# The Execution Exckange 33

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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NICK CARTER

"Your anger is showing," Carter said. smiling into her

indignant beauty. "Careful. You 'II be mistaken for human. "

"Ha!" she said, compressing her lips. "We've work to

do. "

"Glad you reminded me. Might have forgotten. "

"Don't humor me, Carter. ICs a waste of effort. 9'

He grinned and shook his head. She was alternately desir-

able and hopelessly imtating, and even when she was imtat-

ing, she was desirable. When she unveiled her cold eyes long

enough for him to see, he knew she was as attracted to him as

he was to her. And EErhaps even more puzzled by him.

Carter and Annette went back to work.

They gazed nonchalantly around the room. the two re-

maining unidentified men in Heinrich •s photograph burned

in their memories: the Slavic-looking one with David Sut-

ton 's arm thrown casually over his shoulder, and the man in

the tuxedo.

The warehouse-size room was a single, large hall with the

center filled with long tables seating up to sixteen each, and

small round and square ones along the perimeter of the room.

The decorations were old. Pre-World War II paintings of the

Bavarian countryside, crossed Prussian swords with dan-

gling faded red tassels, stuffed deer and wild boar heads with

the glazed eyes of death's defeat, and ornate gold filigreed

milTors that reflected across the half-full room. A film ofdust

and grease seemed to cover everything. Ihe decorations gave

the hall a sense of musty oldness, as if the past were a walking

corpse.

To their right was a raised stage on which the polka band in

short pants and embroidered shirts played their lively tunes.

Below them, another band stood on break, drinking beer

from steins and talking in each other's ears. Couples,

families, and friends sat in clumps at tables throughout the

warm hall, laughing, drinking toasts, tapping their feet.


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"I don't see either of them," she said at last.

"Not yet. "

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He picked up the ashtray, noting the raised wings of the

hawk. She nodded. They were in the right place. They lit

cigarettes, smoked. talked infrequently, bored as if they had

been together so long that animated conversation between

them had died a natural death.

The polka band ended its set and people looked up exrm--

tantly for the next entertainment. A knife thrower bounded

out onto the stage, brandishing long knives that caught the

overhead lights and glinted menacingly. The audience loved

him, clapping enthusiastically, and he threw each knife with

solemnity at a half-naked girl, flourishing the weapons so

that the pleased audience would be certain that only his

superb skill kept the trembling girl from instant death. He

ended his show to thunderous applause, and the emcee

beamed and clapped too.

In between musical breaks by the combo on the floor, the

announcer brought on a memory expert in all the great Ger-

manic wars, then a group of four young girls in frilly white

aprons who yodeled, and last a man who played the

xylophone with his hands while one foot beat a floor drum.

The audience booed the xylophone player. One red-faced

man yelled that the music sounded as if it were made by a

broken washing machine. Immediately the emcee's hook

shot out from the side of the stage and dragged the embarras-

sed amateur off. The audience loved that, and clapped and

stamped its feet. Being judge and jury pleased them, espe-

cially if their decision was instantly and painlessly camed

out. People liked to keep their own hands clean.

"Three hours," Annette observed impatiently. "Not a

sign of either of them. "

Across the room, the bouncer still occasionally studied

Annette, and she would glare back at him. Being on watch


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was boring, but at least they were inside, warm, where there

was beer and something to do besides count the seconds in a

minute.

People came and went. Sweating waitresses balanced full

mugs of beer to the tables and camed off empty ones by the

trayful. The musicians played. The entertainers did their acts

with varying degrees of success. Men flirted with women.

Women hid their interest behind fluttering, work-worn hands

and shy glances.

And Carter and Annette watched.

Another hour passed, then two.

Near midnight, a new act ran out onto the stage. It was a

magician, carrying a black-draped table, wearing a tuxedo

shiny with age.

Carter and Annette continued to smoke quietly. Nothing

about them gave away their excitement.

The magician was the man in the tuxedo in Heinrich 's

photograph.

But now, besides the tuxedo, he wore a large red sm)t

painted festively on each cheek as if he were a cabaret

entertainer from long ago. He had a long, boneless face, and

was tall and rangy. And now that Caner saw him in Irrson,

saw the way he moved, heard the timber of his voice, he

realized he'd met the man before.

In Budapest, the man dressed in an expensive business suit

had tried to hire Carter's taxi to take him to a fashionable

address—14 Jözsethegyi Street on Rose Hill—while Caner

was in disguise tailing the double agent J6zsef Pau. The man

had spoken Hungarian like a native. Now he spoke working-

class German as if he were to the factory born.

Caner edged behind Annette. If he recognized the magi-

cian, the magician might recognize him.

"What 's wrong?" she whispered, glancing at Carter, then

she followed his gaze back to the stage where the magician

busily waved a wand over his upturned top hat.


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Carter explained quickly, and a triumphant smile of con-

firmation spread across her beautiful. cold face.

' 'You stay here, 's he told her before she could object.

He stood, tumed. and walked around the perimeter of the

room, his head ducked in defeat, his hands dug deep into his

pockets. his feet shuffling as if life were drudgery. and work

a punishment for living. People, made uncomfortable by the

emotions his presence raised, averted their eyes when he

passed. It was a good disguise. No one wanted him near, and

they'd forget him as soon as possible.

He walked to a door marked rest rooms, glancing over his

shoulder once to see Annette alone at their table, smoking

furiously.

The door opened into a corridor, just as he'd suspected.

Two of the dcx»rs along the hall were marked for rest rooms,

another was labeled Office, a third that swung busily back

and forth was obviously a kitchen. Costumed singers, come-

dians, and musicians prowled the comdor, smoking, drink-

ing, chattenng to keep away their stage nerves.

Carter paced the length of the hall, his hands behind his

back. He found the men 's dressing room at the end of the

corridor, down another flight of stairs. It would be a dank

hole down there.

Carter paused at the top of the stairs, lit a cigarette, and

listened to the shouts of laughter and applause that accom-

panied another of the magician 's tricks.

Across from the stairs was a small square of royal purple

curtain. He drew back the musty velvet cloth. Through a

darkened pane of glass he saw the stage and audience. From

here, the next act could gauge the reception awaiting them.

The magician was finishing his act, bowing to endless

applause, while across the crowded room Annette's eye-

brows were raised in scorching dismissal of the persistent

bouncer who hovered over her like a dog salivating over a

bone. Carter allowed himself a brief smile. The bouncer was


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in over his musclebound head.

Next to the window was the stage door through which the

magician would exit. Carter backed off, now certain that

there were only three exits. The first exit was the front

where Carter and Annette had entered the bar. The second

was the side that backed next to the top of the stairs

down to the men 's dressing room; it would be the stage door.

And the third would through the back of the kitchen.

It was simple to deduce that the magician would probably

go out the stage door, but as a second choice he might exit

through the kitchen where he could avoid the clamoring

throng from the hall.

Carter ground out his cigarette on the wood floor already

scarred by thousands of other cigarette burns made by wait-

ing performers, and assumed his hunched walk to return to

the table.

The audience was already back to their beers, eager for the

next act. Ahead, Annette was staring coldly into empty

space, a hand crushing a pack of cigarettes.

The bouncer passed Carter on his way back to the front

door. Startled, he recognized Caner. gave him a guilty

of pity, and hurried to the safety of guarding the front door.

a man knew his friends, and the women, although not

stunning, at least were grateful for a real man 's attention.

' 'You 've charmed another admirer, ' ' Carter said. smiling

as he sat next to her. She was remarkable, admirable, and a

constant challenge.

' 'Moronic ox, " she muttered grumpily and drank her beer.

"Are we set9"

He told her the location of the doors. They stood, leaving

money on the table. She rested her head on his shoulder, a

little drunk, and he supported her to the front door. The

bouncer turned his back, disgusted, but at least now he had an

explanation for her rejection. His pride was saved, and he


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leaned over earnestly in conversation with the man who wore

the soft felt hat.

Outside, the street was almost deserted. A new policeman

was on duty in the lamplight a block away. The air was sharp

with the fresh bite of spring. The stars twinkled overhead as if

preserved forever under clear glass.

Standing on the sidewalk just atxwe the Wemer Hall 's

front entrance , Carter and Annette took in their surroundings ,

noting the paths of the few pedestrians and the slow-moving

cars, then split up.

He watched her for a moment, seeing her walk confidently

down an alley on one side of the building. She had a hand in

her coat pocket, and in the pocket was her Walther.

