evening. "

"Aboand the Princesse Kanida?"•

'You were eavesdropping. "

"A terrible habit, 1 admit. But yes. I think 1 would inke to

have dinner with you this evening. although I do not know a

thing about you."

Nor 1 you, except that you eavesdrop and that you te

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She smiled, remembering. Carter took her arm, and they

went across the ornate lobby and into the grill room with its

magnificent view of the city and the harbor. They were given

a table by a window, and Carter ordered a bottle of cham-

pagne, then lit a cigarette. She took it from him, and he lit

another.

They didn't talk much until the champagne came. The

sommelier uncorked it, poured them both a glass, and with-

' drew

"To this chance meeting of two interesting people,"

André said, raising her glass.

Carter touched his glass to hers, and they both sipped the

champagne. It was excellent. "Tell me, mademoiselle-"

"'André," the woman interjected.

'André, " Carter said. "Tell me about yourself."

"Later. First it is your turn. Who are you?"

"'A gambler."

Her eyes sparkled. "Evidently a successful gambler

•." she began. "But no, you do not depend upon gam-

bling to live. It is a sport."

Carter shrugged.

"You gambled in London?"

"Yes."

"And now here. With any luck?"

'Some recent successes. In London and Baden-Baden."

André started to say something else, but her eyes widened

in recognition. "But wait a moment. You are the one who is

after the South American?'

'We have gambled together."

"Everyone was talking about it at the Ritz, " she said

absently. Again recognition dawned in her eyes. She smiled

coyly. "A gambler, but one who leaves as little to chance as

possible, I would guess. "

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NICK CARTER

"Which means?" Carter asked. He poured them both

some more champagne.

«From what I understand, the South American is wealthy.

He was staying at the Ritz, no doubt on the top floor. . . one

floor above my own room."

She was a very bright woman. Carter decided he was going

to have to be extremely careful around her. "Go on, " he

said. He found himself intrigued

"You did not come into my room by mistake. At least not

through the door. You came in from the balcony after drop-

ping down from above. Which makes you athletic as well. "

She smiled again and shook her head.

"And what might that tell you?"

"I don't know," she said carefully. 'You are something

more than a gambler. It will come to me in time."

Carter had to laugh out loud. 'I believe it will come to you

sooner or later. I am happy that I am not a criminal and you

the police officer."

"Do not be so sure about me, Nick. I am not about you."

Carter sipped his wine. 'Your turn."

"I'm from Nancy. My father, before his untimely death in

an automobile accident, was a very successful attorney. And

now I have a professional escort service."

Carter sat back and looked at her. "You attended finishing

school somewhere, and perhaps a year or two of college."

'Finishing school in Berne. A year at the Sorbonne. But I

have been a voracious reader all of my life."

"Evidently you are successful with your business?"

"My father left me a lot of money, as well as international

connections. I operate my service in two dozen countries. I

have more than fifty men and women in my employ."

"And yourself, André? Are you merely the administrator

for this international company?"

"No, " she said. 'But for the moment I am on vacation. "

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Carter sat forward and lowered his voice. 'Then let me tell

you that tonight's meeting with the South American may be

dangerous."

She smiled and raised her glass. "What time will you be

calling for me?"


TEN

A long black Cadillac limousine pulled up in front of the

Hôtel de Paris, and one of Rojas's goons jumped out of the

passenger side of the front seat to open the door for Carter. He

stopped in his tracks when he saw that Carter wasn't alone.

"Permit me to introduce Mademoiselle Mallier, " Carter

said.

The gorilla, wearing a tuxedo, recovered nicely. He nod.

ded and smiled slightly. "Mademoiselle. " He opened the

rear door, and André got in. Carter slid in after her. The goon

got in the driver's side, and the limo slid away from the curb.

André was nothing less than stunning. She wore a back-

less, very low-cut black dress that contrasted beautifully with

her complexion. Her dark hair was done up in the back,

revealing her long neck. Very tiny gold and diamond ear-

rings, a thin gold necklace, and a small diamond bracelet

completed the outfit.

There would be no one at the gathering tonight, including

Rojas, who would be able to keep his eyes off her.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, Carter knew,

using her to run interference, but her presence would serve to

push the Brazilian even further off-balance.

There was another possibility as well, Carter thought.

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NICK CARTER

André's presence could very well be the stimulus needed to

break Carmella Perez away from Rojas. And that woman

could very well be the key that unlocked all of the man's

secrets.

"Will you be like this all evening, Nick?" André asked,

breaking Carter out of his thoughts.

'There may be a moment or two when I am preoccupied. I

hope you will understand."

"We'll be going back to the casino later this evening, I

assume."

