# Retreat For Death444444444

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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NICK CARTER

underwater, as if I was drowning ...

It was daytime. The sun streamed through the

tall windows across the room from my bed, but

there was a deep, rhythmic pounding deep inside

my head. Over and over again, the heavy drum-

ming seemed to throb.

I opened my eyes at length. Slowly and painfully

I sat up in the bed swinging my legs over the edge.

I was alone in the room. Vaguely I remembered

that Charlene had been here last night, but then it

all became a huge jumble.

The drumming continued as I managed to get to

my feet. I stood there swaying for several seconds.

And gradually I began to realize that the drum-

ming sound wasn't inside my head; it was coming

from outside. But far away.

I staggered across the room to where a white

robe was lying over the massage table. I pulled it

on and then went down the corridor and outside on

the porch.

Out here the drums were much louder, and they

seemed to be coming from all directions outside the

town. Out in the jungle. The Indians.

Although I didn't know the exact time, I knew it

was early morning. Ihe sun was just up over the

trees, and the mall was empty of people.

I stepped down off the porch and made my way

down past the fountains in front of the dispensary,

then to Pat's dormitory.

The door was open, and just inside was a counter

behind which were shelves containing sheets and

pillowcases. No one was there.

A set of stairs went up to the second floor, and

beyond the counter was a corridor which ran the

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length of the building, doors opening from it at

regular intervals. Pat was here someplace, but I

didn't have much time to find her. Before long the

town would be waking up and I would be missed.

The first door opened to a small room contain-

ing four bunks, someone sleeping in each of them.

I crossed the room and bent over the lower bunk

to the right and gently shook the woman awake.

She blinked her eyes and looked up at me in con-

fusion.

"Is it time for prayers?" she asked.

' 'Almost," I said softly. "Which room is Sister

Pat Staley's?"

"Sister Staley? She's upstairs in twenty-two."

' 'Go back to sleep," I said. "You'll be awakened

when it is time for morning prayers. Peace to you."

' 'And to you, Brother," the woman said, and she

rolled over as I went back out into the corridor and

hurried up the stairs.

Pat's room was just across from the stairs and

was exactly the same as the other one. I recognized

her long blond hair immediately and went to the

top bunk where she was sleeping.

She came awake slowly, and when she had final-

ly opened her eyes, she smiled. "Nicky?" she said

sleepily.

"It's me, Pat," I said. "Time to go now."

"Go?" she said. "Is it time for prayers?"

"Yes. They sent me to get you. They want us up

at the church right away."

' 'Right now, Nick? I'm so tired."

"Right now," I said. I threw back the covers and

lifted her off the bunk. She was nude, her robe

lying over the end of the bed.

I helped her pull it on, and then strapped her

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sandals on. She was starting to come more awake.

"Are you sure we're supposed to be up at the

church so early?"

I said, leading her to the

"Absolutely sure,"

door.

One of the other women woke up and she turned

to look at us. "Sister Pat?" she asked sleepily.

"Go back to sleep," I said. ' 'You'll be awakened

when it is time for prayers."

The woman sat up. "l know you," she said,

loudly, "I know you!"

We had just run out of time. I yanked open the

door and hauled Pat out into the corridor and

down the stairs.

"Nick, you're hurting me," Pat cried. "What's

happening?"

Her roommate came down the stairs behind us.

She started screaming, and as we stepped outside

we saw someone running down the mall from the

Palace of Pleasure.

I picked Pat up, threw her over my shoulder, and

raced down toward the docks as her roommate

came outside shouting.

"Stop them! Stop them!"

My legs were still weak from the drug, and it was

hard to keep my footing. Several other people were

shouting at us to stop, and Pat was screaming and

crying, pounding at my back with her fists.

At the bottom of the mall, I turned to head

across the dock toward the speedboat, but I lost

my footing and fell down, my face smashing into

the concrete. Pat immediately scrambled away

from me.

I jumped up as one of Seidelman's men raced

across the dock directly at me. I had just enough

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time to sidestep his charge and drive my fist into

his solar plexus.

He doubled over, and as he started to go down,

I hammered both fists into the back of his neck.

Six of Seidelman's goons were on me then, their

fists smashing at my face, neck and chest.

Before I went down I managed to kick one of

them in the groin, but then a fist the size of a side

of beef seemed to materialize out of nowhere. It

hammered me in the face and everything went

dark. I heard Pat scream somewhere off to my

right.

Pat's high-pitched scream seemed to go on and

on, echoing inside of my head. Sometimes the

sound rose and fell like a siren, and other times I

could barely hear it.

I was lying on my back as I finally started to

come around. My wrists and ankles were tied

down, and my entire body felt like it had been hit

by a battering ram.

"He's coming around," a familiar voice said

from overhead, and I opened my eyes.

Seidelman and several of his men were standing

around me. Seidelman bent closer.

"I'm going to ask you a couple of questions,

Carter, and I'm going to want the answers without

hesitation or I will kill you here and now." He

turned around and rolled a cart closer to the table

on which I was lying. We were back in the Palace

of Pleasure, only this time there wasn't going to be

any pleasure.