Satisfied, he strode off in the opposite direction, around

the tall brick building. The floors above held apartments,

often a family of four to a room, one bathroom to a floor, and

a coal-burning stove to cook on. Despite guaranteed-for-life

jobs and the govemment 's statistical evidence of improving

conditions, East Berliners still found the symbolism of the

Berlin Wall embarrassing. It was an admission that despite

the state's assurances, something was basically wrong with

the society. Parents had difficulty explaining the

discrepancies—particularly the Berlin Wall—to the new

generations. For those born to any preordained order, free

will was still a characteristic that had to be trained out of

people.

The scream was short, hollow. Almost as if it hadn't

existed at all.

Carter raced down the alley, his Luger tight in his hand,

and rounded the corner.

Annette slammed an elbow deep into the belly of one of her

two attackers. He collapsed to his knees, his face blue.

The second man threw a rope around Annette, then yanked

her tight into its loop


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She kicked high, her boot reflecting light from the single

bulb that glowed above the kitchen entrance she had

watching.

The man with the rope dodged, laughing.

"A tigress! What a waste!"

The other man staggered to his feet.

"Get her money, idiot! Someone will hear! "

"Good thinking," Carter said. "But too late. "

He pointed Wilhelmina at the East Berliner holding the

rope, Both robbers glared temfied at Carter, ignoring for the

moment their prey. Annette was just better dressed enough

than most East Berliners to give a man with a state-mandated

job of no pay increases the hope of a little extra money.

poor in all nations had dreams. In East Germany, a two-

cylinder Trabant car was priced astronomically at $ in

American money , and a color television cost between S I

and $2,000.

"Polizei!" one said hoarsely.

"Not yet, " Annette said. "But I'll scream and the one on

the corner will be here in ten seconds. s'

"What .

what do you want?" the man with the rol*

said, dropping the rope's end as if it were scorching his

hands.

"Well, better ethics would be too much to ask," Carter

said. "So I suggest you just leave. Give it up for the night. "

"You 'II .

. you'll let us go?" said the robber Annette

had kicked.

"If you leave now," Annette said, stepping out of the

rope. "Immediately. "

The two robbers looked at one another, then at Caner and

Annette.

"No tricks?" the one with the rope said. "I have a wife, a

boy .

' 'No tricks, " Carter said as he began to coil the rope. ' 'Get


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The men exchanged a look of awe at their good fortune.

Amateurs, they had not yet developed the professional's

thrill of the job itself. They wanted the money and felt only its

loss. not the loss of the challenge.

They raced down the alley, their cheap, dark clothes dis-

appearing into the night.

"Thieves," Annette said, disgusted. "Of all the bad

luck. "

Caner nodded curtly, tossed the rope into a trash con-

tainer, and slid his Luger back into his pocket.

"Better get back, " he said, already retracing his steps to

his post.

Annette nodded , then blended deep into the shadows made

by stacks of empty wooden crates waiting outside the

kitchen.

'II be here," she said softly. ' 'Waiting. "

He didn 't bother to nod, too intent on the door that had

gone unwatched for perhaps ten minutes. Long enough for

the magician to hurry out of costume, clean his face, dress

again, and long gone from Werner Hall.

Carter's only hope was that the magician had no reason to

be in a hurry.

He rounded the corner.

They were waiting for him.

In midstep, the six men pushed him up against the wall.

He grabbed for his Luger.

Two iron hands crushed his arms, lifted him. His feet

dangled helplessly a foot above the ground.

"Nice work, Killmaster, " said the Werner Hall magician

who was also the tall, rangy man with the long, boneless face

from Budapest. He'd cleaned off the theatrical paint.

There were five others. One of them was the bouncer. He

leered in Carter's face as he held Carter's arms immobile

against the brick wall. He had the strength ofa bull elephant.

' 'Perhaps we should hire you to clean up our streets, " the


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magician went on. "You could reform the criminals at the

same time. s' He took a small object from his sleeve and held

it high under the alley's light. It was a syringe.

'Delighted, " Carter said. s 'A wonderful opportunity. We

could team up. But you 'd have to improve the level of your

friends. Muscles on the arms are useful, but between the ears

they're subnormal. "

The bouncer growled deep in his throat, His broad, flat

face turned deep red.

"There 's for all, the magician said soothingly. He

pressed the plunger, popping out air bubbles.

' 'Not for me, " Carter said and twisted, kicking against the

hands that held him like steel bands. It was an impossible

position to kick from.

The magician chuckled.

"Deiter, if you please. '

The bouncer gave a cruel smile and released one of Car-

ter's arms to the two hands of one of his comrades. With his

free hand, the bouncer grabbed Carter's leg, twisting the

thigh.

"Annette!" Carter shouted. "Run!"

"Too late. " The magician smiled again. He injected the

drug into Carter's leg. "We have her.

He watched Carter's face. A wave of nausea swept over

the AXE agent. The magician's face blurred. Carter felt

himself falling, falling, although he knew he couldn 't 1k. He

tried to swim back up to consciousness. The magician spoke

again , this time as if from a distance too great to contemplate.

"And now we have you," the magician said. "It's too

late, Killmaster. Very much too late. "


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ELEVEN

The stank of mold and mildew. Somewhere far off,

water dripped slowly. The room itself had the impenetrable

silence that came from thick stone, and a deserted feeling that

sent chills up Nick Carter's spine.

He didn 't know where this place was. All his weapons

were gone. He was weak from the drug the magician had

injected. His head throbbed painfully. And he didn 't like the

looks of this stone cell.

It made him think of the fabled, persistent Count of Monte

Cristo, this dungeon hole. But even the Count of Monte

Cristo would be discouraged by the solid stone coffin Caner

and the Israeli agent Annette Burden had been thrown in.

Could they escape? Or would they simply be hauled out and

killed?

Carter lay on a pile of straw on the floor, holding Annette.

She was still unconscious, a curly-haired blonde with a

beautiful face, a long, femininely rounded body, and a first-

rate mind. Asleep, she was a rosy-cheeked angel. But when

he allowed himself a smile as he con-

she awakened

templated her disposition then.

He lifted her shoulder, lay her ann across her chest, and

slid away. She moaned and shook her head. Her lashes made

long shadows on her cheeks from the light of the kerosene

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lantern sitting on the tall wooden boxes behind them.

He checked his twenty-four-hour watch. It was noon.

They had been unconscious twelve hours. In the under-

ground, windowless cell, it was impossible to tell the hour

without a watch.

He moved around the room, feeling the solid limestone

walls. The cell was about ten feet by ten feet. A few pnsoners

had left thick marks on the walls. Without knives, they 'd had

to improvise with other instruments, perhaps spoons. The

marks showed attempts at initials, hearts, other drawings,

even a skull and crossbones. None had had the stamina—or

the time—to leave a message.

Just as he'd judged from his on the straw, the walls

were dishearteningly solid. And the heavy, double-thick,

barless, windowless door was built of iron. Encrusted with

rust, the door had been there a long time, and from the of

it had never been broken through.

He stopped, resting his forehead against the wall where

he'd begun. He felt dizzy and weak. His head throbbed as if

he'd been on a two-week drunk. The cold limestone re-

freshed his painful flesh. He waited until the throbbing les-

seneds then he started on the ceiling.

It was too high to reach, but he walked along the floor, his

head angled back, searching for a crack, a fissure, a darkened

line on the limestone to indicate someone long ago had found

a way to escape. Again, the ceiling appeared solid. What he

was hoping for wasn't likely, but it was possible.

He squatted on the floor and dropped his head down

between his knees. His ears rang, and a sharp pain pulsated

behind his eyes. He forced himself to breathe slowly and

deeply until at last the pain from the drug again lessened.

Now he checked the floor. He crawled on his hands and

knees, feeling every grimy inch. Slime grew on some of the


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stones, probably from an underground spring, maybe related

to the distant dripping water whose irritating regularity he

refused to annoyed by.

Again he found nothing. He 'd known he wouldn •t, but still

he 'd had to try. A Killma.ster didn 't give up. Ever.

He sat on his haunches, breathing slowly and evenly,

waiting for his head to calm.

At last he stood again and walked to the tall wooden boxes

from which the kerosene lantern cast a yellow glow in the

dark rcx)m. He smiled. Of course. These were two of the

crates that had Feen piled outside the kitchen of the Werner

Hall where the two thieves had tried to rob Annette.