"Probably. But in the meantime the evening may prove to

be very interesting. Our host, Senhor Juan Rojas of Rio, is a

very influential and strong-willed man. He will be very

attentive to you."

"Is he really as rich as they say he is?"

Carter shrugged. He knew that Rojas's goon up front was

listening to every word they said. "He may be."

"A strange answer."

"It's rumored that he's lost most of his money."

"Lost it? How? Gambling?"

Carter laughed. 'No, I don't believe so, although he's a

lousy gambler."

It took only a few minutes to get down to the docks, and

they pulled up onto the central pier leading out to the indi-

vidual boats. The Princesse Xanadu was tied up, stern to, at

the outermost dock.

The evening was very warm, the breeze light, the city

behind them almost blood red, the setting sun reflecting off

tens of thousands of windows.

A small orchestra had been set up on the dock beside the

ship, and dozens of well-dressed people were aboard sipping

cocktails, laughing, and talking. A few had already begun

dancing on the dock.

It looked as if many of the guests had been partying all day.

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Carter and André sauntered aboard the yacht, where they

got champagne cocktails and began introducing themselves

to the other guests, many of whom were habitués of the

gambling circuit. Most looked up in surprise, some awe, and

just a little apprehension when they realized Carter was the

one who had twice beaten their host at cards, the second time

very badly.

For a long time Rojas was nowhere to be seen, although his

bodyguards and two of the women who traveled with him

were very much in evidence.

The ship was beautiful with her gently flaring bow, broad,

swept-back bridge deck, huge, expensively decorated main

saloon, and wide afterdeck where the bar and buffet had been

set up.

Dinner, Carter suspected, would be served at midnight in

the South American tradition. Either that or they'd all be

Rojas's guests for dinner at the casino later. Already it was

proving to be an interesting evening.

Rojas's men had evidently been ordered to keep Carter not

only under strict surveillance, but surrounded as well, in case

he tried something. By seven there were fully sixty people on

and off the boat, among them at least a dozen of Rojas's

guards.

And they had not been expecting Carter to show up with a

woman in tow. Especially not a beautiful woman who turned

every head in the place.

It was a few minutes after seven. Carter and André were

dancing in one corner of the afterdeck along with a few other

couples, when Rojas and Carmella came up from below.

Carmella was holding herself very rigid, but Rojas seemed

to be in great spirits as they worked their way from the saloon

out across the afterdeck, greeting people, shaking hands,

having brief conversations.

Carter and André stopped dancing when Rojas and Car-

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NICK CARTER

mella finally reached them.

"Good evening, Mr. Carter, " Rojas said pleasantly. "I

was surprised and, I must admit, intrigued when I got your

note that you'd arrived this morning.

Carter inclined his head. "Permit me to introduce

Mademoiselle André Mallier. "

"I am delighted to meet you, my dear," Rojas said,

kissing her hand.

"And I you, Senhor Rojas, " André said.

*Please, we are all friends here. Call me Juan."

"Juan," André said.

Rojas introduced Carmella, and the two women barely

acknowledged each other's presence.

"But I believe the name Mallier is familiar to me. You are

not from Nancy?"

Something flashed in André's eyes. "Yes. Originally."

"Then I knew your father, Henri. His accident was a

terrible tragedy. It still must hurt after all these years."

'You knew my father?"

"Yes, of course. We had some business dealings when

Citröen tried to take over one of my mining operations."

"Were they successful?' Carter asked.

Rojas looked at him, the venom in his eyes barely con-

cealed by his thin smile. "No, they were not."

"But that was another time."

'Yes," Rojas said. 'Would you care to dance?" he

asked, turning again to André

"Of course, Juan," she said smoothly, and he led her to

the far side of the afterdeck, leaving Carmella alone with

Carter.

"I cannot believe you are actually here," Carmella said

softly.

A waiter bearing a tray of cocktails came by. Carter gave

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him his nearly empty glass and snagged two others, one of

which he handed to Carmella.

"I told you I'd see you again."

"He will kill you! This time for sure! Don't be a fool!"

"I'm not being a fool this evening, but I certainly was most

recently."

She just looked at him.

'One can never be too sure of whom one goes to bed with,

can one?"

She fumed for a moment, then she reached out to slap him

in the face but thought better of it and lowered her hand. Her

cheeks were flushed. The action had not gone unnoticed. A

number of people on the afterdeck were looking their way.

Carter took her drink from her and set it, along with his, on

the aft rail. Then he led her to the ramp, down to the dock,

and took her into his arms and danced her into the couples in

front of the small orchestra.

She was shivering. "He is so angry, Nick. He will kill

you. He has a lot of his people here."

"Why did you set me up?"

"I told you!" she snapped.

"Why don't you leave him?"

Carmella laughed bitterly. "Let's change the subject.