Seidelman held up two paddles, each connected

to a machine on the cart by thick, coiled wires.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked. "It's a

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defribrillation unit used in hospitals the world over

to help heart attack victims. The interesting thing

about this unit is that it not only starts hearts. it

can also stop them. Do you understand what I'm

saying?" He reached out and placed the paddles on

my chest, and I flinched.

"No juice yet," he said grimly. "The first ques-

tion. What is your real name?"

I could feel the sweat pouring off me. These were

not sane, rational people I was dealing with. "Nick

Carter," I said.

"I think I believe that one," Seidelman said.

"Who do you work for?"

"Amalgamated Press . . . " I started to say, when

Seidelman suddenly nodded his head.

A tremendous jolt bit deeply into my chest.

Every muscle in my body contracted, and a mas-

Sive pain shot through my entire being. Suddenly I

could not breathe. A red haze seemed to fill my

eyes, and I could feel myself straining against the

leather straps holding me in place. I was drowning

and unable to come up for air. Someone was saying

something to me, but the pain went on and on, and

I began to slip away.

A second jolt hammered into my body, my

muscles violently convulsing a second time, air

rushing into my lungs; and then I was shaking.

There was a metallic taste in my mouth, and some-

thing was running down the side of my chin.

"He's bitten his tongue," Seidelman said.

"Perhaps now he will talk."

Something with an extremely sharp, unpleasant

odor was held under my nose, causing my head to

clear instantly.

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My heart was racing, and my breath was coming

in short ragged gasps.

"You were dead there for a few seconds, Carter.

I don't expect it was a pleasant experience. Not one

you would care to repeat. "

The room came back into focus as I was finally

able to catch my breath.

"Is the unit recharged and ready?" Seidelman

asked.

"Yes, sir," one of the others said.

Seidelman turned back to me and placed the pad-

dies on my chest once again. My muscles jerked in-

voluntarily, and I could feel my bowels loosening.

"Who do you work for, Carter?"

"Security," I mumbled.

Seidelman leaned a little closer. "What was

that?"

"National Security Service," I said. It was hard

to speak. But I knew my only chance for survival

was to tell him something he would believe.

"Is that the Central Intelligence Agency?"

I shook my head. "No .

. no, it's the Justice

Department. I work for the Attorney General."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Seidelman

said. "Why did you come after the church?"

"Pat was an old friend," I stammered. "She was

worried about her brother."

"You weren't sent on assignment?"

"Not at first,"

I said. "Not until your people

tried to kill me. Then I was told I could pursue it."

"Who knows you came here?" Seidelman asked,

the first hint of worry on his features.

"My control officer," I said. "No one else."

"The Justice Department doesn't know?"

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no. I came down here to get Pat. We

were going to use her as evidence to close your Chi-

cago operation. We can't do anything to you down

here."

"Did Captain Arimå work for you?"

"l hired him in Manaus to take me up here."

"How did you know where we were located?"

"I didn't know, exactly," I said. ' 'We just knew

that the church had bought a tract of land down

here someplace. I came to find out where. And

what was going on."

Seidelman seemed to think for a long moment,

and then he pulled the paddles away from my chest,

laid them on the machine, and shoved it aside.

"Well, Brother Carter, you're here, and you're

definitely going to find out what's going on.

You've caused us so much trouble, that we're

going to have to close down our operation here and

leave." He shook his head. "What most angered us

was the way in which you destroyed our equipment

over at the dispensary. It is causing us no end of

trouble. Trouble for which you will pay dearly."

He shook his head again. "In fact, your meddling

here will be the cause of nearly everyone's death. It

will be on your conscience when you rot in hell."

I closed my eyes, my breathing finally coming

more naturally, my heart slowing down.

"Get him ready and then bring him up to the

stadium," Seidelman was saying.

"We've never had a daytime ceremony before,"

one of the other men said.

"It's nearly noon and the tranquilizer is already

starting to wear thin on most of our people. We

either do it now, or we'll lose the entire shooting

match."

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"Yes, sir," the other said.

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There was silence for a moment, but then

Seidelman said, "l want him to participate in the

ceremony. But if he tries anything at all, kill him."

"Of course," another man said, and then I could

hear someone leaving.

I lay there for several. minutes until someone

came to my side and undid the straps at my wrists

and ankles. I opened my eyes.

There were four men with me, all of them armed.

When they had my straps undone, they helped me

up off the table and pulled the robe on over my

head and strapped sandals on my feet.

My legs were weak, but I pretended not to be

able to move at all, and they half carried and half

dragged me across the room, down the corridor

and outside to the mall.

There were a lot of people outside, many of them

milling around the dispensary. Most of them

looked confused, as if they didn't know where they

were or what they were supposed to be doing.

Several of Seidelman's men were directing peo-

ple up the wide walkway past the church toward

the sports stadium, and as I watched, people began

streaming that way.

I could still hear the drums out in the jungle

around us, and the high-pitched keening sound was

coming from huge loudspeakers high up on the

walls of the church.

My guards dragged me off the porch, and we

headed up the mall toward the path to the stadium,

falling in line with hundreds of others.

I kept searching the faces of everyone around us

for a sign of Pat and the boy, Domingo, but they

were nowhere in sight.

