# Zero-Hour Strike Force4444444

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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

目

ヘく

113(125 of 212)

一十 110%

T »

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

113

FRENCH OIL EQUIPMENT PUMPING

SALESMAN. REQUEST SUPPORTING

DOCUMENTS, SPECIFICATION, BOOKS,

AND ORDER FORMS DELIVERED TO ME AT

ATHENS HELLENIKON AIRPORT NLT . . .

Carter hesitated. "What is our ETA Athens, Admiral?"

It was after four in the morning.

"We can have you there

by helicopter at the airport before midnight."

Carter turned back to the teletype.

... 2300 HOURS THIS DATE. ALSO

REQUESTING 9MM AMMUNITION,

CLOTHING, AND LUGGAGE. FINALLY,

REQUESTING MY WEAPONS BE

IMMEDIATELY SENT WITH OIL EQUIPMENT

SPECIFICATION BOOKS AND MATERIALS

VIA DIPLOMATIC POUCH TO FRENCH

EMBASSY TEHRAN.

The admiral had been watching the monitor, and he whis-

tled. Carter looked up.

"This is all O-category top secret, Admiral, " Carter said,

a hard edge to his voice. It was the admiral's ship, so Carter

could hardly have asked him to leave. But he could damned

well make the man understand the importance of what was

happening here.

"Aye-aye," the man said.

WORKING.


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

目

ヘく

113(125 of 212)

一十 110%

T »

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

113

FRENCH OIL EQUIPMENT PUMPING

SALESMAN. REQUEST SUPPORTING

DOCUMENTS, SPECIFICATION, BOOKS,

AND ORDER FORMS DELIVERED TO ME AT

ATHENS HELLENIKON AIRPORT NLT . . .

Carter hesitated. "What is our ETA Athens, Admiral?"

It was after four in the morning.

"We can have you there

by helicopter at the airport before midnight."

Carter turned back to the teletype.

... 2300 HOURS THIS DATE. ALSO

REQUESTING 9MM AMMUNITION,

CLOTHING, AND LUGGAGE. FINALLY,

REQUESTING MY WEAPONS BE

IMMEDIATELY SENT WITH OIL EQUIPMENT

SPECIFICATION BOOKS AND MATERIALS

VIA DIPLOMATIC POUCH TO FRENCH

EMBASSY TEHRAN.

The admiral had been watching the monitor, and he whis-

tled. Carter looked up.

"This is all O-category top secret, Admiral, " Carter said,

a hard edge to his voice. It was the admiral's ship, so Carter

could hardly have asked him to leave. But he could damned

well make the man understand the importance of what was

happening here.

"Aye-aye," the man said.

WORKING.


" V 114 (126 01212) — + 110%

T

114 NICK CARTER Hawk had teletyped the single word to let Carter know that his requests were being arranged and to stand by "How long will this take?" the admiral asked. Carter shrugged. "No way of telling. An hour, maybe

The admiral got to his feet. "I don't know about you, Commander, but I'm going to get myself a drink. Can I bring you anything?" "Yes, sir," Carter said. "A bottle of cognac and a pack of cigarettes." "I think that can be arranged." "Listen, Admiral, I want to thank you for helping us. We were in a bit of a tight spot with those Libyan jets back there." The admiral chuckled. "We can't let the Nirnitk have all the fun," he said as he left. Carter sat back and reread everything he had sent to Hawk. Zero-hour Strike Force. The words had an ominous ring to them and seemed even more deadly by being in print in a place like this. But what the hell had Waddam heard that made him send his top spy to Muscat, and Abu Dhabi, and Tehran, and finally Riyadh among the other oil capitals? He said he had heard rumors. What son of minors? That an oil field would be attacked? It would explain why Kehl, had visited each capital. But if that were the case, Caner's going to Tehran would accomplish nothing. The attack had been on Saudi Arabia. There were other possibilities though, Carter thought. It was possible that Saudi Arabia was only the first target. Other attacks could come. But by whom? The Zero-hour Strike Force was apparently some sort of commando group. The men that had swooped down on the Saudi desert in Israeli planes and with Israeli equipment ... Strike that

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE 115


ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

115

He sat forward. The aircraft had been reported as Hercules

C-130s. American-built. Our forces used such equipment.

We had sold many of the planes to Israel and to other

countries as well. But there hadn't been hundreds of

thousands of those planes built and sold; the number was

relatively small. It would not be outside the realm of possibil-

ity to find out where every C-130 ever built was located and

to find out exactly where they were on that morning that the

bombs were delivered

They wouldn't be able to find out about all the planes, of

course, but they'd be able to narrow the field down consider-

ably.

He turned back to the teletype and sent out his request,

outlining exactly what he wanted done and the reasons he

wanted the information.

When he was finished, the admiral was back with a bottle

of Martel cognac, a couple of snifters, and a pack of ciga-

rettes. Before the officer could get a look at the monitor or the

prime set on which Carter had been working, Carter jumped

up and tore out the last message, then burned it in a waste-

paper can.

The admiral watched him. "That sensitive?"

"Yes, sir, " Carter said. He didn't really know why he had

destroyed that part of the message before the admiral could

see it, but something deep inside his gut, or way at the back of

his brain, was beginning to nag at him, was beginning to

worry him.

The teletype came alive a half hour later:

ALL TERMS ARRANGED. KIMITRI

MOUDHROS WILL MEET YOU AT

2300 HOURS THIS DATE HELLENIKON

AIRPORT. THANKS TO MISS ARLEMONT.

GOOD LUCK TO YOU.

/signed/ HAWK

116

NICK CARTER


116

NICK CARTER

Carter knew Móudhros; he was the Amalgamated Press

and Wire Services chief of station for Athens, which in-

cluded operations in the Balkan countries. He was a good

man, if a little overemotional. And he looked a lot like Telly

Savalas. He was a real ladies' man. Carter liked him.

Carter took the teletype paper from both machines and

destroyed it, then finished his drink and stubbed out his

cigarette.

The admiral got up. "I imagine you must be tired. I'll walk

back down with you and show you to your quarters. "

"Thanks, but I think I'll stay up a while longer, " Carter

said. 'Why don't you just point me in the direction of Miss

Arlemont's quarters?" He grabbed the bottle of cognac on

his way out.

It was just a little before 11:00 P.M. when Carter and Marie

touched down at the business aviation terminal of Athens's

Hellenikon Airport in the Dessault helicopter. The Forres-

tal's maintenance crew had made sure the machine was in

good working order and had gassed her up.

Just northwest of Crete, about 150 air miles south of

Athens, they had lifted off for the uneventful night flight over

the Mirtoön Sea.

They had made love slowly, gently, and with much feeling

in the early morning hours aboard the aircraft carrier, and

then had fallen asleep in each other's arms.

Carter had awoken around noon, had gone down to the

officers' mess, and spent the afternoon on the bridge until

dinner, when he and Marie were guests at the admiral's table.

That evening they made sure the helicopter was ready, and

just before ten they lifted off.

Marie made arrangements with the terminal manager to

put the chopper into short-term storage. Someone would

come for it soon, she said. Then she and Carter were

ZEROHOUR STRIKE CODGE

117


117

processed through customs, and outside—she waiting for a

cab to go into the city and he getting set to climb aboard the

shuttle over to the main terminal they kissed.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

"I'll try."

"Maybe I should tag along .

"I'll see you in Monaco, " Carter said firmly. He kissed

her again, then climbed onto the shuttle. She waved sadly as

the little bus left the curb.

Kimi Móudhros was waiting at the newsstand inside the

main terminal, his back against a support column, his nose

buried in the Paris edition of the Herald-Tribune.

"Ah-ha, Marcel," he boomed, tossing the paper in a

trashcan. "How good to see you again. " He gripped Carter

in a bear hug, making no attempt to make their meeting

covert. "I think we are being watched," he whispered in

English into Carter's ear.

"It's good to see you too, mon ami," Carter said loudly in

French.

Móudhros grabbed Carter by the arm, and together they

got on an elevator and went up to the parking ramp. They

stepped into the shadows and waited for a full five minutes.

"I think I may have picked up a tail from town, " Móud-

hros said softly.

"Are you working on anything important?"

"Not a thing. It is very curious; the moment I get the call

about you, I acquire a tail."

"They're probably waiting at the exit," Carter said.

"Could be,

" Móudhros said. "Let's get you ready so you

can be on your way."

They went back to where the Greek had parked his Volks-

wagen minibus. Curtains covered the windows. Inside, in the

back, he opened a battered leather suitcase and showed

118


118

NICK CARTER

Carter the clothing that had been picked out for him.

"This you take with you. You're booked on the overnight

flight into Tehran which leaves in a little more than an hour.

I'm to meet the courier with the French diplomatic pouch in

half an hour just outside the airport with your package. It goes

out on the same flight. You'll be met in Tehran, and you will

be given a briefcase. Your papers and your weapons will be

in it."

Carter quickly pulled off his Luger and stiletto, and handed

them over to Moudhros, who placed them in a brown leather

attaché case that matched the suitcase.

"This will be the case waiting for you."

Carter felt naked without his weapons.

Móudhros handed over Carter's tickets, about a thousand

dollars' worth of Iranian rials, and then stamped his French

passport with the proper visa.

When he was finished, he hugged Carter and kissed him on

both cheeks. "I wish you very much luck, my friend. I think I

know what you are after, and I know that it is very dangerous

now for an American to be anywhere within the Arab world.

So be especially careful. And may Allah be with you." He

laughed.

'Thanks," Carter said. He checked outside, but no one

was there, so he grabbed the suitcase, shook Móudhros's

hand, and hopped out of the minibus. He headed directly

across the parking ramp and entered the terminal from a

different doorway than the one through which they had left.

Immediately he went to the Olympic Airways counter,

where he checked in and was given a boarding pass. Then he

sat in the lounge, in a corner, until it was time for him to

board.

They lost an hour flying east, so they landed in Tehran at

4:45 in the morning. A gigantic picture of Khoumeni hung

from the side of the terminal building. It fluttered in the light

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

110


119

(131 of 212)

一十 110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

119

morning breeze as they taxied to the parking ramp and turned

inward toward the terminal building as the engines wound

down.

Inside, once the baggage had come up, Carter's was

searched thoroughly by a very efficient customs agent. Even

the lining of the luggage was searched, and afterward he was

frisked by hand as well as having to walk through a metal

detector. He would never have gotten into the country with

his weapons or his spare passports, he realized.

'Your name?" the customs agent asked in French.

"Marcel Mentoir. "

"Nationality?"

"French.

"Reason for coming to Iran?"

"Business."

The customs agent looked up from Carter's passport.

"What sort of business, Monsieur Mentoir?"

"I represent a firm that manufactures oil pumping equip-

ment. I am here hoping to make some sales now that you have

decided to begin pumping oil again. "

"We have never stopped pumping oil, monsieur. What

you may have heard were nothing more than ugly rumors, "

the customs agent snapped. He handed Carter's passport

back after stamping the date and time in it, then motioned

Carter on.

Carter went through the customs barrier and hesitated

inside the terminal proper, looking for someone carrying the

attaché case that matched his luggage. The diplomatic

pouches would be the first items off the plane, and they

would be on their way into the city by now. Whoever was to

meet him here with the attach case would have had plenty of

time. But there were very few people in the terminal at this

hour, and no one carried anything even remotely similar to

the attaché case.

He crossed through the terminal, hesitated again by the

120

NICK CARTER


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

目

へく

120(132 of 212)

- + 110%

T »

120

NICK CARTER

main doors, and looked back, but still no one had appeared.

There could have been a mix-up, he decided. If it came to

that, he'd stop by the French embassy in a couple of hours

and pick up his things.

Yet he felt vulnerable and very much exposed as he

stepped outside and across the wide sidewalk to the curb

where a half-dozen taxis and two buses were taking on

passengers from the Greek airliner that had just landed.

Again, as he had twice inside, Carter stopped and surveyed

the people and the luggage they carried. But still there was no

sign of any Frenchman with a brown leather case that

matched the single piece Carter carried.

He held back, lighting a cigarette as he waited for the rest

of the passengers to come out.

A half hour later, the buses had gone and only two of the

cabs remained. The driver in the lead taxi leaned out of his

window and looked at Carter."'

"Cheap, I will take you into town if your ride has not

shown up," he said. He spoke in English.

"I think so," Carter said, his English heavily accented. He

came across to the cab and got in, tossing his suitcase beside

him on the seat.

"Where do you wish to go, monsieur?" the driver asked,

switching into very bad French as he put the cab in gear and

they headed into town.

Carter looked back as they slid away from the terminal, but

no one was coming out after them. The other cab the only

other vehicle in sight-remained where it was.

"Monsieur?"

Carter turned back. "The French embassy. "

"Oui, monsieur."

Carter sat back and lit a cigarette as they hurried onto the

main highway past the burned-out remains of what appeared

to have been a gas station, then turned toward the capital city

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

121


121

of a dying country. Khoumeni was ill, and there was more

corruption, more graft, and certainly more political execu-

tions under this government than there had been under the

repressive Shah's regime. Over the past eighteen months or

so, there had been a steady stream of reports about the

breakdown of order within the country. The war with Iraq

seemed never-ending, and there were so many splinter

groups—armed splinter groupsroaming the cities as well

as the countryside, that much of the day-to-day business of

the country would soon be grinding to a standstill. Oil exports

had decreased to a trickle, which of course was blamed on

faulty equipment left behind by the Americans. At the mo-

ment, the French were about the only ones left in general

favor here.

They passed the broken-down hulk of an army truck turned

over at the side of the road, and past the sports stadium,

closed now, a farmers' market was being set up as the sun

was just appearing over the horizon.