And the magician and his friends must have used the boxes

to crate Caner and Annette for transportation to his dungeon

hole, wherever that was.

"Nick?" Annette 's voice was raspy, as if it hadn't been

uscd in a long time.

"Don 't sit up, " he cautioned, returning to the straw.

"Where the hell . .

She gasped and fell back, her hands gripping her head.

' 'In hell, yes, for all I can tell, " he said mildly, then sat

beside her on the straw.

"Does it go away?"

s 'The cell, no. Eventually the headache gets better. "

C' You're not funny."

' 'Good. It's not a joke. "

Flat on her back, still holding her head, she looked at him.

Her blue eyes were bloodshot. Her blond curls were wild

with tousling. Sticks of straw stuck out from the tangle of

hair. She looked like a sixteen-year-old who had had second

thoughts about sacrificing her virginity in the hayloft.

' 'The least you could've done was not get caught," she

griped. "Some Killmaster. "


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"It's all part of the plan."

She struggled to a sitting position again. squinting her eyes

with the pain.

' 'What plan?" she asked suspiciously.

6 'A Killmasteralways has a plan. s' He smiled as he picked

straw from her spun-gold hair. "Didn 't you know that?"

"l don 't believe you," she decided.

He chuckled, stood up slowly, and walked back to the

crates.

feel much better already, " he told her. "You will soon,

too. "

He moved his hands over one crate.

"You 've checked the cell?" She was making conversa-

tion, hiding her fears behind talk. Activity decreased anxiety.

"Everything. Solid as a rock. But then, it is a rock. Or

carved out of one, at any rate. '

She watched him, her arms crossed over her knees.

' 'We 'II jump them when they come back, " she told him.

"How do you know they 're coming back? " he said, find-

ing a loose board at last. He ripped it off, nails squealing.

s They didn't keep us alive for nothing," she reasoned.

"We don't have any weapons," he said. "Makes it a bit

one-sided , doesn 't it? ' ' He tore off another piece of the crate.

"What about those boards?" she said, pointing to the two

he had pulled off and leaned against the wall. 'They're

sturdy. We can distract whoever comes, then knock them

out. "

"Why didn't I think of that?"

He stood back and grinned at her.

"Monster! Bastard! SOB! That's why you pulled them

off!"

S' You're charming when you're angry. "

Enraged, she leaped to her feet. Screamed. Clutched her

head. Sank against the limestone wall.


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Carter grabbed her by the shoulders and picked her up.

"I told you," he said softly. "Wait. Your head will clear.

If you move too rapidly, you 'II black out. 9'

"But .

' 'Hush. '

He pressed her to him. She was shivering. A cold sweat

glistened on her waxy face.

He lay her on the straw and took off his jacket.

"No," she said.

"Shut up. "

He covered her.

But his fingers lingered on the hem of his heavy sheepskin

jacket. The fingers remembered what the drugged mind had

forgotten.

He found the loop of thread and pulled it carefully.

' 'What are you doing?"

She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were open. She

was unstoppable.

"How do you feel?" he said as a long, paper-thin packet

fell into his hand.

C'Lousy. What else?"

"An honest woman. " He smiled into her blue, bloodshot

eyes. "Honest women have always been my downfall. "

She sighed, and years of toughened protection sloughed

away. Suddenly she was young and vulnerable. A child

who'd grown up so fast that the childhood had had to be

abandoned unfinished.

She touched his cheek.

"Thank you. "

"Stay covered," he said. He kissed the hand and slid it

back beneath his jacket.

She smiled wanly and closed her eyes. She would sleep.

The best medicine. ne magician must have given her a dose

as large as Carter's. With her lower weight, she was


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having an understandably bad reaction.

He returned to the iron door and opened the packet. Inside

were a small lockpick, a file, various medicinal pills in a flat

container, compressed pellets that were like miniature hand

grenades, and four sheets of paper-backed tape strips.

He peeled off one strip of the tape. Since there was no lock

on this side of the door, there was no way to pick it. But the

tape would help.

He pressed four strips of the tape in the shape ofa rectangle

on the door where he estimated a lock should be. He made the

rectangle small to conserve on tape. He scratched his

thumbnail over the tape, then turned his head.

Instantly he felt the heat and smelled the ozone.

When he looked back, the tavxs had scorched off and a

trench had burned into the thick iron.

He did this five times.

At last the tape ate through, and the piece of iron rectangle

fell inside the dcx»r that was hollow after all.

But there was no lock. He reached inside the door and felt

around. At last he found it, but it was low , out of reach, very

close to the ground.

The discovery discouraged him, but it also helped to con-

firm his suspicions. They were in a structure probably built in

the Middle Ages when people were much shorter and locks

were not only primitive, but considerably lower. And from

the look and smell of this dungeon and the placement of the

lock, their prison was probably beneath a castle.

He sat back on his haunches and considered the door. He

didn 't have enough tape to go through the procedure again to

burn out a piece of the iron where the lock was. He didn 't

want to wait until someone came to get them. Boards didn't

appeal to him as the best of weapons.

Weapons. That was it.

He smiled and took out two of the compressed pellets from


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the packet. ney were miniature hand grenades—not as

much punch as the full-size ones, but certainly enough for the

job at hand.

He returned to Annette. She'd slept another half hour. He

hoped that it was enough.

SAnnette. "

Color had returned to her face, and she'd moved in her

sleep, her face now against the wall, the lamplight making

her hair glow like beaten gold.

' 'How do you feel?"

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

don't know," she said.

"We're ready to break out, but I don 't want to do it until

you can at least walk. "

'Of course. "

She'd learned her lesson. She sat up slowly, breathing

deeply. He supported her shoulders.

"I hate tring an invalid. "

"The weakness will pass. "

She ncxided and stood. Her legs were wobbly, but she

refused to give in to their uncertainty.

"l 'm ready, " she announced.

"We'll wait until I think you're ready. "

She glared at him, too drained for the emotion necessary to

object.

'How old were you when you emigrated?" he said, wish-

ing he had a cigarette to offer her.

"Sixteen. I went directly to a kibbutz in the Sinai. "

C 'And how old were you when your parents died?"

"Ten. nen I lived with foster families. Some were kind.

Some weren't. "

He watched her heavy breathing , knowing the effort to talk

was exhausting. But it would help clear her head.

€ 'How many foster families?"


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'Fourteen. " She smiled crookedly. "I wasn 't easy. Tney

passed me around. "

' 'You were angry, Angry your parents had died and de-

serted you to such an insecure, unfriendly future."

She shrugged, a sign she was feeling better. She hadn't

noticed the improvement yet.

"I didn't analyze it. When friends of my parents invited

me to the Sinai, the agency let me go. They were relieved to

be rid of me, I

Her skin color was healthier. Her eyes clearer. Her voice

stronger.

"Can you stand away from the wall now?" he asked.

She moved so that her weight was completely on her feet.

She blinked her eyes slowly and realized she felt better. She

reached up to her hairs touching the stiff straw. She pulled out

pieces.

"I must a mess," she muttered. Then she looked at

him. "You 're right. I am better. Let's get on with it. »€hat do

you have in mind?"

He told her. She nodded crisply, then handed him his

jacket.

She returned to the straw and lay flat, face down, ams

over her head.

He pulled the tabs on the hand grenade pellets and tossed

the little bombs down the door's hole. "Ihen he raced across

the room to fall next to her, arms over his head, too.

The impact of the explosion shuddered over them.

Smoke and dust clotted the air. Caner and Annette

coughed and looked up.

The way was clear to escape. The thick iron hung

partially open, attached only from the top hinge. The bottom

of the door angled sharply up, a hole blasted near the floor.

The blast had been large enough to free them, and with the


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115

thickness of the castle walls, perhaps small enough that no

one else had heard.

Caner and Annette jumped up. He looked once at her and

saw that she was well enough now to make herself move fast.

They ran through the churning cloud of dirt particles and

out down a long conidor.

' ' Where to?" she gasped.

"I've been promoted, he said, grinning. "She's actually

asking, not telling."

"If you don 't have any ideas, she said, ignoring him, "I

have a suggestion. "

"I know this castle. There was pan of a drawing on the

wall. I saw it when we were talking. I can get us out of here. "

Carter nodded.

' 'Lead on," he said.

They on down the moldy comdor, past the trickle that

dripped with imtating regularity between limestone blocks,

to the corner where the corridor ended in a T.