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NICK CARTER

I

The stadium was more like an open air church.

Tiers of bleachers all faced a steel and glass

podium, behind which, at the end of a wide, paved

path, was a huge stone altar. Ringing the stadium

were powerful lights on tall poles, and around the

altar were several pieces of electronic equipment.

Evidently the sources of the laser beams we had

seen in the sky last night.

The bleachers were already nearly half full when

I was dragged to a seat next to the podium. Pat was

seated on the other side.

"Nick!" she shouted.

The tranquilizer she had been given was already

beginning to wear off. She seemed terrified.

I just smiled at her, and she shook her head in

despair.

A ripple of applause began, and it grew into a

standing ovation.

I looked over toward the path in time to see

Knox, Seidelman, Karsten, and a dozen of their

guards, coming from the church.

One of my guards leaned over toward me. "Very

soon now, Carter, you're going to get what you

came looking for," he said, and he laughed.

As Knox and his retinue came closer, the high-

pitched noise from the speakers on the church

boomed three times and then suddenly fell silent.

A moment later the drums out in the jungle also

fell silent, and the applause stopped.

Out beyond the altar, about two hundred yards

away where the clearing met the dense jungle, Indi-

ans began stepping out into plain view. There were

hundreds of them. They stood there watching us.

Waiting.


FIFTEEN

Knox, ringed by his guards, all of them armed

with M16s, mounted the dais and faced the

bleachers as the last of the people arrived and sat

down.

A deep silence had descended over the stadium,

in part because of Knox's commanding presence,

but also due to the presence of the .lndians. There

had to be several hundred of them out there now.

s 'We have come, my brothers and sisters, at long

last to the day of the Final Reward," Knox began,

his amplified voice boor#ing over the crowd.

The laser beams around the altar flickered on,

shooting high up into the clear blue sky.

"The thing we have all striven for, all these

years, is joyously at hand. Come! Join me!"

People began getting up and working their way

down from the bleachers to stand in a line next to

the podium. As each one of them joined the grow-

ing group, Knox bent over and said something to

them, then kissed them on the forehead.

Music began from hidden speakers, and the laser

beams began flashing faster and faster.

When about fifty people had lined up, they

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NICK CARTER

1

began walking slowly out on the wide path toward

the altar.

I started to jump up, but my guard placed the

barrel of a pistol against my temple.

"Don't be so anxious to die, Carter," he said

softly. "Your turn will come soon enough."

I sank back down.

The first group had reached the altar, and they

began climbing up. The first one, an old man,

reached the top, turned toward the church, spread

his hands, and screamed something.

At that moment, a pencil-thin beam of light,

coming from somewhere beneath the altar, pierced

the man's chest with a flash, and he crumpled.

The top of the altar was canted backwards, and

his body slid, then rolled off to the back.

Two of the natives from the edge of the field

raced up to the altar, snatched the body, and then

raced with it back to the jungle.

Meanwhile the second person, this one an old

woman, had stepped up onto the attar, spread her

hands, and died instantly as the laser beam pierced

her heart.

Other people were coming down now from the

bleachers to stand in line for Knox's blessing. Then

they would walk out to the altar where they would

die.

The natives, much bolder now, had come closer,

and as the second body dropped down to the

ground they swooped in, scooped it up, and took it

away.

I turned and looked up toward the bleachers.

Seemingly everyone was getting to their feet and

patiently waiting their turn to come down to the

altar to be killed.

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It was madness. Insanity.

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My guard was prodding my ribs with his pistol.

' 'Now," he said.

I looked at him as four other guards, armed with

automatics, came up and motioned for me to get to

my feet.

"It's your turn now, Carter," one of them said.

I got to my feet. "Only if I can take Sister Staley

with me."

Knox had paused a moment to look down at me.

He smiled beatifically and nodded his head. "Of

course," he said.

I walked over to the podium where two other

guards helped Pat stand, and they brought her over

to me. I kissed her on the cheek. "Do exactly as I

say," I whispered urgently.

Pat looked up at me, and then Knox was bend-

ing down over us.

"Stand on the five-pointed star. Face the church

and it will be easy, Brother and Sister. I love you,"

he said.

He bent farther over and kissed us both on the

forehead.

"Peace be with you, Brother Knox," I said.

"And with you," he replied.

Hand in hand, Pat and I turned, stepped outside

the line, and started down the path toward the

altar.

"Stop them!" someone shouted from behind us.

"Let them go, if they will," Knox's voice

boomed.

Everyone stepped aside for us as we approached

the altar.

' 'What are we doing, Nick?" Pat asked, her voice

slightly slurred.

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NICK CARTER

"Just do what I say, Pat, and we'll save everyone

here," I whispered as we hurried the last few yards

along the path.

A young woman had just started up the steps, a

deeply terrified expression on her face.

"Let us go first, Sister," I called up to her.

She turned, looked down at us, and then came

back down the stairs. She was so frightened, she

was hardly able to walk.

Pat and I stepped around her, mounted the

steps, and at the top we headed for the star that

was etched into the stone.

' 'We can't do this . . . " Pat started to say, but I

shoved her aside, away from the star, as a laser

beam flashed from below. I pulled her with me

down the steeply sloping side.