The French embassy was housed in a two-story

white

stucco building that had at one time been the home of some

wealthy family. Tall iron gates opened into a front courtyard

that led up to the main entrance of leaded glass doors with

bars over them. A few trees grew in the courtyard, and the

overall effect was one of peace and quiet.

The cabby dropped Carter off at the front gate, and when

he was gone, Carter approached it. A button was set in the

wall just below a speaker grille. A brass plaque said in

French: Ring for Service.

Carter pushed the button, then looked over his shoulder

down the street. A black Mercedes sedan had come around

the corner and parked half a block away. There were two men

inside, but he couldn't tell much more. The car had Iranian

plates.

"Oui," a voice came from the speaker.

122

NICK CARTER


122 134 of 212)

= +

110%

122

NICK CARTER

Carter turned back. "Ici Monsieur Marcel Mentoir."

"Oui?"

'There is a package here for me," Carter said.

"I know of no package for a Monsieur Mentoir," the

impersonal voice droned.

"It came this morning on the Olympic flight from Athens.

In the diplomatic pouch."

"Diplomatic pouch? From Athens? Non, monsieur. There

was no diplomatic pouch from Athens."


TEN

No diplomatic pouch. Móudhros could not be a traitor. It

was impossible to believe that he could set something up like

this.

"Please check with the ambassador, " Carter insisted

"I am telling you, monsieur, there is no diplomatic pouch

from Athens, not this morning.

"Later today?"

"Non, monsieur. Not until next week at the earliest. "

How could Kimitri have gotten it so wrong? But Móud-

hros had said he was being followed. Damn. They had set

him up!

"A phone!" Carter shouted into the speaker. "I need to

use the telephone. We must get through to Athens."

But there was no answer. Whoever he had been speaking

with either had shut off the intercom or was refusing to

respond.

"Please! It is urgent. … " Carter tried again, when out of

the corner of his eye he detected a movement.

He spun around just in time to avoid being hit by a shot

fired by one of the men from the Mercedes. The bullet

ricocheted off the concrete wall, inches from his side.

123

124


124

NICK CARTER

The second man in the car was getting out from behind the

wheel as Carter dodged to the right.

Two more shots were fired, whining off the pavement

behind him as he ducked around the corner and raced head-

long down the narrow street.

It wouldn't take them very long to get back in their car and

come after him. He was going to have to find a hiding place,

and fast.

At the end of the block he turned left, and the street

suddenly opened onto a wide, traffic-filled square. Cars,

trucks, buses, and pedestrians were everywhere. He pulled

up short. He did not want to be arrested by the Iranian police.

If they locked him up, he'd end up like a goldfish in a

bowl—anyone who wanted to take a potshot at him would

have no problem.

Head down, a determined look on his face as if he were

hurrying off to a business meeting, Carter walked around the

square as the black Mercedes came out from the side street,

paused a moment, and then turned left behind him.

He had thought that coming here to Tehran would probably

prove nothing, but he had been wrong. Something very big

was going on. They had apparently known that he would be

contacting Moudhros. And they had arranged the diplomatic

pouch thing. But how? And even more importantly, who?

Certainly not the Israelis. The KGB might be able to pull

something like this off, but Carter had his doubts. No, he

thought, this had all the earmarks of being an American

operation. But that was totally impossible. We would never

have dropped nuclear weapons on Saudi Arabia. There was

no reason for it.

A cop was directing traffic, and at the first corner Carter

held back until there were several other people crossing the

intersection with him, then he went.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

125


125

A moment later the black Mercedes came through the

intersection, sped up, and fifty yards ahead, the passenger

door popped open and a tall, almost cadaverously thin man

jumped out. His right hand was in his coat pocket.

The car shot ahead, and the tall man skipped between the

parked cars, coming toward Carter. The driver would circle

the block, coming up behind Carter and stopping any escape

that way. But for a minute or so the two men would be out of

sight of each other.

The street was fronted by a long row of shops. At that

moment Carter stood in front of a small lending library,

several books arranged in a display in the window. Inside, he

could see an old man doing something behind a counter.

He stepped into the doorway and tried the door. It was

locked, but the old man looked up and shook his head. Too

early.

Carter banged on the door. The man with the gun was

nearly on top of him.

The old man, exasperated now, came to the door and

unlocked it. Before he could say anything, Carter pushed past

him, leaped over the counter, and slipped through a narrow

opening between two of the book racks.

The old man shouted something behind him, but he was

cut off in mid-sentence.

Carter hurried around a stack of books and listened as the

front door was closed and locked. Something was being

dragged across the floor.

He reached down and slipped off his shoes,

then

noiselessly ducked down and moved toward the front of the

shop.

The thin man had come over the counter and was coming

down the same aisle Carter had used. He could see the man's

head through gaps in the books.

126

NICK CARTER


126

NICK CARTER

Carefully Carter crept in front of a tall bookcase and peered

around it. The armed man stood ten feet away, his back

turned to him.

Without hesitation Carter straightened up, and in a couple

of long strides was on top of him.

The man had started to turn around when Carter kicked his

left leg out from under him, then smashed his fist into the side

of the man's head as he was going down.

The pistol clattered to the floor, and Carter quickly

scooped it up. It was a big .357 magnum with a short barrel to

which was attached a silencer. A very effective killing

machine within twenty-five or thirty yards.

The tall, thin man was dazed and was trying to get to his

knees. Carter checked to make sure the pistol was loaded,

then vaulted over the counter to make sure the door was

locked. It was. He didn't want someone wandering in at this

moment.

The elderly shopkeeper lay out of sight in the corner, his

head turned at an unnatural angle, his eyes open. He was

dead. The son of a bitch had killed him.

Carter went back to where the tall man was pulling himself

up. His eyes were still glazed, although he was coming

around. Carter was mad. It would have been so easy just to

pull the trigger and get it over with, but he held himself in

check by sheer will power. The other man had recovered

enough to understand that. He backed away.

"Why did you have to kill the old man?" Carter hissed.

"You could have just knocked him out. You didn't have to

do that to him, you bastard. " Carter spoke in English.

'You don't understand," the tall man said, also in En-

glish. He had a drawl. Texas? Maybe Arizona or New

Mexico. Definitely an American.

Oh, hell, Carter thought, speak anything but English. Even

Hebrew, but not American English. 'Who are you and what

the hell is going on?"

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

127


127

The man said nothing.

"Why did you try to kill me?"

"You're messing with something that's none of your con-

cern."

'Zero-hour Strike Force?"

The tall man lunged, but Carter had seen it coming from

his eyes and easily sidestepped the rush, laying open the

man's cheek with the lip of the silencer.

He cocked the big pistol, and when the tall man turned

back he was looking directly into the barrel. He stopped

short.

"I'd just as soon blow your head off here and now for what

you did to the old man up front. But first we'll talk."

The tall man's eyes glazed over as he did something with

his tongue. Too late Carter realized that the man had a

cyanide capsule or some other poison in a tooth. He grabbed

for the man just as he collapsed.

Carter checked his pulse, but there was nothing. He was

dead. He quickly went through the man's pockets, coming up

with a couple of hundred dollars in Iranian rials, a penknife, a

key for the Tehran Sheraton, and his wallet, which con-

tained, among other things, a U.S. State Department iden-

tification card.

Carter stared at it for a very long time. Something seemed

terribly wrong here. The card was very possibly a forgery. Or

at least Carter hoped so. It identified the man as Leslie Lowell

Lassiter II of Beaumont, Texas. His position was listed as

special assistant to the secretary of state himself.

It has to be a forgery, Carter thought. He did not want to

contemplate the consequences if it wasn't.

He pocketed Lassiter's wallet and the hotel key, then put

his shoes back on and went to the front of the shop.

The black Mercedes was just passing, the driver intently

looking the other way.

Carter slipped outside, locking the door behind him. He

128


128

NICK CARTER

had stuffed the .357 in his belt beneath his jacket and started

up the block in the direction the Mercedes had gone.

The sun was fully up now, and with it came the heat.

Pedestrian and

vehicular

traffic was everywhere. A

cacophony of noise seemed to hover over the square.

Carter spotted the Mercedes pulled up at the curb in the

next block. He quickly ducked through traffic to the other

side of the street and hurried up to a spot across from the car.

The driver, a short, squat man, leaned against the hood of the

car watching the pedestrian traffic in the direction Carter had

come from. He was clearly nervous.

There was a break in the traffic, and Carter dashed across

the street. He put his right hand inside his coat, his fingers

curling around the .357, and with his left he carefully opened

the rear door and quickly got in.

The short man, feeling the motion of the car, spun around

and looked inside at the same moment Carter pulled out the

magnum and pointed it at his head.

"You'd better get in and get us out of here before I kill

you," Carter said.

The man's eyes were wide. He opened the door on the

passenger side, got in, and slid over behind the wheel.

'Where's Les?"

"Dead," Carter said, and the man started to turn around

""And I'll kill you as well unless you do exactly as I tell you!"

The man stopped.

"The Sheraton," Carter said. "And so help me God, if

you give me any trouble, any trouble whatsoever, you won't

have to use your cyanide tablet. "

The man started the car, and when there was a break in

traffic, he pulled smoothly away from the curb and headed

across town.

It took nearly a half hour to make it to the Sheraton, a tall

edifice of glass and steel that had, from what Carter remem-


129

bered, seen better days. Carter directed the little man to park

in the rear parking lot very close to one of the exits. After

relieving the other man of his .38 Police Special, which he

shoved under the seat, he pocketed the magnum, and they got

out of the car.

'What are we doing here?" the little man asked.

"We're going up to eight-oh-seven," Carter said

The little man stepped back a pace. "You don't know what

the hell you're doing.

"I intend on finding out," Carter said, and he motioned

for the man to head up to the hotel.

"No."

"T'll kill you.

"For what? What have I done to you?"

"I'm talking about nuclear war.

"What?"

'Zero-hour Strike Force."

The little man's eyes went wide, and he paled. "Jesus,"

he said softly. "Oh, Jesus Christ."

Carter stepped forward and was about to demand an expla-

nation, when the little man pulled out a small .32-caliber

automatic and fired twice, the first shot hitting Carter in the

shoulder, driving him backward, and the second just grazing

his side.

The little man turned, dropped the gun and the car keys,

and scurried off across the parking lot. Carter dropped down

into the classic shooter's stance, following the retreating

figure, the .357 cocked, his finger on the trigger. . . but he

could not shoot the man. He was still an American. Some-

thing very bad was happening here-had happened, was

about to happen —and yet he could not pull the trigger.

He lowered the pistol and straightened up as the little man

rounded the corner of the hotel and disappeared from sight.

A woman and her two children were looking his way from


130

NICK CARTER

the opposite side of the parking lot, and a man in the back

doorway of the hotel hurriedly shut the door when Carter

turned his way.

He leaped forward, scooped up the car keys and the other

weapon, then hurried back to the Mercedes. He got behind

the wheel, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot

and headed away from the hotel, a wave of dizziness and

nausea coming over him from his wounds.

It wouldn't be very long before the Iranian police were

called about the shooting. Someone had almost certainly seen

him getting into the Mercedes and drive off, which meant the

city would no longer be safe for him.

He turned down a quiet back street, getting away from the

heavier downtown traffic, and pulled up.

behind a

tumbledown building.

The wound in his side hurt like hell, but it was only a graze

and would cause him no trouble. But his shoulder was worse.

The bullet had evidently lodged just below the collarbone.

There wasn't much blood, and it didn't hurt, but his entire

side was numb. Later, he knew, the pain would come.

He stuffed his handkerchief over the wound and rebut-

toned his shirt. Then he opened the glove compartment and

looked inside. He found the car maintenance books as well as

a small package that contained several thousand rials, a map

of Tehran, and a road map of the entire country. A spot in

Khuzistan, one of the southern provinces bordering on the

Persian Gulf, was circled. Directly to the west was Iraq, but

to the southwest was Kuwait, and beyond that, Saudi Arabia.

Carter stared at the circled spot on the map for several long

seconds. Access to the Gulf. And certainly easy air access to

Saudi Arabia.

He looked up. It made him sick at heart to think that his

own government was involved with this thing. But more and

more it looked as if that were the case.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

131


131

But if that were so, why had he been sent out here? That did

not make a lot of sense.

He looked at the map again. It was more than four hundred

miles overland to Bandar Ma'Shur, the tiny village circled.

The powerful automobile would make it if he could find the

diesel fuel, but he did not know if he could stand up to it.

He spread the map out on the seat next to him, replaced the

package with the money in the glove compartment, and

pulled out of the narrow street onto the busier boulevard.

Within twenty minutes he was headed southwest out of the

city on a wide, well-maintained paved highway.

It was still early morning, and the full heat of the day had

not built up. There was quite a bit of traffic on the highway

for the first few miles out of Tehran, but gradually it thinned

out, so that about fifty miles south, there was only an occa-

sional truck.

The big car did well-—at times he was doing eighty on the

straight, empty stretches --so that by nine o'clock, when the

pain from his shoulder wound began coming at him in waves,

he was more than a hundred miles south of Tehran.

The country here was mountainous, and up from the valley

the air was cool, although the driving was more difficult on

the winding roads.

He skirted the city of Kashan. With its population of fifty

or sixty thousand people, it maintained a vigorous police

force. If the search had expanded from Tehran, no major city

would be safe for him.

The road kept climbing, some of the mountain peaks

around him towering to twelve and thirteen thousand feet.

At around ten o'clock the road dipped down into a small

mountain town nestled in a narrow valley. Carter stopped in

the main square across from a small inn and cranked down the

window. A young boy of twelve or thirteen stood near the inn

staring at him, his eyes very wide and dark.