They slid flat against the wall. No voices. Caner peered

around the edge. No one. Their captors tmsted the old dun-

geon to keep the two agents imprisoned.

With Annette in front, they ran on along another corridor,

this one with open rooms that had once stored grains, vegeta-

bles, cured meats, and coal. At last they came to steps wide

enough that six people abreast could comfortably climb

them.

Annette pressed a forefinger to her lips and, stealthy as a

cat, climbed the stone stairs. Above them, an old embroi-

dered tapestry hung from a wrought-iron staff. They were

entering temtory where there was a greater chance of discov-

ery.

They moved like shadows along the wall, ducking into a


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NICK CARTER

room behind a closed door as a butler, proper in black tails

and starched white shirt, carried a silver tray with a single

bottle of "Ihree Turkeys rye like a flagpole in the center.

"Wait, " Annette cautioned Carter as he started to move

out from the room. "He'll be back. "

The room was decorated in watery pastels, the wainscoting

pale pink, the walls a washed-out blue. The fumiture was

light and ornate with spindly legs and graceful curves. A

large embroidery hoop was mounted next to a rcx•king chair.

A half-finished forest drawing on an easel next to a

petit-point chair. lhere was a harpsichord, a flute, and a

rolltop desk displaying a time-faded account book open next

to an inkwell. It was the drawing room where long ago the

castle's noblewomen had gathered to occupy themselves,

manage the estate, and teach the family •s young girls the

skills necessary to be ladies.

"It's the Van Hornbostel castle, " Annette whispered. 'SA

West German historical monument. Owned by a private

investment group now but open to tourists every day. Makes

money and is a tax write-off. "

The implication in her tone was that if the government

owned the castle, the money would be going to feed and

clothe the poor and not lining the unpatched pockets of the

already wealthy.

"You 've been here before?" he said.

was an art history major. I studied the castle for two

weeks. The university in Jerusalem sent me. " She watched

out the crack of the door. "There goes old Joachim. The

butler. It's safe now."

They again ran down the corridor, but this time only to the

next door. She paused at the door, and the two pressed their

ears to it. There were voices inside, talking in a babble of

languages.

She glanced at him, telling him with her eyes to follow


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again. They ran lightly twenty paces and turned right beneath

an ornate crystal chandelier, down another corridor. This one

was short, but it was lined like the others with family B'r-

traits, tapestries. and occasional suits of gleaming armor.

"The library," she whispered. "An enormous room.

We have less chance of being noticed in this hall. Out of the

traffic flow. "

Again they preqsed ears to the The babble of lan-

guages was quieting. One voice dominated. A man 's. It had

an English accent, high-class Oxbridge. A voice Carter rec-

ognized. He lcxjked down at the old doorknob and squatted.

Yes, the keyhole was large. He peered through and into a

room lined with leather-bound books rising from the hand-

knotted antique carpet to the arched plaster ceiling. And at

the end of a long library table, around which eleven people

sat, stood Mr. Justice Paul Stone, the same judge who had

been a member of the exclusive luncheon club at Andrea

Sutton 's Greek restaurant in Soho.

s 'It is a pity, " Stone was saying in his clipped speech,

'but we must rid ourselves of the riqk if our work is to go on.

Andrea has been told. The executioners are on their way. "

The men at the table nodded solemnly. They looked like a

board of directors accepting the face-saving resignation of

someone they 'd already fired. The magician, now wearing a

natty tweedjacket, was one of them, sitting next to a man in a

plain black suit. He was the Slav from Heinnch's photo-

graph. Across from them, sitting with his chair at an angle,

was the member of Parliament, William Reid, also from the

Soho gathering. He wore a pin-striped suit and rep tie, and

blew perfect smoke rings into the air above the table. His

aristocratic face was set immobile. He didn 't like the decision

but accepted the necessity. It was part of taking responsibility

for one's beliefs.

"It's all quite legal," Mr. Justice Stone went on. A tall,


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NICK CARTER

thin man with craggy features, he had a face that had seldom

had to accept defeat. Life's struggles had been lessons for

him in certainty. Philosophy was a game for amateurs, and a

real leader knew what was wrong and did something about it.

Anyone wanting solutions would be attracted to him, and he

would accept their allegiance as his logical reward.

' 'You were able to draw justice on them? ' ' William

Reid asked. For a mind that lived by preordained opinions,

form was as important as substance.

"Naturally, " the justice assured him. "I refer to the law

on traitors. If the American and Israeli were merely

busybodies, we would be able to distract and diffuse them. If

they were foreign spies for a power that had declared war on

us, we would have to hold them prisoner until the end of the

war. But they supposedly work with and for us. Their aims

are the same as ours—peace andjustice for all. Nevertheless,

they are trying to stop us. They are traitors to our cause. Ihe

justice papers have been legally drawn. Death warrants, of

course. The two will be executed at twilight. Any ques-

Carter looked up at Annette.

"You heard?" he asked.

She nodded, her face flushed with anger.

Running feet thundered down the long corridor outside the

library's front entrance.

"Our weapons are on the table," he told her. "Can you

distract them, get them out of the I'll grab our—

The library door banged open.

"They've escaped! " the voice boomed in German.

Quickly Carter dropped to the keyhole. A second later the

dozen men were on their feet, moving toward the door, their

faces stretched in alarm.

"Both?" the judge asked the guard who had brought the

news.


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119

It was the from Werner Hall in East Berlin, and

with him was another of the men who had captured Carter

there.

'They bombed the door! " the tx)uncer said, his head

wagging back and forth as he watched the expensively dres-

sed board of directors flood out the door. "We didn 't hear a

thing. We'd have heard that, don't you think? A bomb!"

In a natural reaction to any escape, the captors were on

their way to the empty cell. It was a fruitless gesture. They

should have formulating a plan to look for the prisoners,

but surprise often shocked the sense out of people.

'Gross negligence! " the judge accused the bouncer as he

strode last through the door. "You relied on the secunty of

the cell instead of posting a guard!"

The German Ss head drooped. Guilt spread across his face.

Then determination to do better. He followed his employers

out and tidily shut the door.

"Wait here, " Caner told Annette.

He opened the door, dashed inside, scooped up the Luger,

Walther, two knives, his gas tX)mb, and his gold cigarette

case, and ran back to Annette in the side corridor. He shut the

door and handed the Walther to the Israeli agent.

She held the gun a moment, her gaze on it as if it were a

long-lost lover. Then she checked the chambers, hefted it,

and watched Carter do the same with his Luger. They smiled

at one another, sharing a conspiracy of relief, then slipped

their knives into the secret cases on their arms, and Caner

secured his gas bomb on his inner thigh

"London next, " Caner told her as they slipped down the

hall. "There 's a woman in Soho. Now that I know she has the

key, I'll be able to get the information. "

"You 're sure?" she asked, her eyes narrowed in suspi-

cion.

' 'Positive.


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NICK CARTER

The two agents stopped at the intersection with the main

corridor.

Carter peered around the corner and looked directly into

the eyes of the tx)uncer.

It was an act of chance. At any other time, the East

German 's gaze would likely have elsewhere, scanning

the corridor, doing his job of guarding now that he had no one

to guard but doing it well because Mr. Justice Stone had

shamed him.

The bouncer instantly recognized his missing captive.

With reflexes trained to act without thinking, the aimed his

M-16.

Carter ducked.

The bullet tore out a hole in the wall 's edge. Splinters shot

like needles through the air. The noise reverberated. Shouts

erupted from both ends of the central comdor.

'Damn! " Carter swore.


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TWELVE

There was a sudden silence as if the old castle were holding

its breath. Then heavily booted feet pounded toward them.

The old castle echoed. But the thick floors and walls seemed

quietly unmoved, unaffected by the impact of the M- 16 blast,

the thundering feet, the sense of impending death. History

took little notice of the tantrums of the present, mindlessly

swallowing the spilled blood of the present 's obligation to the

continued warfare of the future.

"Around the comer! " the tx)uncer shouted in German.

'Rifles! " ordered the refined voice of Mr. Justice Stone.

There was the sound of a cabinet unlocking, the rustling of

bodies and weapons, the loading of rifles, the sotto voce of a

plan formulated, related, and put into action by well-trained,

obedient hands and minds.

The castle's men closed in on the short hallway.

Without even glancing at one another, Nick Carter and

Annette Burden turned on their heels and ran back down the

corridor, past the side door to the library, past the pennants

and portraits and gleaming armor, to the window that over-

looked a rolling countryside greening with spring grasses.