A roar went up from the crowd behind us, and

Knox's voice was booming over the stadium as we

fell to the soft ground below.

I scrambled up to my feet as two Indians, armed

with machetes, charged. Sidestepping one of them,

I smashed a right hook into the other's face, and he

went down in a heap. Spinning around, I was just

in time to avoid the first Indian, grabbing his arm

as he swung the blade, and breaking it with a sick-

ening snap.

The other Indians, about fifty yards away, stood

motionless watching what was happening.

I scooped up one of the machetes and used it to

pry off a padlock on a small service door at the

base of the altar.

When I had it open, I leaped inside. The altar

was hollow and filled with electronic equipment, a

large, laser excitation tube pointing upwards at an

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angle to a hole in the altar floor at the center of the

star.

Swinging the machete blade as hard as I could, I

cut through the main power cable to the unit,

sparks flying everywhere.

"Nick!" Pat screamed.

I spun around and leaped out from under the

altar as half a dozen Indians were charging across

the field toward us. Pat stood with her back to the

altar, a machete in her right hand.

One of Seidelman's guards came around the cor-

ner in a dead run, raising his M16 the moment he

saw me.

I swung around, flipping the machete at him

with every ounce of my strength, the blade nearly

burying itself to the hilt in the man's chest.

The instant after he hit the ground, I grabbed his

rifle and turned on the Indians, spraying them with

two quick bursts.

Several of them went down, and the others

turned tail with whoops and shrieks and raced

back to the protection of the jungle.

"Get down," I shouted to Pat as I hurried to the

corner of the altar.

I looked around just as a group of Seidelman's

men, Seidelman in the lead, came charging toward

me.

Stepping out away from the altar, I brought the

M16 up, and on full automatic, cut all of them

down.

Everyone back in the stadium was screaming

now, and even Knox's amplified voice was lost in

the- din.

I raced to where Seidelman and the others had

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NICK CARTER

fallen and grabbed two of their M16s. The people

on the path were staring open-mouthed at me. all

of them rooted to their spots.

"Get out of here," I shouted. "Everyone back to

the church!"

Behind me, the Indians were starting to move in

toward the stadium en masse. Pat came around the

corner of the altar and I tossed her one of the rifles.

"Get these people up to the church before it's

too late," I shouted.

A burst of automatic weapons fire came from

the bleachers, and spun around, dropping into a

crouch.

More people were screaming now, but for a fran-

tic second or two I could not see what was happen-

ing.

Then a second and third burst of gunfire came

from one side of the bleachers, and I could see at

least a dozen people going down.

Knox had jumped down from the dais, and now

surrounded by his guards, Kenneth Atterbury with

them, he was trying to make his way through the

crowd heading toward the church, his men shoot-

ing anyone who tried to oppose them.

I jumped up and raced directly across the field

toward them. I couldn't fire for fear of hitting the

people, and yet they had to be stopped. If they

made it to the church before the rest of us did, they

could close it up, and we would be stuck outside.

The sound of gunfire from behind me brought

me around in time to see Pat shooting at a large

group of the Indians attacking the people out on

the path.

Several of them went down, but then Pat's weap-

on ran out of ammunition, and two of them leaped

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at her, their machetes swinging.

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I dropped down on one knee, brought the M16

up to my shoulder, and leading the Indians, picked

them off one at a time.

Pat raced across the field toward me as more In-

dians poured onto the field hacking into the crowd

with their machetes. People were screaming and

blood was flying everywhere.

At least a dozen more Indians broke away and

came after Pat. One by one, conserving my am-

munition as best I could, I picked them off. Seven

of them fell before the others turned and fled back

into the melee.

As soon as Pat reached me, we turned and raced

up toward the path where Knox and his guards had

gone, but they were nowhere in sight now.

Several of the guards had been trampled in the

mass exodus, and I stopped to retrieve the clips

from their weapons as Pat and I came up to the

path leading to the church.

We stopped there, and I turned back, once again

dropping to one knee, while taking careful aim at

the Indians.

One by one I fired at them, as the last of the

people who had managed to get away, streamed

past me up toward the church.

Several hundred other Indians had come out of

the jungle, and they were dancing around, whoop-

ing and screaming, hacking apart the hundreds of

bodies on the stadium field, totally oblivious to my

firing.

When the last of the congregation had passed us,

Pat and I headed back up the path toward the

church.

The Indians were cannibals, for whom death was

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NICK CARTER

a religious rite. How much of it was part of their

own heritage and custom, and how much of it was

due to Knox's electronic mumbo jumbo, there was

no way of telling at this point. But I didn't think it

would take them very long to come after the rest of

us.

We made it to the church just as the last of the

people were piling inside, and I went immediately

down the corridor and into the main hall. People

were milling around aimlessly, some of them

screaming and crying, others cursing and shouting

as the tranquilizer they had been on for so long

finally began to wear off, the enormity of the death

and destruction around them, overwhelming.

"Get up on the dais. Find the public address

system and calm these people down," I said to

Pat.

"Where are you going?" she cried, clutching my

arm.