132


132

NICK CARTER

Carter motioned for him to come over, and he did, eagerly,

almost like a puppy. There were three other cars and two

trucks parked around the main street, but there were only a

few people. A couple of old men, seated at the inn, looked up

and were watching.

"Do you understand French?" Carter asked the boy, but

there was no response. He tried English and then German,

but the boy just stared at him. Smiling.

"Fuel, " Carter said. "Petrol."

Still the boy did not understand.

Moving carefully now, because he was in so much pain,

Carter eased out of the car. The boy stepped back.

"Diesel fuel," Carter said, stumbling back to the gas

filler. He opened the little door and pointed. "Fuel."

The boy stopped smiling, nodded, then turned and ran off

down the main street. Carter watched him for a moment, then

looked over at the inn. Once he had the fuel situation taken

care of, he would risk going into the restaurant for something

to eat. But if there was going to be any trouble here, he

wanted the car fueled and ready to go first.

He went back to the front of the car and sat down in the

driver's seat, but he left the door open. He lit a cigarette, and

as he smoked he tried to make some sense of what he had

learned so far. But it was frustrating. Everything pointed to

American government involvement in the nuclear strike, yet

he could not bring himself to accept it.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later when the young boy

came around the corner. With him were three men, two of

them each carrying a pair of jerry cans, and the third, an older

man, carrying what appeared to be a black doctor's bag

Carter got painfully out of the car as they approached.

'The boy says he thinks you are French,

" the doctor said

in French.

"Oui," Carter said. "Is that diesel fuel?"

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

133


133

«Yes, it is, and it has been well filtered, I assure you, " the

doctor said. He said something to the other two men, who

went to the back of the car and busied themselves filling the

tank.

"You are a doctor?"

"Yes, 1 am, and I can see you are hurt. The boy is very

worried."

"It is a gunshot wound

.. two of them, actually, "

Carter said. "I was set on out on the highway about fifty

miles from here."

"Barbarians, all of them," the doctor said. He led Carter

into the inn, where the old man who ran the place had already

set out a couple of bowls of very hot water and a bottle of

rough red wine.

"How did he know?" Carter asked.

"News travels very fast in this town, monsieur. We have a

telephone. I called ahead. "

Carter took off his jacket, then laid the .357 on the table.

No one even appeared to notice it. He peeled off his shirt, and

the innkeeper took it away from him and disappeared with it

into the back.

"You are in pain?" the doctor asked, gently probing the

shoulder wound

"Considerable pain," Carter said

"I will give you something to make you sleep for a few

hours"

"Just a local anesthetic, " Carter interrupted

The doctor looked into his eyes, then nodded. "As you

wish. "

Several people had wandered in from the square, and they

sat around respectfully, drinking tea and watching wide-eyed

as their local doctor repaired the wounded Frenchman who

drove the very large German car.

It took nearly a half hour for the local to take effect, and

134


134

NICK CARTER

even then, the doctor warned in his soft French, there would

be a lot of deep pain. The bullet, he found by probing, was

lodged just beneath the collarbone.

Carter took some of the wine, then nodded up at the doctor.

"I have a very important appointment soon. I must not be

late."

The doctor seemed amused. "I don't think you will be in

any shape to travel when I have finished."

"I must," Carter said, gripping the doctor's arm with his

good hand.

The doctor said nothing as his disengaged himself and

began the operation.

At first there was no pain, only some dull probing and

cutting sensations, but then it was as if a dentist had just

drilled deeply into a raw nerve without Novocain; pain

thrummed through his body making him feel like a plucked

guitar string. Sweat instantly popped out over his body, and

the room began to spin lazily around overhead.

The doctor was speaking to a woman who was doing

something to Carter's chest with large bundles of gauze. But

his voice and her ministrations seemed to be happening far

away and in a different time.

At one point the doctor said something and held a dark

object up in front of Carter's nose. It was held in tweezers and

was easy to see, yet it took him a long time to realize it was

the bullet from his shoulder.

Time seemed to accelerate then, until the room began to

come into focus from where he was lying on a long table, a

pillow beneath his head. It was dark outside.

He sat up, the room spinning for a moment, but then his

head began to clear. He swung his feet over the edge of the

table and stepped down.

It was well after ten at night according to his watch. He had

been out the entire day.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

He nodded in cooling foot

135


135

He padded in stocking feet across the inn to the front

windows and looked outside. The Mercedes was parked in

front, its paint and chrome shining. While he had been out,

the townspeople had evidently washed and shined the car.

He looked down at his shoulder and side, which were well

bandaged. There was very little pain in comparison to what

he had felt when he had come here. The ache was centered

deep in his shoulder, but there was no longer the dull sickness

from the piece of lead in his shoulder.

Laid out neatly on the chair were his jacket and shirt, both

cleaned and mended, and the .357 magnum, also freshly

cleaned and oiled.

He checked the weapon. It was still loaded.

Quickly he got dressed, stuffing the magnum in his belt. At

the door he hesitated a moment, then came back to the

counter and pulled out nearly a thousand dollars in rials,

which he laid out in a neat stack.

The doctor or one of the townsmen would know best how

the money should be divided.

Outside, he looked around, but the town seemed deserted.

There was a full moon casting its pale glow over everything.

There were no other lights. There was no one.

He got into the car, turned the key, and started the engine.

The fuel gauge climbed past the full mark. Clean, well-

filtered fuel, the doctor had promised.

He pulled away from the curb and headed out of town. A

block or so away from the inn, he was certain he had caught a

glimpse of a small boy's face in the window of one of the

houses, but then he was past and he wasn't sure he had seen

anything at all.


ELEVEN

Carter was a dozen miles south of the small town when he

discovered that the villagers had packed him some food and a

couple of bottles of mineral water. The bundle was in the

back seat, and he noticed it in the rearview mirror as he

adjusted it.

He drove rapidly, feeling so much better now that the

bullet had been removed. At times, in straight stretches of the

road, he exceeded a hundred miles per hour.

Sometime in the early morning hours he crossed the Zag-

ros Mountains, coming down toward the vast, fertile valley

that, to the west, in Iraq, was fed by the Tigris and Euphrates

rivers.

He made the last 250 miles in something under four hours,

coming to the Persian Gulf at around 2:00 A.M., the town of

Bandar Ma'Shur a couple of miles to the east, a very few

lights reflecting out into the water.

At the side of the road he drank some of the water and

flipped on the overhead light so that he could read the map.

A small area to the east of Bandar Ma'Shur had been

circled. Looking closer, Carter could see that what appeared

to be a road had been penciled in on the map

He looked up, then back at the map as he oriented himself.

137

138


138

NICK CARTER

The road would lead off this highway, perhaps ten miles

farther to the east. It ran north from there at least fifteen miles

inland, maybe as much as twenty. It was hard to tell from the

map. But nothing else had been penciled in. The road inland

ran to nothing. It was as if a stray pencil mark had been made

on the map. But Carter was certain it wasn't a stray mark.

Whatever had brought Lassiter and the short, squat man to

Iran was there at the end of the pencil mark.

Zero-hour Strike Force?

He put the car in gear, made a U-turn on the highway, and

headed east, driving slowly, watching for the turnoff as he

neared the ten-mile mark.

There were a lot of oil rigs dotting the horizon inland, and

not too far to the west was the major port city of Abadan. But

here on the highway, with the Gulf to one side and the desert

to the other, Carter could think for the time that he was utterly

alone.

If it proved that his own government were involved with

the nuclear strike on the Saudi oil fields, he wondered what

his position would become. It would be impossible for him to

continue. He was not one to shout "No nukes. " If it came to

war-necessary war for defense he'd be the first in line to

push the button. But a senseless nuclear strike against a

friendly nation? The strike had served no other purpose than

to embroil an already tense region of the world into a spiral of

diplomatic threats and counterthreats and war preparations.

A little more than eleven miles from Bandar Ma'Shur he

came to a turnoff prominently marked by a large billboard lit

by bright lights. BANDAR MA'SHUR OIL RESEARCH

COMPANY REGION SEVEN STATION. OIL RE.

SEARCH TODAY FOR AN ENERGY-EFFICIENT TO-

MORROW.

He turned off the main road, then doused his lights as he

headed out into the desert. What exactly was it he was

expecting to find?

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

Banned hot le

139


139

(151 of 212)

一十

110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

139

He clamped that thought off in his mind as he continued

into the desert.

Soon what few lights he had seen to the west atop the oil

pumping stations disappeared from view, and finally there

was only the desert and the soft green glow of the car's dash

lights.

As he drove, he thought for a while about Joy Makepiece

back in Riyadh. He hoped that everything had turned out all

right for the American peace delegation, but he had his

doubts. With men like Lassiter and the short one running

around so openly, it was a wonder this entire business hadn't

been broken wide open by now. Had the Saudis gotten wind

that the nuclear strike had possibly been an American action?

God only knew what would happen if that ever came out. He

shuddered even thinking about it.

There would be war. Of that he was certain.

The Region Seven oil research station turned out to consist

of a number of huge corrugated metal Quonset huts dotted

across a wide, flat section of the desert. There was a tall

wire-mesh fence surrounding the entire area, but the gates

were open, and there were no lights anywhere.

Carter slowly drove through the gates and along what had

apparently served as the installation's main road. It was

obvious that the dirt road had carried some very heavy traffic.

In front of one of the larger buildings he could even pick out

the marks of a half-track vehicle. Very likely more than one

of them.

He pulled up and parked in front of one of the smaller huts,

and got out of the car. He walked up the road for about fifty

yards, then stopped and held his breath, listening. But there

was nothing. Absolutely no sound. This far from the car there

wasn't even the sound of the engine cooling. He turned

siowly in a full circle. Only the buildings were there, silent

and mute, except to the northwest where there was a curious

flat openness.

140


140

NICK CARTER

He walked back to where the car was parked, but instead of

getting into it, he went over to the hut and tried the door. It

was open. Inside, he tried the light switch, but there was no

electricity, which is what he suspected

The building was empty. There was nothing here. No

desks, no file cabinets, nothing. Not even a scrap of paper

littering the floor.

Whoever had cleaned the place out had done an efficient

job of it. Yet the building did not have the smell or the look of

a place that had been long deserted. It had been occupied

recently. There was that faint smell—or rather the combina-

tion of faint odors--that bespoke human habitation recently:

food, office equipment, cleaning fluid, starch.

He turned and went back outside. He crossed the road and

walked the hundred feet or so to the larger building, letting

himself in through the wide service doors —wide enough, he

supposed, to admit a large truck or tank.

This building was just as empty as the other, except at the

far end he found a long, wide workbench, and on the floor, in

four distinct areas, there were oil and grease stains. Some-

thing had been parked in here. Some four machines had been

stored in here, and they had leaked their oil and had sweat

grease on hot days.

Here the odors of recent occupation were much stronger;

here Carter could smell the oil and the grease, and he could

smell diesel fuel and even the faint odor of exhaust.

How long ago had it been since they had been here? he

wondered. Certainly not months. Perhaps only days.

He returned to the car, drove down the road a hundred

yards, jumped out, and hurried into one of the other build-

ings.

This one apparently had been a barracks. He could still see

the marks the feet of the bunks had made on the floor, and

spaced at regular intervals between each of the windows on

T »

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

hoth cidac of the buildina man liul

141


141

both sides of the building were little alcoves with shelves for

equipment and short bars on which to hang clothing.

Back outside, he jumped in the car again and quickly made

a wide circuit of the camp, stopping in front of the various

buildings and going in. But there was nothing. The camp had

been cleaned out with the efficiency of a mother cleaning out

a son's room after he had left for school.

What was this place? he asked himself back at the car. As

before, he held his breath and listened to the eerie silence.

Except this time he heard a faraway, deep-throated roar,

which confused him for just a moment until he looked up. Far

to the southwest probably over the Gulf—were two tiny red

dots, winking slowly on and off, moving toward the east. He

connected the sound and the moving dots; they were a couple

of high-flying jets. Probably military fighters on routine

patrol over the Gulf. Possibly they were Iranian, perhaps

even Iraqi. It was even possible, he had to concede, that they

were American, although he didn't know if any of our car-

riers were based in the Gulf.

He slipped in behind the wheel and, with the window

down, carefully drove out of the camp toward the open area

to the northwest.

Beyond the last Quonset hut Carter suddenly bumped up

onto a long, very wide slab of concrete.

The paved area had to be more than a hundred feet wide

and possibly a mile long. Painted lines ran the length of the

slab, right down the middle. A runway.

He lined the Mercedes up with the center marker and

flipped on the headlights.

There were skid marks, long and black on the light con-

crete. Planes had taken off and landed here. Big planes.

C-130s?

In the distance, near the far end of the runway, Carter

could make out the darker outline of a long, low building. He

142


142

NICK CARTER

put the car in gear and headed that way.

There was nothing here. At least nothing that he could use

for proof or even a lead. This had obviously been some sort of

a hastily built base-hasty, that is, except for the runway.

that had been used for a time and had been recently aban-

doned.

The long, low building turned out to be a makeshift hangar

with corrugated metal walls against the prevailing winds but

only camouflage netting over the top. The netting was draped

like a series of huge circus tents: four huge circus tents.

Carter drove off the runway, down a wide taxiway, and

into the crude shelter. Slowly he made his way, by car, from

one section of the flapping structure to the next, coming at

last into the rear section where in a far corner was a pile of

debris.

He headed directly for it, the headlights of the car shining

on the pile of newspapers, magazines, hunks of metal, wood,

and other junk.