But directly beneath the window a wide moat dug for

protection in the Middle Ages shimmered like silver sequins

in the sun.


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

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NICK CARTER

"Up," Annette said, pulling on the glass window proba-

bly installed in the nineteenth century.

"Better than down, " Carter agreed, straining with her to

open the large-paned glass.

The feet pounded into the hallway.

"There they are!" a voice shouted.

As bullets bit into the wall, Carter picked up an

eighteenth-century chair and tossed it through the glass. The

two agents kicked the remaining glass shards through the

window as the chair splashed into the moat.

"You first!" Caner commanded, tuming and firing as

Annette crawled out the window and began the climb up-

ward.

Carter's bullet tore through the center of the lead man 's

forehead, blasting bone, tissue, and cartilage in a waterspout

that sprayed the wall and half a fifteenth-century tapestry a i

brilliant red. lhe dead man flew backward from the bullet's

impact, ams outstretched, into his comrades.

The men recoiled, shocked by the pulpy head , the spuming

blood, and the easy mortality. If enough time elapsed be-

tween violent deaths, the more well-trained professional

often forgot the individuality of the homfying details. For-

getfulness is man 's automatic tranquilizer.

Their hesitation was all that Caner needed.

He jumped onto the ledge, dropped his gun into his pocket,

and pulled himself up on the roughly cut limestone rectangles

thatjutted out to form the castle 's outer wall. His hands bled.

His feet slipped on the treacherous surface.

"Hurry! " Annette called from above on the ramparts.

He glanced down. Heads stuck out the big window, staring

up. A rifle reached out.

He scrambled on.

Two bullets whizzed past his ear.

A voice screamed from below. Annette had gotten one of

them.


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123

Carter slipped and pulled himself upward, gunshots shat-

tering his eardrums as Annette fired every time one of them

stuck a head or arm out the window.

At last he reached the top and flopped over the rampart 's

edge, exhausted.

"No time for that," Annette said impatiently.

€ g What do you mean?" he panted. "You 've been resting

up here while I've climbing Mount Everest!"

True to fonn, without a smile or any other friendly

acknowledgment, she ran off around the walk that rimmed

the top of the castle. At one time, an archer or bowman would

have been stationed at every cut in the fortification to dis-

courage the advances of the armies of neighboring duchies.

"Don 't bother to wait for me," he called and got to his

feet.

She disappeared around a corner. Behind him, shouts rang

again, and he heard the rising noise of feet running with the

gracelessness of an army in disarray. Heads, shoulders, and

rifles appeared out of an open space behind and to his right: a

wide soldiers' staircase.

"Damn!" he cursed again.

He rounded the comer, expecting to find Annette waiting,

and there they'd have to make a stand. There was nowhere

else to go. It would be a certain bloodbath.

But she was right again, her memory serving them both

well. There was a small door.

He opened it. A narrow stairway wound darkly down. He

descended eagerly, two, three stories, toward the warm

aromas of Westphalian ham, spicy schnitzel, and rich

strudel. His mouth salivated. He realized he was starving.

A hand grabbed his arm out of nowhere. He hadn 't yet

reached the kitchen.

'Carter. "

Her voice. Cool, briskly collected.

' 'Dammit, Annette! "


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NICK CARTER

"Come on," she said.

He could feel her move, pushing on something on the wall.

The wall rotated.

Suddenly they were in a dining room lit only by sunshine

through slatted louvers. The long table was set with antique

Bavarian china, Düsseldorf sterling, and Hanover crystal. It

waited suspended in time as if to serve a hunting party of

nobles and aristocrats who would gather from as far away as

Münich.

She tugged on his arm, and they stepped away from the

wall. She pressed a carved panel, and the wall again rotated,

returning to its proper place a narrow serving table and,

above it, three stuffed grouse.

"Never did like those grouse, " she muttered, striding off

across the shadowy, dim room.

"Where to now, as if it did any gcxxi to ask?"

She slid the fifteen-foot-tall panel door open a crack. He

peered through it, too, over her head.

' 'It's clear, " she said, and they pushed the door open just

wide enough so that they could sidle through.

They padded down another corridor that was in a different

wing of the castle , obvious because of their earlier trip across

the rampart fortifications. But this corridor seemed identical

to the first one. Only the faces in the portraits had changed.

As they passed a window , Carter touched Annette 's shoul-

der.

"Look over there. "

A helicopter was landing on one of the rolling green lawns.

The whirling blades beat the tulips, pansies, and forsythia

into a froth of colors. Three men hopped out of the aircraft,

heads ducked, wearing dull black jump suits, carrying M- 16

rifles with telescopic sights, duffle bags slung over their

backs.

"The executioners," Annette whispered.

' 'It won't be so easy now," Carter said. "How do we get


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THE EXECUTION EXCHANGE

out of here. or don 't you know?' S

She strode on.

125

"We can't exactly walk out the front door," she said.

"Why not?" he said. "You have a better idea?"

She coldly appraising the idea.

"Bold, and they wouldn't expect it," she decided. "All

right. Let's go. "

He chuckled at her bright stubbornness, and the two crack

agents reversed their direction and raced down the comdor

toward the front of the castle. They turned comers, ran

beneath chandeliers that shone with light bulbs where hand-

dipped candles had once flickered, ducked into linen closets

and bedrooms to avoid groups of roving sentries, passed tall

ornate chairs in which no one had bothered to sit in the last

hundred years, and startled young maids wearing frilly white

aprons and carrying feather dusters and spray wax.

Slowly the sound of voices grew.

In a castle that was a maze of comdors and rooms, prey

could hide indefinitely from even an army. But this prey—

Caner and Annette—had a mission to accomplish, and they

couldn 't spend any more time dodging and hiding.

The executioners stood in the marble foyer, talking with

Mr. Justice Stone while around them hovered first the board

of directors and then the bouncer with his arrned guards.

The executioners turned in different directions, nodding.

One of them gestured in a sweeping move that encompassed

the entire castle. Another gave a short series of barks that

were orders. The guards spread out, and the three execution-

ers left, heading where they had faced, walkie-talkies on their

belts, M-16s ready for any action.

Caner and Annette slipped inside one more door, waited

until the heavy feet passed, counted to twenty, then cracked

the door, checked, and moved stealthily back into the cor-

ridor.

The foyer was almost empty. Only four guards were in


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NICK CARTER

sight: one on either side of the main doors, and the other two

at the back of the foyer where a wide staircase rose between

walnut pillars.

Carter flipped his stiletto into his hand. Annette watched,

nodded silently, and did the same With her own razor-sharp

knife.

They looked into each other's eyes, knowing the plan by

simple logic. "Ihey watched the guards, waiting for the right

moment when they would be elsewhere.

Then, silent as jungle predators, they raced the last of the

corridor, Caner easily in the lead but not by much. A light

film of sweat glistened on Annette's serious face. Her blue

eyes were steely, cold as ever.

As Caner sprinted farther ahead, she jumped the first

guard by the dcx»r. Yanked his head back to her shoulder.

Jammed the knife up under his rib cage. Blood spuned onto

the floor, and he collapsed into it just as the other guard next

to the door turned around.

Carter flipped the second guard the rest of the way , keep-

ing him off balance.

"They're here!" one of the guards at the back of the

marble foyer shouted into his walkie-talkie.

Annette aimed , fired, and shot both men through the heart,

clean holes that empted black with blood.

Carter snapped the neck of the guard he'd flipped. Ihe

neck had once been thick with muscle but was now flabby

from overindulgence in food and liquor. The guard toppled

over, brain dead.

Annette was at the front door, tugging. Carter grabbed the

brass rings and pulled. Down the corridors to the right and

left, feet and shouts thundered toward them.

With Caner's strength, the doors swung open.

The two agents stared for a moment, thunderstruck.

Forty feet ahead, covering like a wall the wide drawbridge


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THE EXECUTION EXCHANGE

127

over the shimmering moat. a company of men in camouflage

fatigues marched directly toward them.

lhe sergeant, who bore no country •s insignia on his hat or

clothes, took one at Carter and Annette, aimed his rifle.

and fired. His men aimed their rifles too.

Instantly the two agents jumped aside and shoved the tall

closed. The round of ammunition smashed a beveled

floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the foyer.

"Shit!" Carter said, disgusted. "Up the stairs again!

We've no choice!"

"Drop the lock bar across the doors!" Annette said.