"I've got to get the outer doors closed before the

Indians decide to come up here."

Pat nodded uncertainly.

"Keep your rifle with you in case some of

Knox's guards are in here," I said, and I turned

and went back down the wide corridor to the main

doors.

I stood just outside the doors and looked down

across the deserted mall. No one was in sight, and

below on the dock I could see the power boat still

sitting there. I could hear the frenzied whoops and

screams of the rampaging Indians coming from the

stadium, but from where I stood I could not see

them.

Stepping back inside I swung the massive doors

closed, flipping the simple bar latches over. I could

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hear Pat's voice booming over the loudspeakers in

the main hall as I hurried around the wide en-

tryway corridor to the side doors. I locked these

and did the same with the rear doors and the doors

on the opposite side. Only when this was done did

I go back into the hall.

The crowd had calmed down now, many of the

people sitting down, others perched on the edge of

tables as they all listened to Pat up on the dais.

Carter has come to help us get home," she

was saying as I threaded my way through the peo-

ple up to the dais. "But we're going to have to stick

together. We have to help him, but most im-

portantly, we cannot panic."

I jumped up on the dais and Pat handed the mi-

crophone over to me. I held my hand over it for a

moment.

"I've got the doors locked, but if the Indians de-

cide to come up here and break in, we won't be

able to stop them."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Get out of here," I said. I raised the micro-

phohe and held it up to my lips. "My name is Nick

Carter, and I have been sent down here to help you

people get home," my voice boomed over the au-

dience. No one said a thing; the great hall was

deadly silent.

"But I'll need your help. Has anyone seen

Brother Knox?"

"He came in here," a woman near the back

shouted. "l saw him and his assistants."

Everyone looked around.

"He's not here in this hall. Has anyone any idea

where he might be?"

There was no answer.

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NICK CARTER.

"Is there anyone here familiar with this church,

with its construction?"

Still there was no answer.

The Indians weren't going to remain down at the

stadium for much longer. We had two choices.

Either we were going to have to get away from here

somehow, or we were going to have to call for help.

Either way we'd need a delay.

I glanced at the clear plastic chair that Knox's

holographic image had been projected onto, and

an idea suddenly came to mind.

"Is there anyone here who knows electronics?" I

asked.

An older man in the front row had been leaning

against one of the tables. He straightened up. "I

do," he said.

"All right. You and I have some work to do.

Meanwhile, I want a couple of people at each of

the doors to watch for the Indians. If they start up

this way, I want to know immediately."

Several men at the fringes of the crowd broke

away and headed down the four corridors to the

doors.

"Now," I said, "is there anyone here who is

wounded or hurt?"

At least twenty hands went up.

"Have we any nurses or doctors here? If so, I

want those people taken care of and ready to be

moved by nightfall if we have to leave here."

"I'm a nurse," a woman said. "But there are no

supplies here. Someone will have to go to the dis-

pensary for them."

"I'll go," Pat spoke up. She still clutched the

M16.

There was no other way. I nodded. "Take a cou-

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ple of the men with you," I said. "And don't be

very long about it."

She nodded and jumped off the dais, then picked

several men to accompany her. They all headed out

of the main hall.

"The rest of you try to get some rest," I said. I

laid the microphone down and jumped off the dais.

"Paul Fresnel." The older man who had claimed

he knew electronics introduced himself. "What

have you got in mind?"

I pointed up at the plastic chair. "Are you aware

what that chair is?"

Fresnel smiled. "If you tell me it's some kind of

a projector—probably a holograph unit—and that

Knox's image was never real, I'd believe you."

I just looked at him in amazement. "If you knew

that, why did you go along with all this? The sui-

cides and everything."

Fresnel looked down at his feet and shrugged his

shoulders. "Hell, my kids all grew up on me, my

wife died five years ago, and I was all alone." He

looked up. "No one gave a damn about me, don't

you see. Least not until Knox and his crowd came

along. Here I belonged and was loved."

I reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

I said.

' 'You have a lot of friends now, Paul,"

"Let's see if we can't get them out of this mess in

one piece. "

He nodded.

c 'I want the chair and the projectors moved out

into the front corridor directly in front of the main

doors. Can it be done?"

Fresnel whistled. "Don't know off hand," he

said. He brushed past me, climbed up on the dais,

and then inspected the chair and the area around it.

i

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He looked up toward the overhead projector.

"We'd have to rip out some of the building's wiring

to make up cables. And we'd need some tools."

"Can it be done?"

He looked down at me and smiled. "I'll get on it

immediately. But I'll need some help, and like I

say, some tools. "

"Pick anyone you want to help you, and I'll see

if I can find you the tools," I said. "But this is a top

priority project. I want that chair in front of the

door and ready to go as soon as you possibly can

manage it."

"Will do," Fresnel said.

I hurried away from the dais and up the corridor

to the front doors. Four men stood by the half-

opened doors looking out.

"They made it okay down to the dispensary?" I

asked.

One of them looked around and nodded.

"No sign of the Indians?"

"None up here, but we can hear them over at the

stadium."

"Keep a close watch," I said. I turned on my

heel and went back through the main hall and into

the back hall where I punched the button for

Knox's elevator.