Why have you brought a prostitute here with you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes, she is. But Juan is taken with her."

"That's why I brought her here."

Carmella looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. 'What are

you trying to do? Who are you?"

"I am a gambler. Nothing more."

"But why are you after Juan? There are plenty of others

more vulnerable, less dangerous, around. "

"Such as the Arabs?"

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NICK CARTER

"Yes."

Carter shrugged. "They are no challenge. I'll let men like

Juan go after them. Evidently he's in great need of ready

cash. I'm surprised; I had thought he was loaded."

"He was, but . . ." Carmella began, but she cut herself

off.

"I see, " Carter said. "He sent you out here to get me off

his back."

This time when she stepped away and swung, she did not

hold back, the palm of her right hand connecting sharply with

Carter's cheek.

He just stood there without flinching, without in any way

reacting. A moment later she backed off, turned, and hurried

back aboard the yacht, disappearing below, through the sa-

loon, presumably to her own quarters.

Rojas and André were still dancing on the afterdeck, so

Carter went back aboard the vessel, ate some of the canapés

from the buffet, and had the barman pour him a stiff measure

of cognac.

He leaned up against the rail, lit a cigarette, and sipped his

drink.

The dancers swirled past, seemingly oblivious to him, but

Rojas's goons never let down their guard. They were

stationed strategically around the afterdeck, up on the bridge

deck, and even on the dock itself. Every time he made the

slightest move, they stiffened, ready at the slightest provoca-

tion to charge down on him.

His cheek was hot where Carmella had slapped him. Her

reaction to his pressure had only served to heighten the

mystery that surrounded her in his mind. Was she loyal to

Rojas, as his goons were, or wasn't she? It was still impossi-

ble for Carter to tell.

The music ended, and André and Rojas wandered over to

where Carter stood against the rail. They were both flushed,

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as if they were teenagers at a high school prom. Carter's

already high estimation of André's abilities rose another

notch. Rojas may be a jerk, but he's a worldly jerk, Carter

thought. And he seemed to be falling for André.

'You looked as if you were having fun, " Carter said, an

edge of sarcasm in his voice.

"Juan dances beautifully, " André said.

Rojas was looking around the afterdeck. 'Where has

Carmella gotten herself to?"

"I believe she went below to her quarters, " Carter said.

"We had a tiff. I think she might be jealous.

Rojas's left eyebrow rose, but before he could say any-

thing, Carter pushed away from the rail and set down his

drink.

"Thank you for the drinks and your hospitality, Senhor

Rojas. Also thank your Marseille friends who own this boat. I

believe I will head over to the casino. Perhaps you will join

me later?"

André smiled demurely. 'Yes, Juan, thank you. I hope to

see you at the casino this evening."

Rojas was flustered, but there was little he could do in front

of all these people.

Carter took André's arm, stepped around Rojas, and left

the ship. A couple of Rojas's men fell in behind, following

them up to where the cars were parked.

One of them climbed behind the wheel of the Cadillac

limo, while the other held the rear door open.

Carter and André climbed in, and minutes later they were

being deposited in front of the casino.

It was very early yet, so there were very few cars or people

outside, nor was there much action inside. They presented

themselves to the maître d'at the restaurant, who seated them

instantly once he realized who Carter was. Word had spread

very fast along the gambling circuit.

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NICK CARTER

When they were settled with their drinks, Carter lit them

both a cigarette.

"Senhor Rojas has no love for you, Nick," André said.

"What have you done to the poor man?"

"Gambled with him."

"And won. Did you cheat?"

Carter chuckled. "Only insofar as I played with a very

unlucky gambler."

André looked at him for a long moment. "What is it about

you? Why Rojas?"

"I've already explained that one. He's an interesting chal-

lenge. Besides, I don't think I like him very much."

Again André paused. 'Why is it I don't completely be-

lieve what you are telling me, and yet I feel I can trust you?"

Again Carter chuckled. "You are a very mixed-up lady.

But tell me what you and Rojas talked about while you

danced."

"Only if you will tell me why Carmella Perez slapped

you."

"She is jealous. "

"Of you and me?"

Carter shrugged.

"Delicious," André said softly. "She is Rojas's mistress.

It must make him nearly insane knowing the two of you have

slept together."

Carter grinned. "Is it that obvious?"

"Acquaintances don't have tiffs," she said, repeating

what Carter had told Rojas. "But beyond that. . . yes, it's

obvious."

"Rojas had set it up."

"To spy on you?"

Carter nodded.

"Only it backfired. She fell for you, and he knows it."

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Carter said nothing, but he was satisfied that she had come

to the same conclusion he had.

"One more blow against the man. It is a wonder he has not

had you killed."

"He's tried."

André sat back. "I see, " she said.