"Leave it as it is! " he shouted and ran toward the stairs. "l

have an idea. I want everyone inside the castle. It will make

our escape easier. '

"What escape?" Annette said, following him up the stair-

case. "Every minute our chances decrease!"

It was his turn to ignore her as they tore on breathless up the

castle's four stories. Behind them in the foyer, the troops

joined the castle 's guards and the executioners to pursue with

renewed enthusiasm. The hunters smelled blood. The two

condemned agents would be trapped on the rampans.

And killed leisurely as if they were target ducks.

At the top of the castle , Carter and Annette ran out onto the

empty fortifications. He gestured, leading her to the back of

the castle.

' 'What now?' ' she panted, looking out over the green hills

that would lead to freedom, London, and answers to the

questions of what this group was and what it was doing.

Stopping one leg of an octopus only slowed it. The whole

entity needed to be immobilized.

He grinned at her.

' 'No! " she said. S' You wouldn 't. At least, I wouldn't!"

"You have an alternative?"

"l don't know how to dive!"


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NICK CARTER

"Aren't you lucky," he said, picking her up. "Today's

the day you get to learn. "

'It 's four goddamned stories! " she cried, staring down at

the moat that meant freedom but also perhaps a broken limb,

fractured neck, or smashed back.

"Feet fint," he said. "It's safest. "

The maddening noise of their pursuers topped the staircase

and spread out across the ramparts.

'Then you go first. Show me. '9

He looked at her, acutely aware of the loss of important

time.

"Promise me?" he said.

"Sure. "

He set her on her feet.

Bullets whistled past them. She squatted and fired.

don't believe you, " he decided, and knelt and fired

beside her. The pursuers ducked behind ramparts and walls.

' 'Will you get the hell out of here?" she screamed.

He studied her. If one of them didn 't do something, it'd be

too late. He stepped into the rampart 's cut, looked down , and

gauged the distance as bullets in erratic bursts sliced through

the air around him.

' 'Ell expect you to be thirty seconds me, " he told

her, looking back at her for an answer.

Her head was covered with blood.

She lay flat, still, unmoving in death. Her arm was crooked

beneath her. The leg jutted unnaturally. A sharp pain pierced

his heart.

Annette !

"We got her!" someone shouted triumphantly. '*Now

him

The guards, executioners, and troops swarmed over the

top of the castle, their guns spraying bullets in a hail of certain

death. His death.


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129

His heart aching with loss, he leaped. He leaped not only

for himself, but for Annette. Her work was as important to

her as his was to himself. She card about the world.

He hit the water with his body in perfect alignment. He

sliced deep into the wet darkness, and swam underwater

toward the bank. He would fulfill his assignment, resolve the

problem, and stop the killers whose latest unnecessary victim

had been his friend and companion Annette Burden.


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THIRTEEN

From the pub across the street, Nick Carter watched a

young man in a pillbox hat deliver the big gift-wrapped

and the dozen long-stemmed yellow roses to Andrea Sutton 's

Greek restaurant in Soho. It was six o'clock in the evening,

the sun a fiery orange blaze as it settled into London 's thick)

horizon smog.

Carter sipped his beer, the memory of Annette 's death still

fresh and painful. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her

vibrance, her blond beauty, and the honest, courageous quale

ities that had made her a remarkably good agent. Missing her

made his chest ache with a dull throb.

It had taken him three patient days to work his way out of

the south German countryside, past the persistent searchers

and their dogs, and reach a safe phone. And then with

Hawk's speedy response of AXE equipment, he*d refitted

himself and flown to London. Once there, he 'd taken a taxi to

Harrods in Knightsbridge, the expensive department store

where he'd found the peignoir set for Andrea. Andrea would

like that it had come from Harrods.

He drank his beer, giving her time to open the box, arrange

the flowers, and be waiting for him. He counted on their last

meeting, the memories and sex, to put her in the mood he

wanted.


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131

He'd figured out enough of what to expect from her and

from the unknown organization assassinating world leaders

and leaving death warrants that, this time, he'd come pre-

pared.

No more directness. No more out-in-the-open weapons.

Instead, deviousness and hidden resources.

He finished the beer and strode across the street. Empty

trash cans littered the Soho sidewalks. A young punk flower

vendor with purple hair called her wares. Dixieland music

drifted from an American-style honky-tonk three doors

away. It was still early for the dinner crowd, but late enough

that after-work drinkers and the disappointed wealthy were

safely, happily, on their ways to alcoholic nirvanas.

Caner passed a crowd of revelers and entered the Trojan

Horse.

"Reservation, sir?"

The older man standing behind the desk had thick white

hair swept back in waves, and clear B)lish on his fingemails

that caught the lamplight in brief, bright glints.

"Nick Carter. I believe Lady Sutton is expecting me.

' 'Ah, yes."

The response was instant. The eyebrows shot up, im-

pressed. Lady Sutton was obviously acting in an unusual

manner.

SSShe said to go up. You'd know the way. "

Carter nodded and walked through the dining room. He

felt the curious, jealous gaze of the maitre d' follow as he

passed the arched alcoves displaying the small reproductions

of classical statuary. At the end of the dining room he dou-

bled back to the closed-off waiting area at the front of the

restaurant near the bar, and then went through the side door

that opened onto the spiral staircase.

' 'Nick! Darling! " she called down as he closed the door.

"Come up. I've a surprise for you!"


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NICK CARTER

The maitre d' must have used a hidden intercom to alert

Andrea that he had arrived. Carter didn 't mind. It made the

job simpler. He climbed the stairs.

"Champagne?" she asked, standing at the top of the

landing green with hanging ferns and ivies.

She held a bottle of Mumm 's and two crystal champagne

flutes. She opened her arms, smiled, and turned to show off

the new yellow peignoir set of lace and silk. She moved

slowly, aware that it clung to her female roundness, accented

her in an open, willful invitation to sex.

"The champagne later," he said gruffly.

He walked to her, picked her up, and camied her into the

bedroom.

She clung to his neck, head throun back, breathing

deeply. He felt his own excitement rise, swell.

Her eyes half closed. She licked her lips.

Carter lay her on the bed. Then he took the champagne

bottle and glasses from her hands as she watched him with hot

eyes, and set them on the bedside table. He took a handful of

the fabric of her peignoir where her breasts rose and fell. He

slid the lace and silk away from the scented naked porcelain

of her flesh.

She gasped. Her gray eyes flared with demanding need.

"Not yet," he said.

He took off his jacket, folded it, and draped it over a chair.

He took off his shirt, folded it, and dra1Rd it over the jacket.

She watched him, breathing heavily, breasts trembling. He

kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, unzipped his pants,

stepped out of them, and folded them over his shirt. She

reached shaky hands toward his shorts.

He let her pull the shorts out away from his jutting male-

ness. She moaned, and yanked the pants down to his ankles.

"Nick, 1

He pushed her back. She spread her eager legs high and

open. He looked deep into the familiar gray eyes.


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"Now!" she cried. "Oh, Nick. Please, now!"

133

He entered her wet heat, knowing who she was, what she 'd

done, and what she planned to do. Knowing and wanting her

because he couldn 't forget what they 'd shared ten years ago.

Because he remembered what he now had to do. Because the

life exploding fiery between them was ricocheting the world

into an uncertain, dangerous future.

' 'You 'II join us, then?" she said two hours later as they

dressed. "David knew. He knew that governments all across

the world lacked the strength and foresight to take care of

criminals in any meaningful. lasting way. You and David

always thought alike. Oh, Nick, do join us and save the

"I still don't know who 'us' is, and what your group is

about. "

"But I can 't tell you yet, " she said as she put on a white

linen blouse and stepped into a slim, pearl-gray skirt. "First

you must join us. Then you can meet my brave associates.

Together we'll tell you all about it. "

"I can't agree to something I know nothing about," he

said as he looked in the mirror to adjust his tie. ' 'Anyone

who'd do that is a fool. And you wouldn't want a fool for a

partner. "

She watched over his shoulder as he straightened the tie

and brushed his hair. Her chiseled face was puzzled, worried.

She'd hoped he'd be quick to agree. But at least he hadn't

refused.

"You told the people in David's haiku codes that I'd be

Investigating them," he said, looking at her in the mirror.

4' You ruined any chance I had of getting information. And

you almost got me killed—several times—particularly by

your Mr. Justice Stone in that German castle. "

She nodded, aware of her guilt.