A few feet away he stopped the car, and leaving the engine

running and the lights on, he got out and approached the pile.

The first newspaper page he pulled out of the heap was

from the English-language Paris edition of the Herald-

Tribune, but the second was from a newspaper printed in Tel

Aviv. In Hebrew.

He began digging through the pile in earnest, and all he

found was junk: pieces of metal, twisted and bent beyond

recognition; sections of the camouflage netting; bits of nylon

rope, wire, and twine; and ordinary dirt and cement dust.

But then he found the automatic weapon clip.

At first he did not know what he had found. He felt the long

smooth object beneath a piece of cardboard. But when he

brought it out into the bright illumination of the headlights he

recognized it immediately.

Stamped on the lower left-hand corner of the case was the

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

143


143 155 of 212)

= +

110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

143

word Uzi. It was an empty clip for the Israeli-built Uzi

submachine gun.

For a long time he stood there looking at the clip. Uzi. The

planes that had apparently delivered the nuclear weapons to

the Saudi oil field had been marked with the Star of David.

There was a connection, albeit tenuous, between that event

and what he had found here. But it was a connection

nevertheless.

He turned and looked back down the long, angled column

of shelters. The concrete floor was thick, as thick as the

runway. These four shelter areas could easily have held

Hercules aircraft.

He went back to the car and got in, his mind seething. He

tossed the Uzi ammunition clip on the passenger seat, swung

the car around in a wide looping arc, and slowly headed

toward the front exit. Only this time he kept his eyes search-

ing the concrete floor.

Off to the right side of the front building he found what he

was afraid he might.

He stopped the car and got out again, approaching the far

edge of the concrete floor. In several spots on the floor there

were faint traces of blue and white paint.

He stared at the paint mists; overspraying. Blue for the Star

of David, white for the trim.

It was clear. But if they had painted the Star of David on

the aircraft here, what markings had the planes come in with?

He took out his handkerchief and laid it on the floor next to

a particularly thick section of paint mist. Then he pulled out

his penknife and scraped a bit of the blue and some of the

white off the floor, depositing the tiny chips in his handker-

chief, which he folded and put in his pocket.

He went back to the car, got in, and drove out onto the

runway and headed back to the camp.

Everything pointed to the likelihood that American C-130

144


144

NICK CARTER

Hercules aircraft had somehow been brought here to this base

in Iran. That in itself was an amazing accomplishment con-

sidering the strained relationship between the two countries.

Then the Israeli markings had been painted on the airplanes,

which took off from the long airstrip and delivered the bombs

to the Saudi oil fields.

Carter had to admit that it was all circumstantial evidence.

Very strong evidence, but circumstantial nevertheless.

At the end of the runway, he turned down the dirt road that

led through the camp and headed toward the front gate. He

glanced over at the Uzi ammunition clip and shook his head.

He lit a cigarette.

Somehow he was going to have to get down to Al Kuwait.

From there he could take a commercial flight back to ...

He stopped cold. Back to where? Washington, where he'd

present the ammunition clip and the paint chips to Hawk?

Afterward would he tender his resignation?

"So what do you make of this, Nick?" Hawk would ask.

"Sir?"

"You've brought me back paint chips and a clip that I

could have bought within five minutes of this office. So

what? What have you found? That's what I'm asking you!"

What the hell had he found? Nothing.

The doorways and windows of the Quonset huts he passed

seemed like malevolent eyes, accusing and staring. There

was nothing here. Or at least nothing conclusive.

As far as he could see, the evidence pointed two ways. The

first, and most obvious to him, was toward his own country.

Toward his own government. But the other was toward

Israel. The surface evidence was toward Jerusalem.

He slowed down at the main gate and looked in the rear-

view mirror at the silhouettes of the dark buildings. What had

happened here? Certainly this had been more than an oil

research station.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

145


145

It was well after 4:00 A.m. by the time Carter made it back

to the main road. Al Kuwait was about 150 miles to the

southwest. Over the water it was a straight shot, but by land it

was an impossible trip. A twenty-five-mile-wide strip of Iraq

lay between Iran and the relative safety of Kuwait.

By land or by sea? By sea it would probably be safe. But

supposing he could find a boat, even a fast boat that might do

twelve or fifteen knots —it would still take him eight to ten

hours for the trip. Eight to ten precious hours. Overland there

would be trouble: first from the Iranians; then from the Iraqis;

and finally from the Kuwaitis, who did not take kindly to

people crashing their borders. But it would be a very fast trip.

At the inside he might make it in as little as a couple of hours.

At the outside, with luck, three or four hours.

He looked at his watch; it was 4:30. Unless he was

detained-or worse-he could conceivably make it to Al

Kuwait by 6:30 or 7:30. At the latest, he would be in plenty of

time for the early morning flights to.

Where? he had to ask himself again. Washington, D.C., or

...Tel Aviv?

He knew the answer. He would not return from the Middle

East until he had the answer or until he knew that he could

not, under any circumstances, find the answer here.

There was nothing out on the highway. Absolutely nothing

as he turned west, skirting Bandar Ma'Shur, then speeding

up, the big Mercedes flying down the highway.

At times, driving, Carter felt as if he were running away

from a demon back at the base. But the faster and more

recklessly he drove, mindless now of his wounds, which

were once again beginning to bother him, the closer the

demon seemed to come.

He had spent most of his adult life in service to his country.

146


146

NICK CARTER

And now he was faced with a huge personal crisis. What

would he do if it proved that the U.S. had attacked Saudi

Arabia with nuclear weapons? What in God's name would he

do?

He burst through the town of Shahdegan, thirty-five miles

west of Bandar Ma'Shur, doing just under ninety. There were

a few buildings on the outskirts of the town of six thousand,

then a concentration of buildings and a couple of trucks, all

moving past in a blur, then the heart of the oil town, and once

again he was out on the open highway, a flashing blue light

dropping well back behind him.

On both sides of the highway the land had flattened out,

and a thick, lush, junglelike forest grew toward the interior.

The Biblical land of Eden.

He stopped about twenty-five miles southwest of Shahde-

gan and switched on the interior light so he could read the

map.

Abadan was a few miles to the west and the north now, and

the border with Iraq was just a few miles almost due west. At

this point he would have to cross the border, then race

through twenty-five miles of the countryside to the border

town of Umm Qasr. From there it was less than two miles to

the Kuwaiti frontier and then the long run to Al Kuwait itself.

He took out the .357 and checked to make sure it was ready

to fire. He cranked up the passenger side window and

cranked down his window, then slipped the car in gear and

accelerated down the highway toward whatever....


TWELVE

The highway dipped down and down closer to the Persian

Gulf as it approached the delta bridge over the combined

Tigris and Euphrates rivers, which was the border between

Iran and Iraq.

There had not been much fighting here; most of it was

confined to the desert areas of the far north. But there were

military emplacements on either side of the road, far off the

highway, the antiaircraft guns and rocket platforms silhouet-

ted in the early morning darkness.

Carter was certain that by now his movement toward the

border had been noted. It wouldn't be long before he'd be

challenged and then, ultimately, fired upon. He only hoped

that his sudden intrusion, the fact that he was driving a

civilian vehicle, and his high rate of speed would serve to

shock the Iranian forces into inaction long enough for him to

cross the border into Iraq. What the Iraqis might do was an

entirely different story.

Carter happened to look up and to the west in time to see

several intense flashes of light. For a long time afterward

there was nothing, but then the dull explosions came in on the

night air.

147

148


148

NICK CARTER

They were Iranian or Iraqi interceptor-fighters battling in

the night sky.

He heard the distant roar of the jets, and then there was

another series of intensely bright flashes, these much closer,

the thunder coming much faster.

A pair of high-performance military jets screamed over-

head from east to west-Iranian releasing four rocket

trails. They were air-to-air missiles, Carter realized. At that

moment a bright flash came just above him, followed almost

simultaneously by the roar of a tremendous explosion that lit

up the countryside and rolled across the hills. Debris began

falling out of the sky to the northwest like shooting stars

Another flash lit up the sky far to the west as another of the

Iranian air-to-air rockets found its mark.

Suddenly Carter saw the bridge approach down a long

stretch of highway. Sandbags lined both sides of the road.

and at one point he was able to pick out four soldiers manning

a mobile radar installation on the back of a large truck.

But then he flashed by them doing in excess of a hundred

miles per hour.

He had to concentrate on his driving. The road at this poin

was not very good. Debris littered the surface, and once he

had to swerve to avoid a very large bomb crater.

They began shooting at him from the Iranian side when he

was less than a mile from the bridge. A large steel barrier was

lowered across the road, and as he pressed harder on the

accelerator, heavy-caliber bullets penetrated the body of the

car. He looked on both sides of the road for a way around the

obstacle, but there was nothing. To the inland side were

sandbags piled very high, and on the seaward side was :

ten-foot drop to the Gulf.

He had started to brake when the barrier slowly began tr

rise. For just a moment he could not believe what he wai

seeing. The steel border-crossing barrier was actually com

ing up.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

149


149

(161 of 212)

一十 110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

149

He could see the Iraqi soldiers at the border post by the

flashes of their automatic weapons. At first he thought they

were shooting at him, but when he was just about on top of

the post he understood that they were answering the fire from

the Iranians that had been directed at Carter.

But then he was on the bridge, accelerating again, well

past the hundred-sixty-kilometers-per-hour mark

on the

speedometer, up to the center span, a lurch when he hit the

top, then down the other side, the road curving ever so gently

to the south as it looped through farm fields intermingled with

oil rigs.

He looked in his rearview mirror. There were a lot of

flashes from behind, from the other side of the bridge. There

would be fighting probably until dawn. Maybe longer. But

by some unspoken, unwritten agreement, the bridge itself

had never been seriously damaged. Both sides realized that

the war would be over sooner or later. And when it was,

they'd need the bridge. The oil companies would need the

bridge. No one was willing to knock it down.

There were no towns or villages between the border with

Iran and the border with Kuwait, except for Umm Qasr,

which was right on the narrow bay that separated Iraq from

her neighbor to the south. He made very good time, crossing

the twenty-five-mile stretch of land in just over fifteen min-

utes.

He slowed down as he approached the town, passed

through it, and on the other side slipped the magnum beneath

his seat and stopped at the border crossing.

The Iragi border guard came out of his post, yawning.

There was no trouble here. Kuwait and Iraq were on friendly

terms. But the man's eyes widened when he saw the bullet

holes in the Mercedes. The Kuwaiti border guard had come

out of his post, and he ducked beneath the barrier pole and

walked across.

Carter got out of the car shaking his head. He pulled out his

150


150

NICK CARTER

French passport and handed it to the Iraqi. "Marcel Men-

toir, " he said.

"What has happened here, Monsieur Mentoir?" the

Kuwaiti asked.

"I was in Abadan, and those crazy bastard Iranians tried to

kill me."

The Iraqi guard stiffened at the mention of the Iranian city

'What were you doing there, monsieur, in an enemy coun-

try?" He had his hand on the butt of his pistol.

"Trying to sell those fools oil pumping equipment."

""And did you?"

Again Carter shook his head and shrugged. "I. .."He

hesitated, appealing to the two men with his gestures.

"It was

an affair of the heart, I am afraid. "

・The heart.・・

" the Iraqi started, not understanding, but

then he realized what Carter meant. "And they shot at you?"

'They came after me, so I felt the safest place for me

would be here. When I was coming across the border, the

fools really opened up. But your border people opened the

barrier for me.

The Iraqi looked at him for a long moment, then turned to

the Kuwaiti. They conferred for a moment or two in Arabic,

and then they turned back to Carter.

'What is it you wish to do here, Monsieur Mentoir?" the

Iraqi asked.

"Cross into Kuwait."

The Kuwaiti spoke up.

"And in my country?"

"I wish only to drive to Al Kuwait, where I will drop this

automobile off for repair and then take the first flight to

Cairo. "

'I see," the Kuwaiti said. 'Then you will offer no objec-

tions if I search your car?"

"None," Carter said, 'but I will tell you now I have a

weapon. It is a pistol beneath the front seat. " He didn't tell

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

151


151

them about the other gun, the .38 Police Special he had gotten

from the short man in the Sheraton parking lot. He hoped that

if the border guards found one, they might search no further.

Although, he told himself, it didn't really matter if he were

armed or not from this point on. He would not be able to take

the weapons with him aboard the commercial flight to Cairo.

The Kuwaiti stepped back while the Iraqi guard walked

past Carter and fished under the seat for the gun, coming up

with the magnum. He brought out the gun with a lot of respect.

on his face.

"This is a very large gun, monsieur, " he said.

"One I have not used. In fact it is not mine. I took it from

the man who tried to kill me with it."

"Then you will have no objections to us keeping this

here," the Iragi said.

"None."

'We have no wish for such a weapon to enter our coun-

try, " the Kuwaiti guard said

"I understand."

The Kuwaiti took Carter's passport and went back across

the border into his post. He was gone only a moment or two,

and when he came back he returned Carter's passport. "I

have stamped this only for passage. You must be out of

Kuwait within twenty-four hours. Do you understand, mon-

sieur?"

"I understand. Merci."

He climbed into the Mercedes, started it, and headed

across the border as the barrier post was raised.

"Au revoir," he said, accelerating.

It was just a minute or two after 7:00 when Carter came

into the city of Al Kuwait. He parked his car in the long-term

parking area at the airport and went into the terminal. The

next flight to Cairo was loading at that moment.

152


152

NICK CARTER

His passport was in order and he had no luggage, so he was

able to purchase his ticket and board the aircraft with no

trouble at all.

They were airborne fifteen minutes later. The flight atten-

dants served coffee, and Carter sat back with his and lit a

cigarette.