It was at the top floor, and it took a minute to

get down to me. I brought my gun up as the doors

opened. There was no one in the car, but there was

blood on the floor.

I got in, and as the car rose, I crouched down,

the M16's safety off, my finger on the trigger. The

woman said she had seen Knox and his men com-

ing into the church. There was a real possibility

they were holed up in the apartment.

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The doors opened, and I leaped out and rolled to

the left. No one was there.

"Knox!" I shouted.

There was no answer. Slowly, covering myself

around each corner, I quickly searched the apart-

ment, but without results.

Back in the living room, the elevator door still

open, I looked around. There was blood on the

floor of the elevator car, but none here on the fur

carpeting. They had gotten on the elevator, but

they hadn't gotten off up here.

Not up here. They had gone down! There had to

be a basement.

I rode the elevator back down to the ground

floor. There was a key slot in a control panel, but

no buttons.

stepped off the elevator, let the doors close,

then punched the call button again. When the

doors reopened, I stepped back on the elevator,

and then immediately got off again as the doors

closed.

I could hear the elevator car going up. The three

men at the back door were watching me, and I

called two of them over.

"Help me pry this door open," I said.

The three of us put our shoulders to it, and slow-

ly the door came open to reveal a dark shaft that

went down another twenty feet, a door at the bot-

tom.

"When Pat Staley gets back from the dispensary,

tell her where I've gone. Knox and his people are

down in the basement," I said.

They nodded and went wide-eyed as I slung the

M16 over my shoulder and leaped through the

open door, grabbing the greasy elevator cables.

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I

1

I slipped the first ten feet before I was able to get

a good grip, but then I was at the bottom.

The door had a release bar, and I slipped it up

and opened the door just a crack.

On the other side was a vast, dimly lit room, the

thick support columns holding up the church floor

above like a concrete forest.

At the far side of the basement there were several

strong lights, and I could see several men loading

something aboard a forklift truck.

Bringing my M16 around, I eased the door open

a little wider, then slipped into the basement. Keep-

ing low and dodging from one support column to

another, I worked my way across to within twenty

feet of where they were working.

It was gold. In standard bars. There were at least

a dozen full pallets of the precious metal and an-

other half a dozen empty ones.

As I watched, the last bars from one of the

pallets were loaded onto the forklift, and then the

driver maneuvered the heavily loaded machine

around a corner and down a wide tunnel.

Gold. They had amassed a fortune down here

and now they were moving it out—which meant

they had a way of getting out of here.

I stepped out from around the column. "Good

afternoon, gentlemen, going somewhere ? "

There were four of them sitting on the gold

pallets, and at the sound of my voice they all spun

around.

At that moment Knox and Atterbury came

around the corner from the tunnel. Both of them

carried rifles.

"Don't try it!" I shouted, but they started to

bring their rifles up. I fired from the hip, at least

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203

three hits slamming into Knox's chest, driving him

backwards, and two hitting Atterbury.

The other four men all dove toward their weap-

ons a few feet away as I swung the M16 around. On

full automatic, I laid down a deadly line of fire.

Three of them went down, but the fourth had

reached his rifle as I leaped forward, using my now

empty gun as a club.

His rifle was just coming up as I caught him full

force on the side of his head with the butt of my

own rifle. His skull cracked open, blood spurting

everywhere, and he fell over sideways, his legs jerk-

ing spasmodically for a few seconds, and then he

was still.

Tossing my rifle aside, I grabbed his and raced

around the corner into the tunnel which opened

about a hundred yards away.

At the end I stopped and looked outside. About

a quarter of a mile away, down a long hill, I could

see a small force of Indians hacking at something

in the forklift. They had been waiting for it and had

caught the driver out in the open.

But I now knew how Knox and his men had

planned on getting out of here. And I knew how all

of us could leave.

Farther down the hill, another quarter mile from

the forklift, a Hercules C130 transport aircraft, its

rear cargo doors open, sat on a wide runway.

It was our ticket out of here. If we could get to it.


SIXTEEN

With the Indians out there, getting the people

across the half mile to the aircraft would be im-

possible. We didn't have the weapons to fight them

off, which left only one other alternative. The Indi-

ans would have to be distracted, but long enough

for all of us to leave.

I slung the M16 over my shoulder as I hurried

back down the tunnel to where Knox lay. He was

dead, his eyes open, his lips curled back in a snarl.

He was a large man, and it took me nearly five

minutes to drag his body across the basement to

the open elevator door.

I stayed there for a moment and caught my

breath and then went back and grabbed the other

weapons and brought them to the elevator doors.

Inside the shaft, I shouted up to the guards at the

back doors, and a few seconds later one of them

appeared at the opening above.

"We heard shooting down there," he said.

"Close the elevator door," I shouted up.

"Close the elevator door. I'm going to call the

car down here. Hurry!"

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205

Once the Indians discovered that the tunnel door

was open, they would be coming up here. I didn't

want to be caught here totally exposed.

It took several minutes for them to get the door

closed above, and when they did, I hit the elevator

button and the car started down.

I quickly searched through Knox's pockets and

came up with a ring of keys. One of them was un-

doubtedly for the elevator, and the others were

probably for wherever his holographic projector

was located.