"What could I do?" she said. "I'm sorry about the Israeli


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agent—I understand you were close—--but I'm more sorry

. . we shared something

about my David 's death. He and .

that you and I never had. He was a true hero. He dared to go

against societal norms. We all know that what 's happening in

our legal systems is wrong, but David was the only one who

had the courage to do something!"

Her head was high and proud, her rich brown hair thrown

back over her shoulders. She looked like a queen, the

widowed queen of a tragic hero. She had not loved David

with the passion of her true love for Carter, but sometime in

the last few years she had found a substitute—fanaticism.

With fanaticism she bound herself to David in a commitment

made stronger by its roots in neurosis. A fanatic was someone

who redoubled his efforts after his aims were lost, and her

aim to love David was now out of reach. His death had

finished that.

"I came to you," Carter said, "even though I knew that

you'd warned David's people. You could have had your

executioners waiting to kill me. Isn 't my risk great enough to

show my sincerity? I won't promise you anything, but I'm

willing to at least talk to your people. "

She looked at herself and Carter standing in the mirror.

The gray eyes appraised them. Such a handsome couple, her

expression seemed to say, so much potential

together

they could solve the world's problems.

"Take David's place,"

she urged him. "Finish the

work. "

"I 'II talk to your associates," he said noncommittally.

"That's all I can promise. "

At dawn the next day, the twin-engine Cessna left Heath-

row and angled south over the English Channel and into

France. Andrea was at the controls, flying as if it were a thrill

second only to sex. She held her chin high, her eyes half


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135

closed. The nostrils of her upturned nose flared as if she could

already smell their destination.

They continued south over Rouen, Tours, Bordeaux, and

then over the Pyrenees-—the high mountains of the Basques,

dotted with hidden villages, isolated by stubborn indepen-

dence, and colored by black berets and red cummerbunds—

and into northern Spain.

After flying for miles over mountainous areas

only by forests and game, she landed the Cessna on a

blacktopped strip at the base ofa long valley lined thick with

trees and wildflowers.

A platoon of soldiers in camouflage fatigues ran toward

them from the trees and a low brown and green shed at the end

of the strip. They surrounded the plane. One of them rested

his rifle over his arm and opened the door.

It was the bouncer from Werner Hall, his beefy face

glowering up at Carter, wishing he had orders to kill Caner,

not to ensure his safety.

"Channed to see you again, " Carter told him.

'You know each other?" Andrea said cheerfully , looking

at the two men. "Already you're off to a good start, " she

assured Caner, smiling, then she marched briskly up steps

hewn from the earth and supported by timbers.

"Is everyone here?" Carter asked.

' no meet you, yes. "

He heard the pleased smile in her voice as she climbed

ahead of him. Periodically she would look up the mountain-

side. They had mounted close to a hundred steps when he at

last saw what she watched for—their destination.

' 'It 's our aerie, " she explained, waving her hand as more

of the soaring structure came into view.

A natural building created out of timber, stone, and glass,

its shingled roof was built in a wide vee that tilted down

toward the valley as if it were a bird in pitched flight. There


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NICK CARTER

were three stories, each accented by sequentially wider bal-

conies, the narrowest balcony on the lowest level. Ihe

enormous floor-to-ceiling windows on each level out

across the valley.

The modern structure was set into the mountain, a massive

building as long as a football field but as disguised by its

natural materials as was a bird 's nest built into the fork of two

branches.

This enormous aerie would house much more than an

occasional weekend meeting. And already Caner had seen

signs of thorough security: wires, arrned guards posted in the

shadows, alarms, and what looked like in the distance gun

emplacements mounted in concrete bunkers painted in

camouflage colors.

The vast scope of the aerie meant money, expertise, and

planning on a grand scale. David Sutton might have been

ambitious, but he'd never had the connections nor the vision

to activate such a mammoth undertaking.

Carter followed Andrea through a torii gate—a Japanese

welcome arch---and along a gravel path lined with boulders

and spring mountain flowers. The three executioners in their

black jump suits stepped from the comer of the house.

Wordlessly they searched Caner, took his Luger, stiletto,

and gas bomb, and faded back into the dark, earth-smelling

shadows from which they'd come.

Andrea watched, waiting until they'd tumed. She nÜed

her thanks, then led Caner onto the wooden porch of the

house's first level.

Behind them, the platoon spread out. Some stayed on the

slope nearby, others climbed outside staircases to station

themselves on the two other balconies.

Andrea turned and smiled at Carter. She straightened his

tie, smoothed his lapels. Then she led him into the aerie.


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FOURTEEN

Nick Carter and Lady Andrea Sutton walked through the

sunny rcx)m decorated with Danish modem furniture, an old

dhurrie rug, and Balinese masks hung on the natural plank

walls. She led him past the fireplace with its fifteen-foot

hearth and down a hallway that changed from wood-paneling

to solid concrete by the time they reached the metal desk.

There a guard surrounded by electronic surveillance equip-

ment sat monitoring television cameras.

"Use the palm tester, " the guard said to Andrea.

Behind him, the television screens showed sweeping

views of the forest and valley, wide angles of the aerie's

interior and exterior, and a group of men in camouflage

uniforms sitting in a classroom where a lecturer pointed to

lethal chemical compounds written on a blackboard.

Caner and Andrea walked to a steel dCK)r that showed no

hinges, knob, or window. She pressed her hand against a

glass plate embedded in the wall next to it.

' 'Each day we use a different code to enter, " she explained

to Caner. ' 'Sometimes we punch in a number. Sometimes we

put one of our hairs in an analyzer. Only the duty guard and

his superior know the code from day to day. "

The glass under her hand darkened from clear translucence

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NICK CARTER

to pastel green to rich emerald. A buzzer sounded somewhere

above their heads. The steel door swung open.

They walked in.

Eleven imposing men and women were seated around a

long conference table that could comfortably accommodate

only one more. They watched curiously, suspiciously, as

Carter entered with Andrea. They were men and women in

their forties, fifties, and sixties, Imple who gave off power

and experience as casually as a did his stench.

The scene reminded Carter of the one in the castle library

he'd watched through the keyhole. There had been twelve

people there, and now with Andrea's presence, there were

twelve people here. The right number for a jury. Ihen the

memory came to him. Of course. There had also been eleven

people at the luncheon in Andrea 's Greek restaurant. Again ,

they 'd been waiting for her to complete their number .

. or

perhaps waiting for David. ftey'd truly shocked by

David 's death, and perhaps as shocked by Carter's presence

upstairs in Andrea's bedroom.

Carter almost smiled,

"Monsieur Carter," said a tall, lanky man.

The Frenchman arose to stand at the end of the shiny table,

his hands clasped tx•hind him , his hawk nose jutting fonvard.

The other members at the table looked at him with respect. To

his right sat Mr. Justice Paul Stone, allowing a small smile of

triumph on his aristocratic English face. The magician from

Werner Hall, the same man who had asked to hire Carter's

cab in Budapest, was there too.

Carter placed the others around the table from his vast

memory bank of government officials. Each was high up in

his nation 's ranks, but not at the very top level. There were no

prime ministers, presidents, or kings. Instead there were

ministers of information, members of national assemblies,

and even one United Nations representative, Trish Reynales


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THE EXECUTION EXCHANGE

139

from the United States. A raven-haired beauty, she watched

Carter, aware that they shared the same home country , curi-

ous whether he saw the world as a more important unity, saw

it her way.

His gaze moved past her and back to the French leader,

Count Bayard de Montalban. At last Caner had found the true

power behind the organization.

"Count Montalban, " he said, nodded.

Andrea smiled, then sat in the last empty chair. It was

waiting for her at the center of the table.

"Bon. " the count said. 'If you will bear with us, please,

Monsieur Carter. Lights. "

From a door at the side of the a technician ran out,

slipped a folding chair behind Carter, and returned to a

glass-walled room, Carter sat. "Ihe count sat. A projection

screen rolled down from the ceiling. The lights went out, and

color filled the austere meeting room.

Photos of the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II

flashed on the screen, followed by a montage of starving

children, mutilated adults missing limbs lost to carelessly

produced machinery, corpses killed in international wars,

civil wars, and ordinary gang street wars.

' 'Death and destruction, " the count said somberly. "We

see it all around. Human greed and ambition go unchecked in

our world because no one will take the responsibility to stop

the results. "

Car wrecks, a sinking oil tanker, and a baren landscape

where once thick grasses and healthy wildlife had flourished

showed on the screen.