From Cairo he planned on flying to Cyprus and taking the

shuttle from there to Tel Aviv. While in Cyprus, however,

he'd telephone Hawk to find out about Kimi Moudhros and

about his weapons. He had a bad feeling about that, but there

was absolutely nothing he could do until he contacted Hawk.

He hoped that something could be set up for him in Tel

Aviv. If not, his only option, he figured, would be to find out

if there were any active American bases within Israel. Local

CIA operations would have come up with something like that

if it were the case.

Once again Carter had a tough time forcing himself to

think this out, to think that the Zero-hour Strike Force was an

American-sponsored nuclear unit.

They landed in Cairo at 9:30 A.M. local time, and Carter

wasn't able to get a flight out to Cyprus until 11:00, landing

in Nicosia an hour and a half later. He booked himself on the

4:00 flight to Tel Aviv, then took a cab into town to the

telephone exchange.

It was a pleasant, warm, sunny day, and even if this respite

was only temporary, it felt good for the moment. His call to

David Hawk at AXE headquarters on Dupont Circle went

through without delay. It was very early in the morning in

Washington, but Hawk was already at his desk.

"Nicholas, " Hawk said. "We were happy to hear that you

are in Nicosia. We've been worried since you left Athens."

"What about Kimi, sir?" Carter asked.

"Dead, " Hawk said guardedly.

"One of the people re-

sponsible died in the escape attempt, but your package has

been secured. "

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

153


153

Kimi dead! Christ, they had been on him from the start.

"Where shall we send your things?"

"Tel Aviv."

"The embassy—" Hawk started, but Carter cut him off.

"No, sir. Not there."

"Are you trying to tell me something, N3?"

"Yes, sir, " Carter said. He pulled Lassiter's ID out, and

read the name, address, and ID number to Hawk. The details

were being recorded. "Send my things to the chief of station

for the Company in Tel Aviv. For-your-eyes-only designa-

tion for me."

"I see," Hawk said. "Do you need anything else?"

"Clothing, a suitcase, that sort of stuff, sir. My replace-

ments were left on the doorstep of the French embassy in

Tehran. " In very guarded terms, Carter told Hawk every-

thing that had happened to him since he had left Kimitri

Móudhros. "I'm leaving for Tel Aviv in a couple of hours.

I'll stay at the Dan Hotel until my things catch up with me."

"We can have everything over to you within a few hours.

It'll be there very soon after you, " Hawk assured him. "And

I have a pleasant surprise for you."

"Sir?"

"Our people were released, unharmed, from the hotel in

Riyadh. "

"Do you know if a woman by the name of Joy Makepiece

was included in those released?"

"No," Hawk said. "But I can find out for you."

"You might check into it, sir. If she wasn't released,

perhaps we should make some waves.

'Will do. We're also checking into this other thing that

was referred to in our files, but then removed."

"Anything yet, sir?"

"I'm afraid not. But we're working on it. Take care,

Nicholas. "

"Yes, sir."

154


154

NICK CARTER

Carter hung up, then went to the counter and paid for the

call. Back outside he stopped at a small restaurant for lunch,

finally making it back to the airport around three, where he

bought a Paris Herald-Tribune and a pack of cigarettes. He

missed his own brand, which were made up specially for him

by a small shop in Washington.

He checked in with El Al, got his boarding pass, then went

into the waiting area where he sat back.

Front-page headlines screamed about the war threats over

the Middle East oil fields. Israel, the newspaper reported,

had become an armed camp.

There had been a fresh wave of fighting all across the

Iran-Iraq border.

The government of Saudi Arabia apologized to the Swiss

Red Cross for kicking them out of the country. The Saudis

also apologized profusely to the American peace talks dele-

gation and to the staff of the embassy in Riyadh for the recent

misunderstanding.

War hysteria was building across the Middle East.

And in the U.S. the slogan Save Our Oil was on everyone's

lips.

His flight was announced. He laid the newspaper aside,

stubbed out his cigarette, and boarded with the other passen-

gers who were waiting.

No one seemed happy. No one

seemed expectant. These were difficult times.

It was only 250 miles southwest to Tel Aviv, so it was just

a little before five when they set down at Lod Airport. The

airfield was bristling with military activity. Jets screamed

down the parallel runway for takeoffs; armored vehicles,

jeeps, troop trucks, and even tanks seemed to be parked

everywhere. Israel was a nation ready for war.

Carter's papers were scrutinized with special care, and it

wasn't until six before he was cleared through and was able to

catch a cab for the long drive into the city.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

155


155

The cabby was a taciturn older man who either didn't like

Carter because he was a foreigner or because as an able-

bodied man he wasn't in uniform. Either way it was a quiet

ride into the city. Carter would have liked it otherwise.

Often, on assignments like this, he could pick up the flavor of

the city he was coming into pick up a feel for the mood of

the people and of the government-from a talkative taxi

driver.

Just as in Saudi Arabia, and in Iran and Iraq, the roadsides

in many spots were used for mobile radar units, antiaircraft

rocket installations, and other gun emplacements.

At the Dan, a nice hotel right on the Mediterranean just off

the downtown section of the city, Carter was given a pleasant

room overlooking the sea. The people here, like those

throughout the city, were distant and preoccupied. At any

moment war could erupt, and this time it would most likely

escalate into a full-fledged nuclear confrontation.

From room service he ordered a light supper, a bottle of

cognac, and the local English-language newspaper. While he

was waiting for his meal to come up, he stripped off his

clothes and climbed into a steaming hot shower. Later, he

turned off the hot water and forced himself to remain under

the cold spray for a full five minutes.

His bandages were soaked through. When he stepped out

of the shower he was leaking blood. He pressed a towel

against his shoulder wound and wrapped another around his

waist, then padded into his room where he dialed the front

desk and asked for the house doctor to be sent up.

"I was injured several days ago, and I'm afraid I've

opened the wound. It's not too serious, but I'd like it attended

to."

"Of course, Monsieur Mentoir," the desk clerk said

solicitously.

Five minutes later his dinner—corned beef, rye bread, and

156


156

NICK CARTER

a selection of cheeses and pickles——and the cognac arrived. A

few minutes after that the doctor showed up.

He was a very old man with wild white hair, reminding

Carter of Einstein. He made Carter sit on a chair in the

bathroom, and he disinfected the wound and put a couple of

stitches in it.

"When were you shot, monsieur?" the doctor asked in

French.

"A couple of days ago in Tehran, " Carter replied. "They

are all crazy over there."

The doctor looked at him, an indulgent smile on his lips.

"Indeed, " he said. "And what were you doing in Tehran?"

"Selling oil pumping equipment . . . trying to sell my

products, that is. And without much success, I might add. "

"I can see that."

Someone knocked at the door.

"Could you see to that, Doctor?" Carter asked

The doctor went across the bedroom and opened the door.

Joy Makepiece stood there, a large brown suitcase in her

hand

"Oh," she said, stepping back and looking at the room

number.

Carter had gotten up. "Ma chérie!" he said. "It is I,

Marcel!"

She picked up on it immediately. "Marcel, " she cried,

hurrying into the room. She dropped the suitcase in the

middle of the room and raced across to him, clucking like a

mother hen. "And what now, you have gone and had another

accident?"

"I'm afraid it is more than that, mon petit chon," he said

"Some fool tried to kill me."

"No."

she said. "Don't tell mera jealous husband?

Marcel!"

The doctor laughed. "If you will just wait, young lady, I

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

157


157

will have your young man as good as new... or nearly so.

It will just be a few minutes.

Back in the bathroom, the doctor finished attending to

Carter's wounds. then winked at him. 'She is lovely. You

are a very lucky man, monsieur.

"Thank you, Doctor," Carter said. "And yes, I believe

you are correctam a very lucky man."

When the doctor left, Joy practically leaped on him.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"What are you doing here?"

Not fair,

" she said. "I asked first. What happened to

you, and how did you get here?"

Carter had put the suitcase on the stand beside the dresser.

He opened it. Inside were clothes as well as a new Pierre,

Hugo, and Wilhelmina. He picked up the Luger and tested its

action. It was perfect. He loaded it, then quickly checked the

stiletto and gas bomb.

Joy got a couple of glasses from the bathroom and poured

them each a drink. She handed Carter his, then perched on the

edge of the writing desk. "Now, would you please tell me

how you got out of Riyadh? Sutherland was very worried

about you. And so was I. Not bad considering neither of us

knows who the hell you are."

Carter sipped at his drink, then lit a cigarette. Quickly he

told her nearly everything that had happened to him from the

moment they had entered the hotel in Riyadh. He only left out

his calls to David Hawk.

When he was finished, she just stared at him for a few long

moments. Then she got up, poured them both another drink,

and shook her head.

"A nifty story, Nick, but it doesn't add up. At just the

crucial times, someone evidently tells you something. You

have someone at your beck and call who evidently has a lot of

pull. I mean one minute I'm dressed as a man and I'm

158


158

NICK CARTER

sneaking out of the hotel in Rivadh, then I'm in Paris getting

debriefed. Before I know it I'm aboard an American military

jet with a brown suitcase in my hand, screaming at sixty

thousand feet across the Med for this hotel. Lordy. You've

got a lot of pull."

Carter smiled. "And you must be the best. I asked for the

chief of station to meet me here."

She got an odd look. "You haven't heard?" she asked.

He shook his head, a cold feeling coming over him.

•The chief of station for Central Intelligence Agency

activities for the entire Middle East, including Israel, was

assassinated this afternoon."


THIRTEEN

"I was told the moment I landed, " Joy said. "The assis-

tant chief of station, Don Prescott, will be over here at ten

o'clock tonight to brief you. He said he was waiting for some

information to come in that he was to pass on to you."

Carter said nothing. They had expected him in Athens, and

Tehran, and now here in Tel Aviv.

She looked at the weapons.

"I was told to bring these

things to you immediately.

Carter turned and went over to the window that looked out

across the Mediterranean. There were times, such as this

moment, when he wondered if anything he had ever done had

accomplished a thing. Or had he been batting his head against

the proverbial wall? Was it all some vast game in which the

outcome never really mattered, and the only significant thing

that ever happened was the death of one or more of the

participants?

Many years ago one of his trainers at AXE had advised him

that in this business there was always the risk of turning

cynical.

Was that what was finally happening to him? After a

hundred different operations? After hundreds of killings? His

designation was N3 Killmaster. A license to kill. Not like in

159

160


160

NICK CARTER

espionage adventure novels, but for real. Real guns. Real

bullets. Real blood and screams and pleas for mercy.

Joy had come up behind him, and she gently placed a hand

on his bare shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin. But he

held back from turning around for just a moment. For the first

time in his long, intense career, he was being challenged on a

front he never dreamed he'd be forced to deal with: his own

loyalty. America-love her or leave her. America-right or

wrong.

Goddamnit, he thought. Was he being used to cover up his

country's participation in some insane nuclear escapade?

One way or the other—and it really did matter which way it

fell—he would pursue this to its end. And if he had been

crossed, if he had been lied to, used, manipulated... so

help him God, there would be hell to pay.

He turned around to Joy, whose lips were parted and

whose eyes were wide. She came easily into his arms, her lips

warm and pliant, her eager body molding easily against his,

her full breasts crushed against his chest.

He stroked her neck and she shivered. "I was worried

about you," she said.

"You're not supposed to worry in this business."

They parted and she looked up into his eyes.

"No, I mean

it, Nick. In Riyadh you were like some kind of a masked man

coming in on a white charger. I didn't know what was

happening sometimes. One minute you were there, and the

next minute all hell was breaking loose in the soccer stadium

across from us, and then you were pulling me out of the

hole."

'You came up with Kebir. He has been the key so far. "

He could still see the young man lying there in the sewer,

could still hear those four words. Zero-hour Strike Force.

"Without your diversion, and your pulling me out of

there, it wouldn't have made a damned bit of difference what

we had learned. "

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

161


161

She disengaged herself from his arms and went over to the

bed where she stood a moment, then she pulled down the

spread. She turned toward Carter and took off her clothes,

item by item, until she stood there nude. He dropped the

towel around his waist and came to her. Together they eased

themselves onto the cool sheets.

Carter was in a very tender mood, and he treated her with a

great gentleness, stroking her breasts, and her stomach, and

her thighs for a long time. Kissing her neck, and her ears, and

her full, sensuous lips.

She too was gentle, partially because she was concerned

about his wounds, so obvious with the new bandages around

his side and at his shoulder, and partially because she was

frightened.

From what she had learned so far, and from what he had

told her he had found, she had come to nearly the same

conclusions he had. She was worried that her own country

had done such a despicable act that she would never be able to

live with it. Could she continue to work in defense of the U.S.

if her wildest fears were true?

At one point she whimpered, and he propped himself up on

one elbow and looked down at her. She opened her eyes, her

lips parted, her breath coming in short gasps.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, her long blond hair fanning out over

the pillow. Tears came to the corners of her eyes and leaked

down the sides of her face.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"Nothing," she said. "Just love me, Nick..

• please,

just love me.

She drew him closer, her legs spreading, and soon he

entered her, and she responded in sync with his rhythm as if

they had lived together for years.

She clung tightly to him, her arms around his neck, her

legs around his waist, coming, coming with him, until she

162


162

pleasure.

NICK CARTER

cried out sharply, her entire body shuddering, then arching in

Don Prescott, the assistant chief of operations for the

Middle East, turned out to be a bland-looking banker type,

showing up at the stroke of ten in a natty three-piece suit and

carrying a briefcase.

Carter and Joy had slept a little, had taken a shower

together, shared the food Carter had ordered but hadn't had a

chance to eat, and had a couple of drinks. When Prescott

showed up they were ready for him.