There was a whoop across the basement and I

spun around as dozens of Indians emerged from

the tunnel.

They spotted me and headed across in a dead

run.

I grabbed one of the M16s and fired a couple of

short bursts. Several of the Indians went down, and

the others ducked behind the cement columns.

The elevator car arrived, and keeping one eye on

the far side of the basement, I dragged Knox's

body aboard, then shoved the weapons inside.

I fired another burst as I stepped into the

elevator, but the doors wouldn't close. There were

no buttons, only the key slot.

Working as fast as I could, I began trying

Knox's keys one by one. On the fifth try I had the

correct one.

I twisted it over and the elevator door began to

close as several Indians made a desperate run at

me. I fired again from the hip, but then the door

was closed, and I started up with Knox's body and

the weapons.

The rear door guards were waiting for me when

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NICK CARTER

the elevator door opened on the main floor. When

they saw Knox lying there dead, they all backed up

a step.

"Get him off the elevator and find a fresh robe

for me," I snapped, stepping out into the corridor.

They were shaking their heads,

"We're getting out of here as soon as it's dark,

but we need his body. Now do it!" I shouted.

"What do you want us to do with .

. him .

when we're done?" one of them asked.

"Leave him here. I'll send someone for him," I

said. I hurried across the hall and down the cor-

ridor into the main room.

The plastic chair had already been taken off the

dais, and Fresnel was directing some people who

were pulling wiring from the table lighting fixtures.

I went over to him. "How long before you'll be

ready?" I asked.

He looked up, a grin on his face. "A couple of

hours at most," he said. He pointed back at the

dais where a small service door was open at the

base. "We found the equipment room where he sat

in front of the projector pickups. The place was

filled with tools and almost everything else we

needed. "

' 'All right," I said catching my breath. "Just

make sure it's ready and in place by dark. We're

getting out of here then. "

Fresnel nodded.

"When you get a chance, send a couple of your

men into the back corridor. We have Knox's body

there."

"Body?" Fresnel asked.

I nodded. "There's no time to explain now, but

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207

I want his body propped up in front of the holo-

graph projector pickup as soon as you're ready."

Fresnel nodded nervously, then went back to his

work. As I turned around, I immediately spotted

Pat across the room where she was helping the

nurse tend to the wounded.

I went over to her and took her aside. "Any

trouble getting the stuff?"

"No," she said. "Where did you go?"

I quickly explained .to her what had happened

and what we were going to try to do. She looked

scared.

"Will it work?" she asked when I was finished.

"I don't know. But it's the only way out of here

as far as I can see," I said. "As soon as possible I

want you to start moving everyone out into the

back hallway. We're going to leave by the rear

doors. "

"There are several hundred people here, Nick,"

Pat said. "Will we be able to get everyone aboard

the plane?"

"We'll have to," 1 said. The plane was one of the

largest transport aircraft built. But whether or not

we could stuff the large number of people we had

into it and still get off the ground was another

question.

All through the remainder of the afternoon,

Fresnel and his people continued to work on the

holograph projectors. Pat and the nurse and a few

other women finished with the wounded, and the

guards at the doors continued to get more and

more edgy.

There had to be hundreds of Indians out there

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NICK CARTER

now, many of them around the Church, but most

of them in the town.

For a couple of hours there had been a lot of

activity below in the basement. The rear door

guards had listened at the elevator door until it

finally became quiet below.

The back corridor gradually filled with people

from the main hall. Knox's body had been dressed

in a fresh robe and was propped in front of the

holographic projector equipment beneath the dais.

Pat and four other women worked their way

through the crowd, coming up an hour later with

an accurate head count and total body weight.

There were four hundred and twenty-seven men

and women, including me and the boy Domingo,

who had been wounded, but would live, totalling

more than seventy thousand pounds. The Hercules

would handle it if the runway was long enough and

the plane in good shape—and if we could get them

all aboard.

A lot of ifs; but I kept telling myself we had no

other choice.

It was nearly seven P.M. and dark outside, when

at long last Fresnel said we were ready for a test.

"I don't know about the power loss in that long

length of makeshift cable," he said. "If it doesn't

work the first time, it'll never work."

I found Pat and told her we were ready.

c 'I'm staying here with Fresnel and two other

men until the last one of your people is out the

back door and on his or her way down to the air-

plane. Don't stop for anything, no matter what

happens. Get them on board immediately."

"Who's going to fly it?" she asked.


209

€ 'I am," I said. There was no one else. And al-

though I had never taken off or landed such a big

aircraft, I had flown a DC3 once, a number of

years ago.

She kissed me on the lips. "l love you, Nich-

olas," she said softly.

"We're going to take a vacation together when

this is over," I said. "Now get everyone ready. We

leave in ten minutes."

The guards at the side doors had been pulled

away, and I went to the front door where the

plastic chair had been set up. Overhead, strung on

the ceiling, was the upper projector. The lower unit

was on the floor beneath the chair, and the

horizontal plane projector was propped on a table

to the left. Cables snaked everywhere.

"What's going on outside," I asked one of the

guards at the door.

"They're burning the town," he said. "There's

hundreds of them out there."