"I told you this might be a bit dangerous. Not directly for

you, of course. But you might get caught in the line of fire. "

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself, " she said,

looking at Carter appraisingly.

"I'm going to push him hard tonight. He won't like it. "

"There is something else . . . another reason other than

money. other than the macho thrill of it."

Their waiter came, and Carter busied himself ordering for

both of them: escargots, a light consommé, filet of sole, and

small salads.

After the waiter had left she tried again, but Carter cut her

off.

"You are a wonderful woman, André, from what I know

of you. But after tonight I will probably never see you again.

It certainly would be too dangerous for you to be around me

afterward."

"I can remain here at the casino with you until you are

finished and then return to my hotel, or I can return to my

hotel at this moment. Alone."

Carter just looked at her and smiled.

She returned the smile. "I think I will remain to catch at

least the opening acts."

It was well after ten by the time Rojas and his party of

nearly one hundred guests arrived at the casino for dinner,

and nearly one in the morning before they were finished and

had wandered into the gaming rooms.

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NICK CARTER

André and Carter had played roulette. coming out more or

less even by the time they decided to move on to something

else. But by then Rojas had shown up.

He and Carmella appeared in the doorway from the grand

entrance, and they stopped to survey the room. Carter and

Andre were well across the room. a few steps from the

roulette wheel at which they had been playing

"He looks confident for a man who has heen beaten, and

who will prohably he beaten again this morning. " André

said.

She was right. Rojas seemed different. More self-assured

than at Baden-Baden.

Rojas hadn't looked their way yet. Carter took Andre's

arm and quickly guided her around the fairly large group on

the far side of the roulette table. He could just see Rojas and

Carmella through the crowd as they moved across to the

haccarat tables.

The room manager greeted Rojas, and they shook hands.

said a few words, and then the manager kissed Carmella's

hand.

Meanwhile, a young-looking man with a fairly dark com-

plexion had entered the bacarat area. He set something

down on the table. At first Carter could not tell what it was.

but then he suddenly realized the man had brought the cands.

When he turned hack to leave. Carter got a very good look at

him. He was definitely Hispanic. And, as in London. Carter

would have het his last franc that he was Cuhan. A Cuban

dealer at the Alhambra and now one here. Rojas was hedging

his hets. The man had never intended on really gambling. He

had intended to run the gambling circuit collecting money. A

lot of money.

"What is it. Nick? Andre asked

Rejas has had the baccarat cards rigged. They're se

in a vertain order. He'll get the hank, and it'll he hi

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"'You can't win!"

Carter smiled at her. ''Oh yes, I can."

"Against a rigged deck?"'

"A deck rigged for baccarat and nothing else. Besides,

I'm nothing more than a crude American who is a little drunk.

And his date is more than a little disgusted with him because

of it."

A waiter came by with champagne cocktails. Carter

grabbed one, spilled a little of it on the front of his tuxedo,

and then, with André in tow, he weaved his way through the

crowd and across the room to the baccarat table.

Rojas's eyes widened slightly when he turned and spotted

Carter. They widened even further when he realized what

condition Carter was apparently in. André acted thoroughly

disgusted

"Mr. Canter, " Rojas said expansively.

"Perhaps your

luck will change this evening

" He held out his hand, but

Carter waved it aside, slopping some of his drink on his

trousers.

The manager just shook his head and left

"Don't need luck to beat you, " Carter said. He looked at

André and grinned. "Don't even need skill."

'We'll see, " Rojas said. "But tonight it will be just you

and me.

"Simple, " Carter said, and they entered the baccarat area

and took their places.

The manager returned and stood off to one end of the table

to act as croupier and the club's obseriateur.

"Gentlemen,

the game is—" the manager began, but

Carter rudely cut him off.

"Just you and me, Rojas, right?"

Rojas nodded.

"Simple, right?"

'That's right, Mr. Carter. Shall we proveed?

"Sure," Carter said, grinning. He heid out his hand to the

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NICK CARTER

manager. "Gimme a deck of cards. The bottom pack will

do."

"Monsieur?" the manager sputtered.

A crowd of people had gathered beyond the ropes. Rojas

nodded to the manager, who plucked a deck from the bottom

of a stack of six decks the young man had brought over.

Carter opened it, and set the deck facedown on the table

between Rojas and himself. "First I want to cut the cards."

"But they are machine-shuffled and sealed at the factory,

senhor," Rojas said, misunderstanding Carter's intention.

"I want to cut the cards. Let's say for a million."

"Monsieur ..." the manager began.

"A million francs?" Rojas asked.

"Dollars. "

The crowd gasped

Rojas shrugged. He reached out, picked up a portion of the

deck, and held up a queen of hearts.

Carter smiled, picked up another section of the deck, and

held up a seven of clubs.