"Mr. Carter, " Prescott said, his voice pinched. He was a

slight man in his mid-fifties with curly gray hair.

"I was told that your boss was assassinated this after-

noon."

"Yes, sir," the man said. "It was a bomb. Plastique, we

think, beneath the driver's seat of his car, and again beneath

the gasoline tank. There was no possibility of survival."

"What kind of a fuse?"

"Almost certainly radio controlled."

'Then it was someone new to the scene. Someone who

hadn't the time to establish his routine. They took the risk of

detection so that they would be certain to get to him."

"Yes, sir, " Prescott said. He was not enjoying this.

"Why?" Carter asked.

"Sir?"

"Why kill him now? Was he on to something?"

"Well," Prescott said, suddenly very businesslike.

"Well. I've come for the matter of briefing you. The DCA

himself messaged us."

"But he didn't mention being totally honest and open with

me."

"Presumably you have queried U.S. involvement in Is-

raeli defense installations__"

T »

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

163


163

"Listen, Don, all I want to know is if there are any

American military bases presently maintained on Israeli soil.

Not too difficult a request to comprehend."

Prescott ignored the sarcasm. "There was one base that

was out near the Dead Sea. Forty or forty-five miles south-

west of here, near the very small town of Mar Saba. It's an

ancient village, there are certain religious ruins that-"

"A base was out there? Past tense?" Carter asked impa-

tiently.

"That's right. We believe there was a training center.

Army Airborne. Green Berets. That sort of thing.

"But it has been closed?"

"We think so, but we're not a hundred percent sure."

"How long ago do your people suspect it may have

closed?" Carter asked.

"I don't know for sure."

"Years, months, weeks?"

"Certainly not years or even months."

"Weeks?"

Prescott shrugged. 'Perhaps days. We're just not sure."

'Perhaps days,' " Carter repeated, looking incredu-

lously at the man. There had been a nuclear strike on a

friendly nation, and within days of that event, a secret Amer-

ican military installation on Israeli soil had perhaps, or

perhaps not, been closed down. He glanced over at Joy, and

she too was flabbergasted.

"Prescott, your days here in the Middle East have just

come to a close, " Carter said. 'I want you to get your ass out

of here and pack. Within a few days you'll be receiving

orders, reassigning you home. Now get the hell out of my

sight."

Prescott looked from Joy to Carter and back to Joy again.

"All right then, " he said. "Ms. Makepiece, you will come

with me."

164


164

NICK CARTER

"No, sir," Joy said firmly. "T'll stay with Mr. Carter.

There is a lot of work to do.

"You're fired, " he said.

Joy laughed, and Prescott turned and left the room. Carter

whistled long and low. "What about him? Have you heard

anything about the man?"

"Not a thing,

" she said. "What an asshole."

Carter had to laugh. "I couldn't have picked a better word

myself. How did he get this far...?" He thought for a

moment, then looked into her eyes. "I'd advise you to cut out

now, for your own good."

"No," she said instantly.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Well, we'd better get to

work. I want you to find us a car. The sturdier the better. And

get us some detailed maps of the country.

'Will do," she said. "One hour, in the lobby?"

"Let's make it the back entrance.

Joy started to leave, but Carter stopped her. "Once you get

the car, don't leave it. Not even for a moment or two.

She nodded grimly and then was gone.

Carter waited five minutes, then he too left the room and

took the elevator to the first floor. From there he found the

rear stairwell, which he took to the ground floor. He skirted

the lobby, entered the dining room, and left the hotel by the

side exit. He walked around to the front and got a cab.

"The American trade mission," Carter told the driver.

The man turned around. "Never heard of it."

"It's off Sderot David Hamelech, near the WIZO-Child

Center. "

"Yes, sir," he said, and they took off.

It took only five minutes to drive into the downtown

section of the city, where Carter got out at a squat, red brick

building that looked more like it belonged off the Boston

Common than here in Israel.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

He naid the cah and want into the

165


165

He paid the cab and went into the narrow entryway, then

down a dark corridor to a Dutch door, the top half of which

was open. Beyond was a desk at which sat a young man of

about twenty-five. He jumped up when Carter appeared.

"May I help you, sir?"

"I want to speak with the OD, " Carter said softly. 'Yel-

low six-six-six.

"Yellow, six..." the young man started, but then his

mouth opened and no sound came out for a moment. "Oh

...my... gosh, " he managed to stammer, and he went

back to his desk and got on the phone. "George," he said,

"we have a triple sixesa yellow!"

He put the phone down, and literally a second or two later

an older, gray-haired man came out. "Mr. Carter?" he

asked.

"You were told I'd be coming?"

"Of course, sir, " the man said, and he let Carter inside

They went down a corridor to a small office furnished only

with a desk, a couple of file cabinets, and a map of Israel. The

American trade mission in any country is usually used as the

clearinghouse for intelligence activities in that country, espe-

cially if it's a friendly country. Most field agents are unaware

of this. Usually only one or two top people in each intelli-

gence unit know the extent of the collation and coordination

work the trade missions do. But that was all the trade mission

did. It never fielded agents, it made no analysis or judgment

of anything fed to it. It merely collated and assembled what-

ever data came its way, digested it, and made sure it got to the

proper end users by an alternate channel from that used by the

intelligence units it supplemented.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?"

"Don Prescott?"

"Not a nice man, but harmless. He's advanced as far as

he'll ever advance.

T »

166


166

NICK CARTER

"Joy Makepiece?"

"Not familiar with the name. Should I be?"

'An American military advisory installation near the town

of Mar Saba?"

The OD looked oddly at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carter,

that's one bit of gossip I'm afraid I don't know a thing

about."

Carter got up from where he had been sitting. "Any

American installations here in Israel?"

"Weather stations, consulates, trade missions, and the

like?"

"Military."

The man shook his head. "Sorry, sir. And I mean that in

all honesty."

"Sure," Carter said, sick at heart. He turned and left the

office, letting himself out.

Two blocks later he caught a cab back to the Dan. All the

way there he kept watching out the back window, expecting

at any moment to pick up a tail. But he remained clean,

pulling into the front driveway of the hotel a couple of

minutes before eleven.

He paid the cabby and went up to his room, where he set up

several intrusion indicators. Then he called down to the desk,

leaving a wakeup call for 8:00 A.M.

When he was finished, he let himself out of the room—

leaving the door unbugged to give whoever might try to get in

a false sense of security—and took the back stairs all the way

down to the ground floor, where he slipped out the back exit

onto the hotel's loading dock.

Joy hadn't shown up yet, but it was still a few minutes

early. He lit a cigarette and, cupping the lit end with his hand,

stepped back into the shadows to wait.

Prescott had known of the Mar Saba American base, but

the trade mission had not. One of them had lied or was lying.

T »

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

167


ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

167

Either Prescott and the CIA installation here in Tel Aviv had

not told the entire truth to the trade mission, or the mission

specialist had lied tonight to Carter. It didn't really matter

which, although either way it was disturbing.

Headlights flashed from around the corner at the far end of

the parking lot. A moment later a Land-Rover pulled up at the

loading dock, and Joy Makepiece got out.

"Nick?" she called softly.

Carter remained standing in the shadows, watching the

direction she had come from, scanning the cars and trucks in

the lot. But there was nothing. No one had followed her; no

one was watching her.

He stepped out of the shadows. "Oh, there you are, " she

said. "I didn't think you had come down yet."

Carter jumped down off the loading dock and got in on the .

passenger side. Joy climbed back in behind the wheel

"I did some checking, " he told her. 'No one has heard of

any American military base in Israel."

"Why would Prescott make up such a story?"

"I don't think he did."

'Then . . . whoever you spoke with was either not very

well informed-—or not telling the truth. "

He nodded. "Did you get a map?"

"Yes. Let's go. " She pulled out of the parking lot, drove

around to the front of the hotel, then across town to Ramat

Hatayasim where she picked up the main highway that ran

southwest past Lod Airport and eventually to Jerusalem,

where they could pick up the road that led out into the desert

to the town of Mar Sabā.

It was after midnight before they cleared the city and she

was able to speed up, but then they made good time. The road

twisted through the ancient hills, the cedar trees silhouetted

against the horizon, but there was little traffic.

Out here at night, Carter could feel the sense of history.

168


168

NICK CARTER

This had been among the first places where civilization

flourished. It very well could be, he thought morosely, where

civilization ended.

They made the thirty miles to the Israeli capital city in

about forty-five minutes. They skirted the downtown area

and within fifteen minutes were bumping along a narrow

secondary road toward Mär Saba.

This was suddenly very reminiscent of his experience

earlier that day in southern Iran, tracking down another base.

He wondered if he'd find this one, and if it too would be as

cleaned out as the other one.

A half hour later they came to the village of Mar Saba,

which consisted only of a tiny, ancient church and a half-

dozen crude buildings. There were no lights and no move-

ment as they drove down its single street and out the other

side.

The road only ran another few miles before it finally

petered out. But Carter could see where half-track vehicles

had come this way before.

Joy slipped the Land-Rover into four-wheel drive, and

they pushed on, Carter scanning the horizon in every direc-

tion.

But it wasn't necessary; the tracks led a few miles farther to

a fenced-in area that contained a dozen Quonset huts, some of

them quite large, and in the distance they could see a long

runway. This base was almost the exact duplicate of the one

in Iran.

The front gate was open, so they drove through and down a

row of long buildings, pulling up in front of one of the larger

structures. Joy killed the Land-Rover's engine.

"We're going to take the buildings one by one, " Carter

said. "Look for anything, anything at all, that might tell us

something."

"They're abandoned."

"That's right, but something might have been left be-

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

169


169

(181 of 212)

- +

110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

169

hind, " Carter said, and he hopped out of the car. 'You take

the one across the street. I'll try the big one.

Joy hurried across the dirt road and disappeared into one of

the buildings. Carter turned and slipped inside the larger

building, whose large service doors had probably admitted

some kind of vehicles. He left the doors open so that he could

use what little starlight there was.

They had been in more of a hurry clearing out this base.

There were a lot of tools and equipment lying around. A file

cabinet sat in one corner, all its drawers open. It was cleaned

out, as was a tall cabinet that had once held books.

He turned around slowly, studying the maintenance shed.

Books, he thought. Maintenance manuals. There would be

several of them for the half-track vehicles. But they would

need stacks of them for the C-130 Hercules aircraft.

He hurried back out to the car and beeped the horn a couple

of times. Joy came out of the building in a dead run.

"What happened?" she shouted

'Get in, " Carter said. He climbed behind the wheel and

took off the moment she sat down.

'Where are we going? What's happening?"

Carter drove straight through the camp and out to the

runway. The layout was the same as in Iran. There were a

series of four large shelters at the far end of the runway.

Shelters big enough for the C-130s.

"Maintenance manuals," Carter shouted breathlessly.

Whoever it was had been in a hurry when they cleared out of

here. There was debris all over the place. They had worked

on the half-tracks; no doubt they had also worked on the

C-130s. Maybe, just maybe, they had overlooked one

maintenance manual. Just one somewhere in the junk

Carter explained all that to her in quick, clipped sentences,

and by the time they drove into the aircraft shelters, Joy was

ready for the search.

There was junk everywhere. Construction debris, empty

170


110%

170

NICK CARTER

oil cans, broken tools, worn-out parts.

Joy found the master hydraulic system manual for the

Hercules C-130. It had fallen behind one of the cabinets that

contained cans of hydraulic fluid.

Carter took the book back to the Land-Rover, flipped on

the headlights, and opened the book to the letter of promulga-

tion found in every military manual.

"Shit," he said, looking at the letterhead. It was the final

proof.

'What is it?" Joy asked. Carter held the book out so she

could see the letterhead.

Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Tucson, Arizona.


FOURTEEN

They took the early morning flight to Paris, and from there

the connecting flight to New York. The trip took fourteen

hours, but with the eight-hour difference in time zones, they

landed at Kennedy at one that afternoon.

From the moment they had left Tel Aviv, and during their

ground time at Orly outside Paris and again in New York,

Carter had the distinct impression that they were being fol-

lowed. He wasn't certain, but he felt the itchy tingle between

Joy managed to get a little sleep on the plane, but Carter's

mind had been alive with conjecture and, he had to admit, a

certain feeling of betrayal. Now that it seemed certain that the

U.S. had engineered and pulled off the nuclear strike against

the Saudi oil fields, he found that he felt like a tight-rope

walker whose net had just been taken away. Carter was a

product of the States. He had defended her, fought for her,

and laid his life on the line for her interests for so long that the

thought of his government having done something so despic-

able was unsettling.

When Joy woke up, about two hours out of New York,

they had spoken about it. She had the same feelings as Carter:

171

172


172

NICK CARTER

a sense of not belonging, that the props had been knocked out

from under her.

An even bigger blow came, however, when they got off

the plane in New York and walked into the terminal. All

incoming flights from Israel were being picketed.

GO HOME!

DEATH TO ZIONISTS!

SAVE OUR OIL!

There were several hundred demonstrators, many of them

carrying signs, some of them chanting the popular 'Save Our

Oil" slogan.

Carter and Joy made their way through customs. Carter

now used his original passport; his weapons had been sealed

in a diplomatic bag that had been arranged for him in Paris.

Soon they were in the main terminal, and Carter went into a

men's room, where he unsealed the bag, pulled out his

weapons, and strapped them on, one by one.

Carter and Joy had decided that they were going to see this

thing through to the end. Carter could be certain about Hawk,

but Joy could not be certain about her chain of command, so

she agreed to tag along with him rather than work through

Langley. Carter had also decided that whatever they

found—no matter how bad—-was going to be acted upon.