"Let's give them something to celebrate then," I

said. "As soon as Knox's projection comes to life,

I want you to open the doors, then get back with

the others. As soon as it's clear at the rear of the

building, get everyone down to the airplane."

They all looked at me nervously for several sec-

onds, but then they nodded.

Fresnel and I went back to the equipment room

beneath the dais. Knox's body was seated stiffly in

the chair, his eyes still open, his lips still curled

back into a death mask grin.

"He offered us hope for a better world," Fresnel

said looking at him. "The Final Reward, it was

called. A final reward for a life of toil."

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' 'He was a madman," said softly.

Fresnel looked up at me. "We all were, Mr.

Carter, we all were." He flipped several switches,

and the equipment came to life, casting an eerie

blue-tinged light on the corpse.

"It's now .or never," Fresnel said. He hit the

main power switch, the blue glow intensifying to a

bright, hard blue light.

Someone came running from the front hall.

"He's there . . . I mean it's working."

"Right," I said. "Get back with the others now,

Paul. I'll come along as soon as the last one is out."

Fresnel clapped me on the shoulder, then left. I

picked up the microphone and stepped to the ser-

vice door. From there I could hear the natives

screaming from the open front doors.

The remainder of the guards burst from the cor-

ridor, raced across the main hall, and were gone,

leaving me alone.

"Greetings my children, this is the voice of

God!" I said in Portuguese. I could hear my voice

booming throughout the church, and when I

stopped I could no longer hear the natives outside.

They were all quiet. They understood.

"Gather, my children, gather at my feet and I

will tell you the word of all the gods. Gather, my

children, and hear my words."

I held the microphone in one hand, the M16 in

the other, Knox's corpse behind me as I spoke. I

had no way of knowing what was going on outside,

and I would have to remain here until someone

came back for me with the news that everyone had

gotten out of the building. In the meantime, I was

going to have to hold the Indians in front of the

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projection of Knox's body.

211

"Come my children," my voice boomed. "Drop

your tools of war, and hear my message."

Except for my own greatly amplified voice, I

could hear nothing else. I spoke on and on, exhort-

ing the Indians to gather at the front of the church,

to look at Knox's image, to listen to his words.

At one point I invited the bravest of the Indians

to come forward and touch my body. And then I

stopped talking until from somewhere in the front

hallway, I heard a man scream.

One of the Indians had evidently done what I

had asked and had come to try and touch the body

that wasn't there.

"I am God, and you will listen!" I shouted.

Pat suddenly appeared around the corner of the

dais. "They're on their way," she said.

I nodded. "Listen to my words inside of you.

Gaze now on my face and learn the word of God,"

I roared.

I laid the microphone down, jumped out of the

equipment room, and both of us hurried across the

main hall, down the corridor and out the back

door.

The night was hot and very muggy as we ran

down the path that led into the jungle.

By the time we made it down to the plane, the

last of the people were climbing aboard.

"Make sure everyone is in, and then come for-

ward; I'll need your help," I said.

Pat helped the people climb aboard as I worked

my way forward to the cockpit. They were all

crammed into the aircraft, shoulder to shoulder,

with no room to move let alone sit or lie down.

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J climbed into the left-hand seat, studied the in-

strument panel for several long seconds, and then

flipped on the master switch and the panel lights.

The instrument gyros came to life, and the fuel

gauges on a back panei where the flight engineer

would normally sit, came up to full.

One by one, I kicked the engine preheaters, fuel

pumps, and then the starters, each engine slowly

grinding to life. Oil and hydraulic pressures all

came up to the green marks as I steadied the

RPMS to one thousand.

Pat came screaming into the cockpit.

"Everyone's aboard, but the Indians are coming

down from the church!"

' 'Strap yourself in," I snapped, and I looked

over my shoulder at the engineer's panel, finally

finding the cargo bay door control. I hit the switch,

and I could hear the dull vibrations of the cargo

doors closing. A minute later the indicator light

winked green above the CARGO DOOR CLOSE posi-

tion.

Flipping on the landing lights, I released the

parking brake, advanced the throttles and pro-

peller pitch controls, and we began to move.

The plane had been lined up on the end of the

runway, and hesitating only a moment to make

sure all the gauges were indicating the proper read-

ings, I shoved the throttles and pitch controls all

the way forward, and we were rolling. We moved

slowly at first as we bumped down the runway, but

then we began to gather speed. I added fifteen

degrees of flaps three quarters of the way down the

runway, the nose coming up slightly.

And then we were rotating, angling back almost

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213

on our tail. The ground suddenly dropped away

beneath us, and the dark jungle stretched out for

hundreds of miles in every direction, as we pon-

derously fought for altitude.

Landing was going to be a problem, but one that

could be solved with a sharp air controller who

could talk me down. It would probably be to the

east somewhere, in Peru, a friendly country.

But we had made it. Now it would only be a mat-

ter of the Justice Department mopping up the final

details of the church's operation in Chicago, and

for the people back in the cargo hold to somehow

go back to their normal lives.

Others would help with that, though.

As soon as I got home, however, I was going to

make good my promise to Pat, and take her on a

vacation. A very long vacation.