The crowd sighed.

Rojas grinned.

"Double this time," Carter snapped.

"But we came to play baccarat..." Rojas protested.

"Double the bet, " Carter snarled, his voice rising.

The boorish American's behavior was making everyone

uncomfortable.

'Two million dollars?" Rojas asked.

"Yes," Carter said. He and Rojas replaced their sections

of the deck.

"Go," Carter said.

Rojas picked up a section. This time he turned up a king.

He grinned

Carter picked off the top card and turned it over. It was an

ace. He slammed it down on the table. "I win, ' he growled.

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"Fine, senhor, you win. You are now one million dollars

ahead. A wonderful beginning. Now shall we play bac-

carat?"

Carter lunged forward and grabbed the top deck of cards

from the stack. There was pandemonium for a few moments.

But then the crowd settled down, and Carter opened the deck.

"I don't believe I will be playing baccarat this evening,"

he said, all traces of his drunkenness suddenly gone.

"Your behavior is unconscionable, monsieur,'

" the man-

ager said.

"May I suggest—for the good of this establishment—that

you clear the area around this table of spectators. I most

respectfully request that."

The manager hesitated for a moment, but then he motioned

for the casino security people, who had unobtrusively ap-

peared, to do as the American requested. Rojas looked defi-

nitely uncomfortable.

When the crowd had been moved away out of earshot, the

manager puffed himself up. "And now, Monsieur Carter, if

you will kindly explain your extraordinary behavior . . ."

"Certainly. I will be asking for a full investigation. " He

dealt out the first three cards, face up. "The discards, " he

said. "A king, a three, and a nine. " He dealt the next four

cards, the banker coming up with a natural nine and the

player—which would have been Carter-coming up with a

seven. 'The player loses that hand," Carter said. Again he

dealt out two hands. This time the dealer came up with a

natural eight, the player losing with a six.

again."

"The player loses

He dealt out a third hand, slowly placing the cards up. This

time the dealer had to opt for a third card, which again put

him at nine, a winner.

'What do you suppose the chances are of that happen-

ing?" Carter asked.

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NICK CARTER

The manager was stunned; he could say nothing. Rojas

looked as if he wanted to explode out of his chair and

physically attack Carter.

Carter stood up. "I would suggest a full investigation here.

Beginning with the young man who brought the cards to the

table. I, for one, shall not return to this casino until I am

assured personally by the Grimaldi family that such a thing

shall never happen again."

He turned and strode out of the club, André on his arm.


ELEVEN

It was just four o'clock when Carter crept off the Quai

Antoine 1eT along the small boat docks in La Condamine.

Several hundred yards across the harbor, the Princesse Xan-

adu was still berthed at the dock. Only a few of the ship's

lights remained on. The band had left an hour ago, and as far

as Carter could tell from where he stood, most if not all of the

guests had already departed.

André had been strangely subdued after they had left the

casino. Carter hadn't stopped to think about it then, but now

it came to him that she had been very distant.

They had hurried out of the casino and had made their way

across the Place du Casino on foot to the hotel.

Carter rode up in the elevator with her and walked her to

her suite, but he did not go in.

'So you have won a million dollars," she said at her door.

"Not a bad night's work."

Carter grinned. "I don't think I made him very happy."

"No," she said. There was something in her eyes that

Carter missed at that moment. He was too preoccupied just

then with pursuing Rojas.

But now, standing in the darkness on the docks across the

135

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NICK CARTER


136

NICK CARTER

harbor from the Princesse Xanadu, it came to him that she

had been holding something back.

He shook his head. Lights in the forward portholes of the

yacht went out. Someone going to bed, he thought. Rojas had

returned to the ship twenty minutes ago, along with some of

his entourage. Since then the dock had been quiet.

A small gray Peugeot pulled up at the end of the dock's

parking area. Its lights were doused, and two men got out.

Carter moved back into the deeper shadows as he watched

the two men walk-no, march-down the central ramp,

across the dock, and onto the Princesse Xanadu.

"Bingo,' Carter said half under his breath.

Soldiers.

Their bearing and gait were unmistakable. It was what had

been vaguely familiar to him about the pair at the estate

outside Barnet. Those two had once been soldiers. Mer-

cenaries?

There were many yachts berthed at the docks on which

Carter had come out. A number of them had their dinghies in

the water, tied up behind them. There were no lights showing

on any of the boats. Either everyone was sleeping, or there

were no people aboard.

Within a couple of minutes, Carter found a small

Fiberglas dinghy with oars. He climbed down off the dock

into the tiny boat, slipped its painter, and began quietly

rowing out around the end of the dock, going straight across

the harbor to the Princesse Xanadu.