When he had said that, Joy had looked at him round-eyed,

and she asked him exactly what he meant by it.

"I'll stop whoever started it," he said.

"If the President ordered it?"

"I'll kill him," Carter said grimly.

Now, looking at his reflection in the rest room mirror, he

asked himself if indeed it did come to that, could he actually

pull the trigger on the President?

He recalled the times he had acted as the President's

personal bodyguard

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

No. he had to tell himself. Anvane else but

173


173

No, he had to tell himself. Anyone else but.

From the rest room he walked back across the terminal to

where he had left Joy. Only she wasn't there.

For a moment he looked around, wondering if he had

mistaken the area, but then he spotted Joy's retreating figure

moving down the escalator. A tall, husky man dressed in a

plain gray suit had hold of her right arm. Another man was

below her, and then they disappeared.

Carter raced across the terminal to the escalator and started

down, several other people between him and Joy.

At the bottom, he got off just as the two men were hustling

Joy toward the main doors out of the terminal. He dropped his

suitcase by one of the support columns and sprinted after

them.

They were just going out the doors when he came up

behind them. He had pulled out his Luger and held it low at

his side.

Joy and the man to her right noticed Carter coming up, and

they both turned at the same moment.

"Oh!" Joy gasped.

The man grunted and reached inside his coat, but Carter

brought up his Luger and jammed it into his side.

'You're a dead man if you don't take your hand away,"

Carter said softly.

They stopped. The man on Joy's left had spun around and

he too reached for his gun, but Carter shook his head.

"Your partner is a dead man the moment I see your

weapon, " Carter said.

Joy disengaged herself and stepped back. A gray Chev-

rolet had pulled up to the curb, and the driver was looking at

them, his mouth open.

"You have two choices, gentlemen, " Carter said. 'We

can fight it out here, or the three of you can drop your

weapons in the back seat of the car and walk away from this in

one piece. I don't want this little episode to get messy."

174


174

NICK CARTER

For a second no one said a thing. The windows were down

on the car, and the driver had clearly heard everything.

Carter jabbed the man at his side with Wilhelmina.

"All right, we'll do as the man says, nice and easy so no

one gets hurt," the driver said.

Carter watched as he pulled out his pistol and dropped it on

the floor in the back. He got out of the car and stepped away

from it.

'The keys are in the ignition, Carter," he said

Carter motioned to the other men, who reluctantly pulled

out their weapons and dropped them on the back seat. There

were hundreds of people around, but no one seemed to notice

what was happening.

Joy hurried around to the driver's side and got in behind the

wheel. She started the car.

Carter looked at the three men. 'Walk. Don't look back

It'll be over in a minute or so, and you can call in the

reinforcements."

The three men walked down the sidewalk, and when they

were twenty yards away, Carter jumped in the car and Joy

took off. Before they got completely around the sweeping

curve down to the main airport road, Carter looked back. The

three men were running back into the terminal.

Down at the exit, Carter directed Joy to the left instead of

to the right.

•That's back to the terminal," she protested.

"Right," Carter said. 'Park on the ramp. We're going

back to rent a car. We won't get very far in this one."

She saw the logic in that, and she turned left. They went up

the ramp, and Joy parked the car in an out-of-the-way corner.

They found the car rental counters, where they signed up

for a car. Their destination: Washington, D.C.

While Joy was doing the paperwork, Carter slipped over to

the main exits. There was no suspicious activity here, and he

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

175


175

easily retrieved his suitcase. The trio probably assumed they

were already headed for New York City.

He and Joy went back to where the rental cars were parked,

got theirs, and were soon well away from the airport, Carter

driving.

They crossed Manhattan, then took Interstate 80 to the

west, always staying well within the speed limit, stopping

only for gas and something to eat.

Hour by hour, the car they had rented clocked mile after

mile. East of Cleveland they headed south on 71 through

Columbus, Cincinnati, and Louisville, again turning west on

64.

For a time Joy drove while Carter slept, and always they

kept an eye on the rearview mirror. But no one was coming

after them.

On the second day they were through St. Louis, Kansas

City, and late that night, Denver, where they turned south,

going through the mountains into New Mexico and into

Arizona. They made it over to Tucson on Interstate 10 by

midafternoon.

It was hot, at least a hundred in the shade when they parked

behind the Ramada Inn southeast of town. They had passed

the Davis-Monthan Air Force Base and the international

airport on the way in, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Yet Carter could feel that something was happening here. He

didn't know exactly what it was, but he just knew that

something was going on.

Carter went inside and registered under an assumed name,

giving a false license plate number and state. It was some-

thing hotel registration clerks never checked.

Once they were in their room, they ordered in an early

dinner, and Carter waited for it to come while Joy took a cool

shower. He stood by the window looking out across the

T »

176


176

NICK CARTER

parking lot, beyond the interstate highway to the desert. It

was a forbidding-looking countryside. Very reminiscent of

the deserts of Iran and the area around the Dead Sea in Israel.

Joy was finished in the shower and he was taking his when

their dinner came. They ate, then crawled into bed, falling

asleep instantly. It had been a grueling twenty-five hundred

miles from New York, and they were both dead tired. To-

night, there'd be much work to be done.

Carter came straight awake, and he sat up in bed. It was

dark, and Joy was gone. The only light came from outside,

through the open-weave curtains on the windows facing the

parking lot. He held his breath, listening to the lack of sound

in the room, the sounds of the motel, and finally the sounds of

the trucks rolling by on the highway outside.

He threw back the covers and got out of bed. She wasn't in

the bathroom. He flipped on the lights and quickly got

dressed, strapping on his weapons. She was gone. She could

have gone down to the bar for a drink, or she could have taken

off.

Someone was at the door. He stepped back into the bath-

room and pulled out his Luger as he flipped off the lights.

A moment later Joy came into the room, locking the door

behind her. She looked toward the bed and not seeing Carter,

turned suddenly toward the bathroom as he flipped on the

lights.

Her face was white, her mouth slightly open, her brown

eyes wide. She looked guilty as hell.

"Nick," she breathed. 'You scared me.

Carter stepped out of the bathroom, holstering the Luger.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"I couldn't sleep.

"Who'd you call?"

"Call.

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

177


177

(189 of 212)

— + 110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE 177 "Joy, who'd you telephone? Who'd you call out here? Langley?" Her lower lip quivered. She stepped back. "Shit," he said in disgust. He turned away momentarily, but then he turned back. "I guess I understand." He went to the bureau where he grabbed the car keys. He turned around and tossed them to her. She caught them. "What's this supposed to mean?" she asked. "Go on back to Washington. You can tell them you escaped. They'll welcome you with open arms." "It's not what you think, Nick," she said "I want you out of here, Joy," Carter said. "I don't trust

For several long moments it seemed as if she were going to challenge him, but then she turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Carter waited a couple of minutes before he slipped out of the room and took the back stairs down to the rear parking lot, where he held back behind the ice machine. Joy stood near the car looking up at their room, then she climbed in, started it, and took off. Carter did not feel bad about her. He understood her loyalties. He felt the same kinds of stirrings. It was very difficult not to go Bong with whatever was put in front of you by your own government. He stood there for a very long time. Finally he made his way through the corridors to the front desk, where, despite the hour, he arranged to rent a car and have it delivered within a half hour. Back in his room, he pocketed his money and passports, then took a deep drink of the cognac they had bought on the trip down. He telephoned AXE and quickly told the man in Opera-tions what he was going to do, but before the call could be

170 knrir r RTF12


ED cv V 178 (190 of 212) — + 110%

178 NICK CARTER switched to Hawk or before any objections could be raised, he hung up. Carter sat back in the chair by the window. his eyes half closed. He felt suddenly clean. as if there was nothing to impede his progress. as if there were no reasons for him not to push this thing to the limits. Whatever it cane to. he'd definitely push. At length he went downstairs and made his way to the front desk where he signed some forms, showed his license, and then went outside where he collected his ear, a Chevy Cita-tion. He headed out away from the motel past the Pima County Hospital. then up past Reid Park and out East 22nd Street, finally cutting south again on Wilmont Road. The last houses were about a half mile from the outer perimeter fence of the air base, which was lit by powerful lights every hundred yards. Carter parked his car a few blocks from the fence. left the keys beneath the mat, and continued the rest of the way on foot The night was cool. In the distance to the south he thought he heard a jet take off, but then he wasn't quite sure. The fence was twelve feet tall and topped with barbed wire. Carter made his way halfway between one set of lights and the next, quickly took off his jacket, and scaled the fence. At the top he threw his Jacket over the barbed wire, then climbed over it On the other side, he carefully disengaged his jacket and climbed down. At the bottom he put his jacket back on. then headed out across a wide field toward a series of low hills. Caner had no real idea what he expected to find here, except that whatever had happened in Saudi Arabia led to an abandoned base in Iran, which led to an abandoned base in Israel. which finally led here. The string of leads was omi-nous. He could do nothing less than follow them.

•

ZERO-HOUR STRIICF Pool, ten

T


179

About three quarters of a mile across the field, the desert

land rose gradually up to the crest of a small hill. As Carter

topped it, the base suddenly spread out beneath him. Far to

the left, running mostly west to east, were the runways.

Straight ahead and into the distance to the right were the

hangars and maintenance buildings. Beyond were the bar-

racks and other base buildings.

Absolutely nothing looked out of the ordinary. This

seemed like any other air base.

Carter crouched on the crest of the hill looking down at the

base. The runways and alert hangars would

be heavily

guarded. The base proper would be open except for routine

surveillance.

For just a minute Carter felt foolish sneaking onto the base

like this. Nothing was going on here. Absolutely nothing.

And when it was all over he'd feel silly about this. But then he

thought about the bases in Iran and in Israel. They led here.

He got up and, keeping low, worked his way down the hill

to the southwest toward the base proper, away from the

• runways.

What he wanted to find was the BOQ or perhaps even the

operations officer. If he could find some officer, a major or

higher, he might be able to sweat something out of him.

Either that or, if this was the base from which the strike had

originated, there would have to be some sort of a staging

area, a special section of the base set apart from everything

else. It would probably be somewhere off one of the run-

ways. Or perhaps stuck in some remote corner of the base.

But that too he would get from whatever officer he man-

aged to corner.

It was nearly a mile down the hill, across a long field of

scrub and across a wide drainage ditch, to the end of one of

the streets that ran from north to south across the base

The barracks were mostly all dark at this hour of the

180


180

NICK CARTER

morning, but far to the south he could see the lights of the

main gate. As he watched, a set of headlights swung down

the road, headed toward him, but then turned left.

From the drainage ditch he hurried across the road and

slipped into the shadows beside one of the buildings. Again,

in the distance, he was certain he could hear a high-flying jet,

but then the noise faded.

He made his way around to the front of the building. On a

large wooden sign at the corner of the building was the

number T301. The next building down the street was num-

bered T303, the one across the street T302.

These were ordinary barracks, by the looks of them. Be-

hind the buildings were dozens of automobiles parked in

wide parking lots. Many of them looked very old and bat-

tered. This was enlisted men's territory.

He hurried down the street in the direction of the main

gate, constantly watching the road as well as the buildings

themselves for any sign that he was being watched. But there

continued to be nothing. At length he came to a building

whose sign out front said BACHELOR OFFICERS' QUAR

TERS.

A light was on in one of the rooms on the second floor.

Carter hurried around to the back of the building and slipped

into the ground-floor corridor.

The building was quiet. The corridor was lit by red fire

lights at both exits, as were the stairwells.

He made his way to the second floor and down the corridor

to the room with the light shining from beneath the door. Soft

strains of classical music came from inside.

Carter pulled out his Luger and tried the doorknob; it was

open. He let himself in.

A young man with dark hair, dressed only in his shorts and

T-shirt, lay on his bed, a glass of wine on the floor beside

him, listening to what sounded like Tchaikovsky.

He jumped up, knocking over the wine when he saw Carter

and the gun in his hand.

ZERO_HOUR STRIKE EODOE

101


181

"My God!" he cried. "Oh... my..

God. " He

raised his hands over his head

"Who are you?" Carter asked.

"Sir.

"Your name and rank and duty section," Carter snapped.

Christ, he hated this

"Hubert, sir. Lieutenant Robert J."

Damn, Carter thought.

"Is this a robbery?"

"I'm looking for the base commander."

"Sir?'

"Your base commander!" Carter repeated. "Does he

reside on base?"

"No, sir.

"Then how about the commander of your special section?

Does he reside on base?"

"Yes, sir..." the lieutenant started to say, but then he

cut it off.

'Thank you, son, " Carter said. The lieutenant's trousers

were draped over a chair. Carter went across the room,

grabbed them, and tossed them across. "Get dressed, Robert

J., we're going out. "

For a moment the young lieutenant hesitated. Carter

slowly and deliberately raised the Luger and pointed it at the

man, his stomach turning over at what he was doing.

The lieutenant tured white and hurried to put on his

trousers. Carter threw him his shirt and shoved his shoes

across.

When he was dressed, Carter stepped aside and motioned

toward the door.

"Where are we going? What do you want?"

'We've going to pay a visit to the commander of the

special section on this base."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"The section that trained with the half-track vehicles out in

the desert and the C-130s for touch-and-go landings. That

190


182

NICK CARTER

special section," Carter said.

'Oh, God," the lieutenant said. "I knew it. I just knew it

would come to this."

At the same moment that Carter noticed the chaplain's

insignia on the young man's uniform collar, the base siren

started wailing.


FIFTEEN

"Have you got a car, Chaplain?" Carter asked, lowering

his Luger.