"The president of the country decides he needs more

money for his secret account in the Grand Cayman Islands , "

the count said, "so he charges kickback fees from the interna-

tional corporation that wants to build a factory in his nation.

The president of the corporation is feeling bled by bribes, but


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NICK CARTER

he cannot raise prices and still remain competitive. His solu-

tion is to cut back on quality. The pans are rushed through

production, and quality control 't have the time to weed

out the defective ones. What hapcms?" The count's voice

rose with indignation. "Those small, seemingly marginal

parts break down. Elevators plummet. Cars go out of control.

Jets crash. lhere is an investigation. Proclamations are

made. Perhaps the corporation is even publicly embarrassed

or sued. But the corporation president still rules his empire,

and the president of the nation goes unnamed, unpunished,

free to require more kickbacks from anyone he chooses.

Meanwhile, uncounted numbers of human beings have been

killed or mutilated by these two men 's greed and ambition. "

As photos of war and starvation continued on the screen ,

the count talked on.

"You see, Monsieur Carter, we here in this room are

selfless people. We believe in global justice. Sir David

first brought the concept to me, we had no idea how wide the

appeal would be. We have new recruits each day , people who

believe that someone—an organization or a person---must

take charge. "

s 'A benevolent dictator, " Carter said.

"That's it, " the count said. "Lights, please. "

There was a rustling at the table as the projector went off

and the lights were turned on. The scenes on the screen had

kept everyone quiet with the sense of the oppressiveness of

such wide-scale, unstoppable abuse.

'We have grown tired of talk, " the count went on, sitting

stiff and straight in his chair. g Talk is easy, cheap, and

inesponsible. Action is the only means we have to stop the

men and women who start wars, starve the world's

and create the insufferable climate of immorality in which

their people suffer. "

He paused as those at the table murmured agreement.


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'Today's courts are a joke, " he continued. "Judges have

no FY)wer. Lawyers are paid to find loopholes that will free

criminals. We here in this room, and men and women of

conscience around the world, have taken an oath to stop this

injustice. "

WWAnd what of those who disagree?" Carter said.

g 'They disagree for selfish ends, ' ' the English justice said.

"Self-interest is what we're fighting. "

"It's for the good of the ordinary man," Andrea added.

' 'The only criminals who are ever really found guilty are the

poor, and even they don 't stay in prison long enough to

matter. "

SAnd you 've figured out what the 'good ' is that mankind

need?" Carter said.

The count snorted, stood, clasped his hands again behind

his back, and paced along the table.

"I know what you are getting at, young man," he told

Caner in his arrogant French voice. "We do not have the

right to make that decision for others. lhen, pray tell, who

does? God? Yes, of course, God. And it may be that God

speaks through us. We would like to that, but we are

not pretentious enough to claim it. No. Instead what we do

claim, do insist, and do act on is our belief thatsomeone must

do something to stop the world 's criminals. And not just the

Idi Amins, but the small pickpocket, too. All criminal be-

havior. If the courts won 't do it, then who tktter than us?"

"You're not elected, " Carter said. "You can 't ethically

represent people who don 't even know what you 're doing. 's

"In the end, they'll be grateful, " Trish Reynales, the

United Nations representative said quietly.

"In the end, they'll be terrified of you," Carter argued.

"You'll rule them. That is, after all, what rules people.

Laws. In a democracy, those laws are created by the elected

representatives of the people. But in your world, you are the


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NICK CARTER

law. What you say becomes law, And the people have no

recourse. "

"We'll listen to all pleas of mercy," the magician said

stiffly.

' 'The way you do now?" Carter said. "Your victims don •t

even know they're condemned. How can they plead for

mercy?

"They know by their criminal acts," the memtEr from

Japan's department of culture said. "Each human being

keeps an unconscious but very real tally of good and bad acts.

We all know when we 've acted criminally. Unfortunately,

not everyone cares. And those are the ones condemned. "

"What about reforming the courts in each of your coun-

tries?" Caner said. ' 'Work to strengthen and clean them

' 'Too long," said the member from Brazil.

"It's taken years for their decline,"

said Mr. Justice

Stone. "Sometimes even centuries. Working through the

bureaucracy to improve them could take equally as long. s'

And we would all be dead by then, " the count said, "and

what good would it do? No, Monsieur Carter. There is only

one way to achieve the speed and thoroughness of a

housecleaning. And that is our way. Ihe Rule of Justice and

Standards will make the world a pleasant, safe home for us

all."

"You twelve are the Rule of Justice and Standards,"

Carter mused. "And beneath you ar more juries, each in

different countries, all with one or two overlapping mem-

bers. Names of accused criminals are brought to the juries,

papers are drawn up, investigations held. Once the investiga-

tion is over, the information is voted on by the juries, and the

accused is either proclaimed innocent or guilty. And if

guilty—and my guess is that the overwhelming majority are


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143

found guilty—the accused is condemned. Death warrants are

issued, and the details of the execution are worked out by

hired executioners. "

C That is correct," the French count said. "Very good.

Perhaps Lady Sutton •s glowing assessment of your skills has

been accurate. '

' 'Bayard, " Andrea said, her soft gray eyes alight with the

promise of the future as she addressed the count, "Nick will

take David 's place. They were as alike as any two men could

be. He will help us triumph!"

"Not yet, " Carter said, standing. He walked to the count.

"You think you're improving the world. Your motive—if

that is your motive, and I doubt that it is—is good. But your

methods will destroy what you claim you want to save. "

A deep flush rose up the count 's throat. The jury members

moved restlessly.

"When you create your own laws without the consent of

the people you say you 're taking care of, " Carter went on,

"you're stealing their right to choose. You're stealing their

power. When you choose who will live and who will die,

you 're killing not just people, you're killing freedom. Free-

dom means not only the rights of the majority, it also means

respect for and protection of the few. You say you 're ridding

the world of criminals. But in reality you are just as criminal

as those you sentence to death. "

' 'Nick! No! " Andrea jumped up from her chair, knocking

it over. ' 'Don't say that! Don't believe that!"

' 'I can 't condone this kind of illegal, unethical activity, "

Carter insisted, his voice ringing. ' 'If you truly believe in

justice and standards, you must live impeccable lives your-

selves. You can't break the laws you say you're enforcing.

Putting a mock jury behind them to vote doesn 't take away

their illegality. You're wrong. Not only won 't I join you, I'll


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NICK CARTER

fight you—to the death, if necessary! "

' 'Nick!" Andrea burst into tears, sobbing against his

chest.

The count's face was mottled with rage. He stood stiffly,

an old soldier who'd risen through the ranks to a

general when France was fighting the Viet Cong in Vietnam

long before the United States entered that unwinnable war.

He was a hero of the humiliation at Dienbienphu. After that,

nothing could defeat him.

"You realize, Monsieur Carter," he said, his hawk nose

jutting down at the AXE agent, "that you have condemned

yourself. Bring the executioners in. "

"Bayard!" Andrea said, turning to him, wringing her

hands. "Please! Give him time. He 'II reconsider. I know he

will. "

' 'You are a silly child sometimes, Andrea, the count

said. He looked up.

The three executioners led by the bouncer from Werner

Hall walked into the room. The executioners stard with

interest. A new assignment. lhey liked their work. *Ihe

bouncer, new to the field, smiled. He had a personal grudge

against Carter, a man who 'd made a fool of him with a female

agent.

' Take him away, " the count said, then he returned to the

table and sat, ready to move on to new business. "Here is the

death warrant. Execute him immediately. "


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FIFTEEN

At the back of the aerie, in a hidden courtyard hollowed out

of the mountain, three different executioners led Nick Carter

across paving stones toward a wall where the bullets of

previous firing squads had bit deep hollows.

The door in the aerie behind them closed automatically,

silencing Lady Andrea Sutton's sobs.

On the mountainside above, the tall forest waved green

branches above the sheer rock from which the courtyard had

been hewn. Carter turned, his back to the firing squad wall.

Across from him, the aerie was a windowless wall as if

whatever took place in the courtyard were already an ac-

complished fact, no witnesses needed for an unpleasant but

necessary result of the responsibility involved.

"Only three of you?" Carter said casually. "I thought the

standard was six. Sure it's legal without six?"

' 'No matter to us, " the larger of the three executioners said

in slow English. He had heavy-lidded eyes that watched the

world with limited vision. "Pay's good. Rules no impor-

tant. " He gave a slow grin that showed uneven teeth and a

malevolent disposition. A man well suited to his job.


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