There was a slight swell in the harbor, but it did not

interfere with his rowing. By keeping well away from the

shore installations to his left and the breakwater lights on his

right, he could stay in relative darkness. Unless someone

flashed a spotlight out there, Carter doubted if anyone could

see him.

He was sweating lightly by the time he made it across the

harbor, and he stopped beneath the overhang of the stern. He

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had so positioned himself between the ship and the dock that

the only way in which he could be spotted would be if

someone on the dock leaned over and looked straight down.

And that person would have to know someone had come, and

then they'd have to be searching for him.

For a long time Carter just sat there listening to the various

sounds of the city drifting down to him, to the gentle lapping

of the water against the hulls of the yachts, and to the soft

thrumming of the Princesse Xanadu's generators, which he

suspected never slept.

Then he heard voices raised in argument. The words were

faint and indistinct. But the men's voices had definitely come

from aboard, and they definitely were arguing.

Rojas? Carter wondered. Arguing with the two men who

had come aboard a few minutes ago?

Carter shoved the dinghy against the pilings, then scram-

bled up on the dock. Crouching low behind the pilings and

the electric service boxes, he studied the yacht for several

minutes.

There were red lights shining from the bridge, but from

what he could see, there was no one up there. The crew

would all be asleep. Nor was there anyone to be seen in the

saloon, because the drapes over the aft sliding doors had been

drawn. But up here on the dock, the angry voices were much

clearer, much more distinct. Whoever was doing the talking

was definitely in the saloon. Carter was certain of it.

There was no one on the docks at that hour of the morning,

although an occasional car or truck passed above on the

Boulevard Prince Ranier.

Keeping low, Carter worked his way around the pilings to

the gangplank and scurried aboard the yacht, pulling up short

just beside the saloon doors.

'We have come very far together, " Rojas was saying in

French.

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"Oui," a man shouted. "And my people wish us to

continue. But it takes money. Until then our hands are tied.

You must understand."

"You will have your money!" Rojas shouted. "Now get

out of here!"

There was a long silence. Carter was ready to move away

the instant someone touched the doors, but he didn't want to

miss whatever would be said next. Often in anger people

revealed more than they wanted to.

'What about London?" one of the Frenchmen asked.

"What about them?'

"We understand they were paid, as were the Germans.

What about us?'

"Not here," Rojas said, lowering his voice.

There was a little laughter. "Yes, we heard of your trouble

at the casino. Most unfortunate."

"We go to Las Vegas next. You will be paid there."

'What about the Americans?"

'They are none of your business—for now. That will

come later. For now you must be patient. All this will be

ready soon, very soon. Afterward there will be more money

and more power than you have ever dreamed of ..."

Something very hard crashed into the back of Carter's

head, causing the night to explode into a trillion bright lights.

His forehead banged against the doorframe, and he could

feel his legs giving way beneath him.

The door slid open, and someone was talking, urgently,

but the words seemed jumbled. Someone was picking him off

the deck, and he was dumped onto a carpeted floor. Hands

went through his pockets.

Slowly he began to come around, and he understood what

had happened. He had been so intent on hearing what was

being said in the saloon that he had been caught from behind

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He was in the saloon now. There was a dim light across from

the long coffee table near him. Rojas stood to one side talking

with two of his bodyguards and two uniformed men who

were probably crew aboard the boat.

A third crewman came into the saloon. The others turned

: to him.

"I found his dinghy below the stern."

Rojas nodded and glanced over at Carter. His eyes nar-

rowed.

"So, Mr. Carter, you have come to visit, " the Brazilian

said. He stepped away from the others and came over.

Carter had to move his head to look up. He spotted Car-

mella seated behind him on one of the easy chairs. She had

been crying.

Rojas kicked out, the toe of his pointed shoe catching

Carter in the ribs. An excruciatingly sharp pain exploded in

Carter's side.

"We have your little toys, which tells me you are more

than some playboy. " Rojas's words came to Carter through a

mist.

Someone else had come into the saloon. Rojas turned

toward the new arrival, and Carter looked back, his eyes

meeting Carmella's. She turned away.

"We are ready to sail, monsieur,

" the new arrival said.

"Very well. We shall leave immediately."

"For Marseille?"

'Yes, " Rojas said. 'But take us well out to sea before you

begin angling back. There is some garbage we must dispose

of, and I do not want it drifting back to litter the shoreline. "

"Of course, monsieur, " the man said.-

Carmella was shaking.

Carter struggled to roll over and sit up, but Rojas shoved

him back with his foot. Then he bent down so that he was

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very close. Carter could have reached out and killed him

before his men had a chance to prevent it. But it would solve

nothing.

"So," Rojas said. 'You are more than a playboy. And I

suspect even more than a very well-armed gambler. Just who

are you?"

"I work for the CIA," Carter said. His voice seemed far

away.