"It's Father, and yes I do," the lieutenant said.

"You can lower your hands. I couldn't shoot you if I had

to."

The priest brought his arms to his sides. "What is this all

about?" he asked. He had cocked his head and was listening

to the siren. "Has it something to do with that?"

"If that's coming from your special section, yes, proba-

bly. A friend of mine, a young woman who works for the

Central Intelligence Agency, has probably set off the alarm.

She 'll be in trouble now.

'"And do you work for the ... CIA?"

"No, " Carter said. "But I do work for the government."

"Why are you here?"

Carter took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he

holstered Wilhelmina. "It has to do with the nuclear strike on

Saudi Arabia. I believe the unit that made the strike is or was

based here. I've come to put an end to it."

'Then it is true after all," the priest murmured.

"What is, Father? What do you know?"

The priest blinked, and he shook his head. "Nothing,

183

184


184

NICK CARTER

really, mostly just suspicions some of us had. There was

training here in what you call a 'special section. ' It's the

738th Army Airborne Wing. They were brought down here

for special training. All of them were so..

different,

including their commander, Colonel Hardesty.

"C-130s? Half-track vehicles?"

"For months out in the fields north of the alert pods," the

priest said.

"They were apart. They even had their own

section of the base, fenced off from the rest of us.

"Are they still here?"' Carter asked.

"They left two weeks before the . . . nuclear strike."

"Then they're not here?"

The priest blinked. "Oh, they're here. At least some of

them are. They came back two days ago. " Again the priest

cocked his head toward the siren. 'That siren is coming from

their section over by what used to be our motor pool.

Joy, Carter thought. He grabbed the priest by the arm.

"You're going to have to drive me over there, show me

where Colonel Hardesty's quarters are."

"No...I..." the young priest mumbled, but then he

straightened up. "If they did this thing. . if they..

"He

grabbed his hat and his car keys, and led Carter downstairs to

the back parking lot where they climbed into an old Volks-

wagen.

"We have to hurry, Father, " Carter said, and as they

pulled out of the parking lot the siren suddenly stopped. The

silence was ominous.

"Oh, dear," the priest said.

There were a lot of lights around four buildings that were

surrounded by a tall, temporary-looking fence. Signs warn-

ing of high voltage were wired to the fence every fifty or

seventy-five feet.

At least a couple of hundred officers and men were

gathered across the street from an open gate in the fence

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

185


185

where an ambulance was parked, its red lights flashing.

There were a lot of military police jeeps there, and just

through the gate, at the front of the ambulance, was a knot of

officers.

"There he is," the priest said, pulling up.

'Which one?" Carter asked.

"The gray-haired man. In the middle. That's Colonel

Hardesty. "

'Thank you, Father, " Carter said. He pulled out his Luger

and, holding it out of sight at his side, worked his way

through the crowd.

'Step aside, I'm a doctor. Step aside," Carter said. He

hurried across the street once he was clear of the crowd, and

several MPs turned to challenge him. "I'm a doctor, " Carter

shouted. "Let me through!"

They parted, and he was through the gate and around to the

front of the ambulance.

They were just putting a sheet over Joy Makepiece's

blackened face. She had evidently tried to make it over the

fence and had hit the high voltage. The stench of cooked flesh

was still strong.

"Hey, he's got a gun," someone shouted as Carter came

up to Colonel Hardesty

The colonel, a craggy-faced man in his mid-forties with

short-cropped gray hair, spun around, then reached for the

.45 at his hip, but Carter was at his side and had jammed the

Luger into the man's ribs before he got the gun.

"You're dead, Hardesty, if you don't do exactly as I say."

Hardesty stared at him. Carter pressed the Luger's muzzle

into his side with a little more force.

"I've come too far to stop now."

The military policemen, their weapons drawn, were star-

ing at them.

'What do you want?"

186


186

NICK CARTER

"Is there a helicopter here? Within your little compound."

"Yes, " Hardesty said tensely.

"Good. We're going to step back away from the gate.

We're going to call for a pilot, and we're getting out of

here."

"Where are you taking me? And who the hell are you?"

"Where you're going depends totally on you, Colonel.

Let's move it."

Hardesty looked up and waved the others away. "He has a

gun in my ribs. We're taking my helicopter out of here. Call

my pilot, Captain Johns. Get him over to the chopper im-

mediately.

They backed slowly away from the ambulance and from

Joy's body lying beneath the sheet on the stretcher. What the

hell had she been doing here? The only thing Carter could

figure was that she had hoped to provide him with a diver-

sion, just as he had for her back at the soccer stadium in

Riyadh. He felt very bad for her and for the things he had said

to her. But it needn't have come to this.

He and the colonel made it around the corner of the old

motor pool building, out of sight of the others.

'Where is it?" Carter asked.

"In back."

"Let's go, Carter said, hustling Hardesty along.

"Who are you? What the hell do you want here?"

"I'm Nick Carter."

Hardesty half turned to look back at Carter. "Oh, " he

said. "It's you. I should have known after Riyadh, Bandar

Ma'Shur, and Mar Saba. "

"How'd you know I was there?"

Hardesty laughed. "Military intelligence, how else? And

do you actually think you're going to get away with any.

thing? You can't stop it, you know. It's already grown too

big. Before too long it'll come out about the cooperation we

had with General David Goldman."

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

187


ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

187

'Israeli Army?"

"Air Force, and his chief of staff, and several other offi-

cers who arranged for us to use Mar Säbă."

"And there'll be Iranian government cooperation?"

•Their Air Force as well, ' Hardesty said, and he laughed.

"It's gone too far. It'll all come out, and it'll be war in the

Middle East. "

They made it around the corner to the helicopter as a jeep

came from the other direction and pulled up. An officer

jumped out but stopped short when he saw Hardesty and

Carter.

"My pilot," Hardesty said.

"Tell him to get the chopper started. We're leaving im-

mediately."

"We're getting out of here, Bob. He's got a gun, so for the

time being let's go along with him."

For several long seconds the captain stood rooted to his

spot.

"Move it, Bob. He's got a gun!" Hardesty shouted

"They found out he was coming, Colonel, " the captain

said

"What are you talking about?"

'I was coming to teil you. It just came in over the crypto

circuit." The captain looked at Carter.

"You're Carter,

aren't you? And the woman was Joy Makepiece? CIA?"

"That's right," Carter said.

"What's going on?" Hardesty demanded, sweat pouring

down the side of his face.

"It's General Richardson, sir. "

"What about him?"

'He said it was over. He had done what he could, but now

it was over. Too many people were finding out-even the

President would know. Even the President, Colonel. Which

meant I was right. Oh, Christ. .

"What has happened, you bastard? Tell me!"

188


188

NICK CARTER

"It's General Richardson. He committed suicide in his

office in the Pentagon not more than half an hour ago."

"No!" Hardesty shouted, and he shoved Carter backward

and started for the helicopter.

Carter regained his balance, brought up the Luger with

both hands, and fired two shots, both of them hitting the

colonel in the neck.

The captain had dropped into a crouch, clutching his own

gun, but when he saw that the colonel was dead, he uncocked

the automatic and shoved it back in his holster. Then he

turned to Carter.

"Mr. Carter, there is someone on the encrypted teletype

circuit who wishes urgently to speak with you.

Slowly Carter straightened up, and he holstered his Luger.

Several military police jeeps and a dozen armed men all raced

back from the front of the compound as Captain Johns

stepped across to where Carter stood motionless.

"It's all right!" the captain shouted. "It's all right! Get an

ambulance back here-

-the Colonel has been hurt."

There was a lot of confusion for at least ten minutes before

Carter and Captain Johns were allowed to get back to the

communications center. The captain left Carter there with the

encrypted telephone.

"Hello," he said tiredly. He could not get Joy out of his

mind.

"Hello, Nick. " Hawk's voice came over the secured line.

"Have you heard about Richardson?"

"Just now, sir, " Carter said. 'He masterminded the entire

thing?"

"Apparently."

"How did he get past the Joint Chiefs?"

"He didn't. As soon as it happened, he was the one taking

over the secret investigation. Meanwhile, they were prepar-

ing for the war. "

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

189


189

201 of 212)

= +

110%

ZERO-HOUR STRIKE FORCE

189

"War?"

"That's what he wanted, as far as we can tell. The infor-

mation is just now coming in, so it's still not perfectly clear,

but apparently the general felt that the only way to secure our

oil interests in the Middle East against Soviet encroachment

was to start a war there between Saudi Arabia and Israel. "

"I don't see ...

"A nuclear war that would demand our immediate inter-

vention. Once we had the territory, we'd never let it go."

It was clear then. "I see, sir, " Carter said. 'But he didn't

think he could get away with it. Under the noses of the Joint

Chiefs, under the President's nose. "

"He nearly did, Nick. He very nearly did. "


EPILOGUE

It had been a terribly confusing two weeks since Tucson,

Nick Carter thought as his flight came in for a graceful

landing at the Nice airport on the Côte d'Azur, but finally the

world was coming back into focus.

The public, of course, had heard very little of what actually

happened, but in very high levels of government apologies

were made, reparations payments were arranged, and gradu-

ally the tense situation in the Middle East began to calm

down.

Even the Russians, who everyone thought would naturally

make a great deal out of the situation, were strangely silent.

Only a short story in Izvestia mentioned an American grant of

$4.5 billion to help Saudi Arabia recover its oil revenue

losses.

The Israelis were far too embarrassed about their unwitting

participation in the business to say anything publicly, and of

course no one believed anything the Khoumeni government

said. So the dust had begun to settle.

Very quietly the President was ramrodding a few new laws

through Congress, giving more civilian control over the

military. He had fired the secretary of defense, and in the

191

192


192

NICK CARTER

Pentagon there was a major shakeup of personnel that would

be going on for at least the next year.

We had come close to all-out war this time. The public in

general would never know about it, which was just as well.

But it was frightening that it had very nearly happened.

Marie Arlemont, wearing a light gauze shirt over very tight

jeans, was waiting at the terminal when Carter stepped off the

jet. She had learned a few of the details of the incident

through her connection with the SDECE, and she was im-

mediately solicitous, taking him by the arm and talking

incessantly as she led him out to her Ferrari.

Carter finally stopped her prattling. "Marie," he said,

putting down his suitcase and taking her hands.

She blinked but swallowed her next words.

"I'm on vacation. I don't give a damn what happened or

what will happen to the world. For the next ten days I want

to do nothing more than eat, sleep, lie around the beach,

and ..."

"Make love with me," Marie said, her eyes twinkling.

"And make love with you," Carter agreed.

She reached into the car and pulled out a chilled bottle of

champagne. "Do the honors?" she asked. He took the bottle

and opened it, the cork flying, champagne foam bubbling all

over the place, as she got the glasses.

It would be nice if the only explosions on this earth were

those of popping champagne corks, Carter thought as they

clinked glasses. And they drank the icy wine beneath the hot

Mediterranean sun and thought only of what future days, and

nights, would bring.


DON'T MISS THE NEXT NEW

NICK CARTER SPY THRILLER

OPERATION SHARKBITE

Carter crouched in the closet, the scent from Bridgit

Michaels's clothing filling his nostrils. The sap he had

almost used on the shooter at Grayburn House was in his right

hand

Just in case, Wilhelmina occupied his left.

No lights were on in the living room or the bedroom. A

narrow shaft of sunlight seeped through a crack in the drapes

to fall across the hanks of hair on the pillow and the sheet

covering the wadded blankets serving as bodies.

The door from the living room to the bedroom was open

about six inches and within Carter's sight.

It had been about ten minutes since Bridgit had done her

towel-waving routine from the front window. Now she was

dressed and crouching on the fire escape outside the window.

"What if the neighbors across the way see me?" she had

asked.

"Wave to 'em. You're just getting some early morning

air."

193

194

NICK CARTER


194

NICK CARTER

For ten seconds and ten seconds only, Carter had thought

about calling Hamilton and MI5 for backup. But if there was

another leak in MIS besides Bridgit, it would do little good

...and maybe blow the whole thing.

A creak of wood. . . faint, barely discernible . . . but

there.

It was the front door of the flat.

Carter tensed, relaxed, and tensed his muscles again to get

them ready

The bedroom door moved an inch, and then another six

inches.

The first thing through the opening was the silenced snout

of a Heckler and Koch UP70 machine pistol. Like everything

else the West Germans manufactured, the UP70 was a work

of art.

It operated on selective three round bursts from an eighteen

round feeder, at a deadly cyclic rate of 2,200 rounds per

minute.

Just as fast as the trigger could be pulled.

The man behind the UP70 was young, wearing jeans and a

baggy pullover. The sweater had probably been used to hide

the machine pistol as he crossed the street and climbed the

stairs to 3C.

His all-night vigil showed. His lean, deeply tanned face

badly needed a shave.

He moved toward the bed with startling economy. So

much so that it seemed that no part of him moved except the

extended arm holding the pistol.

When the hand holding the UP70 was just over the foot-

board of the bed, the long silencer began bucking. The room

was filled with the smell of burnt powder and the dull thud of

the slugs as they tore into the heavy blankets.

Nick Carter was a pro. He recognized another one.

The guy took no chances. He just kept firing.

NICK CARTER

195


^く

195(207 of 212)

- +

110%

NICK CARTER

195

Carter counted the bursts in his head: four... five. ..

six.

Three times six is eighteen; exactly what the UP70

magazine held.

The shooter was just moving around the bed on Carter's

side to check his handiwork when the Killmaster moved out.

The guy was sharp.

Carter's gliding steps barely made a sound on the rug, but

he heard them.

—From OPERATION SHARKBITE

A New Nick Carter Spy Thriller

From Charter in April