For just an instant, Rojas's nostrils flared. But then he

smiled. "Perhaps, " he said. 'Perhaps not. But you do work

for someone. I am sure of it."

'You're an idiot, Rojas," Carter snapped.

Rojas backhanded Carter's face. "And you are soon to be

a dead man."

Carter looked up. He smiled. "How many cops do you

know who tour the gambling circuit, you damned fool? I

could have had you arrested for cheating in the casino. In

fact, I'm surprised they didn't arrest you."

Rojas looked at him for a long time, a thoughtful expres-

sion in his eyes.

The ship's engines came to life. Carter could feel the

deep-throated vibration through the deck.

"You're hiring mercenaries. How about me?"

Rojas smiled. "You want to come to work for me?"

"Sure."

Rojas laughed out loud. So did the others. The South

American stood up and shook his head. "You got in my way.

I do not like that. If for no other reason than that, Mr. Carter,

my mysterious adversary, I would have you killed. But there

is another reason you will die in an hour or so. It is because I

do not trust you."

There was some activity on deck, and moments later they

began to move, the ship's engines rising in pitch.

Rojas had turned back to his bodyguards. 'Wait until we

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are well out to sea, then toss him overboard. But first give

him back his weapons and his wallet. If his body is found, I

want it intact. "

'Sim, senhor," one of them said.

'Have Carlos get the helicopter ready. As soon as we are

clear of the harbor, I will be flying on ahead."

"Sim, senhor."

Rojas turned back. "You may stay with the boat, " he said

to Carmella. 'You can come along later with the other

girls." He looked down at Carter. "Good-bye, Mr. Carter.

We will not be seeing one another again. "

"You're going to allow all that money I won go to my

heirs?" Carter asked.

'It is of no consequence," Rojas said after a slight hesita-

tion. "I am looking to the future. " He turned on his heel and

went out on deck, firmly shutting the doors behind him.

The crew had left, and now Carmella got up, looked down

at Carter, and went below, leaving only Rojas's two goons.

Carter took several deep breaths to clear his head as he

mentally examined his body. He was sure a couple of ribs

were broken where Rojas had kicked him. But aside from

those, and the lump on the back of his head, he wasn't in

terribly bad condition, although his vision seemed to want to

fade in and out. It was probably a mild concussion.

He looked over at the bodyguards. They were sitting at the

bar, watching him.

"May I sit up and have a cigarette?" Carter asked.

One of them started to say no, but the other overrode him.

"You might as well. It will be your last."

Carter sat up.

The bodyguard got off his barstool and came over. "We

have your weapons, smart boy. But if you try anything,

anything at all, I will work you over so that you will beg me to

kill you. Do you understand?"

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Carter nodded. He leaned back against the easy chair. The

bodyguard lit a cigarette and handed it to Carter. Then he

went back to the bar and sat down.

The yacht rose to meet the incoming swells as they sped

up. Carter closed his eyes as the first couple of drags on the

cigarette made him dizzy, but then his head cleared.

Forty-five minutes out, the helicopter lashed to the

foredeck started up, and a few minutes later it took off with

Rojas.

One of the bodyguards watching Carter went out onto the

afterdeck. Carter figured if he was going to have any chance

of getting out of this, it would have to be now.

"Can I have another cigarette?" he asked the lone body-

guard. He was going to have to get the man closer to him.

The guy just looked at him. Then he pulled out his pistol, a

.357 magnum, and shook his head. 'Not a chance."

"Big brave soldier afraid of me?" Carter snapped, trying

to goad the man.

The saloon door slid open, and the other bodyguard

stepped back in. "We are ready, " he said

Carter got shakily to his feet, as if he could barely stand.

He wasn't faking it by much.

'We can do this the easy way or the very hard way. It is

your choice, " the goon holding the gun said. He was grin-

ning, but there was a wary look in his eyes.

"Let us not play games any longer," the other gorilla said.

In four steps he was across to where Carter stood, and without

warning he slammed his fist into Carter's nose.

Carter's head snapped back, and he felt himself bouncing

off the easy chair and crumpling to the floor. His heart was

hammering nearly out of his chest. This was it! Yet he could

not seem to make his arms or legs move. His head was

spinning, and the light seemed to be flickering on and off.

They were doing something to his jacket and trousers.

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Slowly, through the haze that threatened to totally envelop

him, Carter realized they were giving him his weapons, his

wallet, and the other things they had taken from him.

He had his weapons now, but he could still not move to

reach them.

He was roughly hauled to his feet, then dragged across the

saloon and out onto the afterdeck

It was cool, the wind was very strong, and he could smell

the diesel fumes from the engines.

They were running at full speed. He tried to make his brain

work. They might be going at twenty knots. By now they'd

be a long way offshore, too far to swim even for a strong

swimmer in peak condition. And in these waters, which

offshore were extremely cold, one might last a couple of

hours—at best-before succumbing to hypothermia.

Just a little more time. The thought screamed through his

brain. His head was still spinning.

He could feel himself being lifted up, and then he could see

that he was hanging over the rail, the water churning in their

wake.

"No!" he shouted as the two goons tossed him overboard.

He had just a moment to take a deep breath and brace

himself for the tremendous shock of hitting the cold water at

the speed they were going, and then he hit like an express

train meeting a stone wall. He was tumbling head over heels,

his battered body being hammered even more as the turbulent

wake of the boat shoved him far beneath the surface.

Fighting against the tremendous pressure, against the

churning water, and against his own injuries, Carter clawed

his way toward the surface. He was working purely by

instinct now. His lungs screamed for oxygen, and as a

wounded animal fights for its survival, he understood that he

could not give up.

And then his head broke the surface of the water, and he

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was taking huge gulps of air into his burning lungs, his

muscles cramping, his ribs sharply painful, and his head

throbbing... but he was alive!

Gradually his vision cleared, and as he rose up on a swell,

he spotted a tiny light on the horizon. The next time he rose

up, the light was gone. It had been the yacht.

Slowly, each time he rose up, he scanned the horizon, one

quadrant at a time. But there were no lights, and the horizon

was an indistinct black blur against the dark sky.

For a while Carter relaxed, willing his muscles to go slack,

willing himself to conserve his energy, but then he began to

shiver, the cold water already beginning to work on him.

It would be light soon, he told himself. The sun would

provide a little warmth. There would be pleasure boats.

Fishermen. If that happened, he told himself, he would fire

his Luger at a passing boat to catch its crew's attention. There

was a chance he would be spotted.

If he could last that long

He hunched forward, bringing his knees up around his

chest in an effort to conserve body heat, but in that position he

could not keep his head up. Again he had to stretch out, and

again he was struck with an attack of violent shivering.

A wave of nausea came over him, and within seconds he

was violently sick, his stomach emptying. When he was

finished, he was weaker than before and even colder.

He was not going to make it. He began to understand that,

and he began to sense that the easiest way out for him would

be to simply allow himself to sink beneath the surface, and

then take a deep breath. He could also use Hugo or Wilhel-

mina.

But something within him would not allow that. Some

inner drive, or animal instinct, would never allow him to give

in, to hasten his own destruction.

After a while he began seeing flashes of light in the water.

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But when he blinked, the lights were gone. He also began to

hear an irritating buzzing noise.

He roused himself enough to look up and shake his head,

but the noise persisted and became even louder.

It was a noise : . . much like a motorboat. It took a long

time for that idea to penetrate. A motorboat. . ..

He looked up, sputtering. A motorboat! The sound had

been much louder. Was it fading?

'Hey!" he shouted, but his voice was weak.

Quickly he fumbled in his jacket pocket. Miraculously, his

penlight was still there. He pulled it out, nearly dropping it as

he tried to work the switch with numb fingers.

"Hey!" he shouted again, louder this time.

The sound had died. But the penlight came on, and he

raised it over his head as far out of the water as he could and

swung it around, even though he felt it was in vain. The

motorboat was gone.

"Hey!" he shouted in desperation. "Hey!"

"Nick?" A faint voice came out of the darkness.

He was hearing things. He swung the light nevertheless.

He could not give up.

'Nick?" a woman called out. He knew the voice. . . .

'Here!" he shouted. "Here! Here!"

Minutes or hours later—he had lost all sense of time—

Carter felt a line being tied around his waist, and Carmella

Perez was hauling him aboard some kind of an inboard

launch.

On its stern were the words PRINCESSE XANADU.


TWELVE

Within moments after he had been hauled aboard the

Princesse Xanadu's tender, Carter vomited again. This time

he had nothing in his stomach, so he only had the dry heaves,

little flecks of blood coming up with his spittle.

"Oh, Nick-oh, Nick, " Carmella kept saying as she held

his shoulders.

The boat was rolling heavily in the six-foot swells, and the

wind was blowing the gas fumes back on them from the

tender's slowly idling motor.

Carter had a hard time focusing on the woman, but he

managed to smile. 'You came back for me," he croaked.

"How..."

"I knew they were going to throw you overboard, so I took

the tender off the starboard rail when they went below."

'But how did you find me, Carmella?" Carter insisted.

There was something wrong. It was as if someone was

scratching at his consciousness. Someone or something was

trying to tell him that this was wrong.

"I followed the ship's wake," she said. Tears were

streaming down her cheeks.

Carter's vision began to come and go once more. But he

was alive. He was out of the water.

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