# Slaughter Day333333333333

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132 NICK CARTER were or just who had killed whom. As Carter had sus-pected, none of the men had had a shred of identifica-tion on him. One possible advantage might come from the previ-ous night's fracus. It was pretty obvious that Koulami had an ego as big as all outdoors. He and his people had missed Carter twice now. The Kil!master was fairly sure the little Iranian terrorist would now score killing him right up there with kidnapping Brussman. "Nick, are you listening?" "Sorry, Harlan, my mind is going ninety miles an hour." "I think we've struck out. I think Koulami has rea-soned that Brussman is too tough a nut to crack. He'll pick up his marbles and go home." "Then what? They need Brussman, or someone like him, to put their toys together." Effredge shrugged. "That's just it. The Home Office thinks we ought to drop Brussman and go after the toys before they can get them into Iran." Carter exhaled a cloud of smoke and sighed. "How do we know that they haven't already done that?" Effredge's face flushed and his shoulders sagged. "We don't." Carter looked across the table at Eliza and caught her staring at him. Their eyes met, held for a moment, and she looked away. Carter sucked on his cigarette and watched the cluster of important people milling in the large room behind the villa's glass doors. As he watched, one of the doors leading from the patio into the villa's great room opened. Mohamed Naj-jar, flanked by Iwo of his men, stepped out. Najjar's face as he made his way to their table was calm, but his

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SLAUGHTER DAY 133 right hand nervously worried a cigarette holder. "I have relayed your request to Quadima," he said, his lips curling into the first smile Carter had seen since meeting the man. "And?" "He has agreed. He and his party, along with Pro-fessor Brussman, will leave this afternoon aboard the Darvais Pride." Carter sighed with relief. "What about Peter Don-ahue and Miss Brussman?" "The lady has agreed to take the Rome flight this. evening. 1 haven't talked to Mr. Donahue, but I assume he will agree as well." Carter nodded. "That takes it off both our backs then, doesn't it?" "Let's hope so," Najjar said. "I will speak to Mr. Donahue the moment he returns." "Returns?" Caner said. "From where?" "He did not come back from Alexandria last night." Carter's eyes whipped around to Eliza Brussman. She was headed around the corner of the pool toward the gardens. "I'll be back in a second." He caught her halfway down the steps. "Where's Donahue?" "I don't really know. Somewhere in Alexandria, I presume, pursuing his carnal desires." "He told you where he was going?" She nodded. "Last evening. He was going to meet a woman ... a married woman." "Where?" "At the casino, I think. Is something wrong?" Lope not." Carter made a beeline for the villa's library and the

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134 NICK CARTER telephone. Two minutes later he had Abu Djabi on the horn. "A bit of luck, perhaps. I just got word. A beggar thinks he may have spotted the woman getting in a car in the Ranji district. He remembers her because few women are dressed so well in that area." "Did he have an address?" "Number Seventeen, Al Haran Street." "Inform the beggar he can retire if his information is accurate." Djabi chuckled. "I already have. Good luck, my friend." Najjar was still talking to Effredge at the table. Now that the party was almost over, the two men had set aside many of their differences. Carter broke in with a fast explanation. ''I can have an antiterrorist team there in less than an hour," Najjar said. "Then let's move!" Carter said, already heading to- ward the parking area.

The meeting took place in a gray building in the midst of one of Cairo's worst slums. It was one building of dingy apartments in a block of many. The facade of the building was molded plaster, chipped in most places, peeling in others. Garbage was piled in front of it and in an adjoining alley. iThe single room of the sixth-floor apartment was de-void of furniture other than a single scarred table and a few chairs. At one end of the table sat Amin Koulami, flanked by two of his best men. At the other end sat Saiad Muchasi. He had brought two of his people.

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SLAUGHTER DAY 135 Between them, on the table, was a briefcase stuffed with Egyptian pound notes. Muchasi was a large, square-shouldered, square-jawed man with a deeply windburned face. His age was impossible to determine beneath several days' worth of stubble. When- tie spoke, which was rare, it was usually in grunts. For the last two years Saiad Muchasi had been head of the People's Front for Freedom. He had coined the name himself to give political legitimacy to killing, kid-napping, robbery, and any other crime that would secure a profit. Like many adventuresome thieves the world over, Muchasi had embraced politics and terrorism as a way to line his pockets and enrich those around him. It was Muchasi's nomadic cousins who had smuggled the plutonium and nuclear fuel across the Saudi deserts and into Bahrain. Now he was being paid for perform-ing the second part of the bargain he had struck with Koulami months before. "The man, Donahue, is still drugged?" "Yes," Koulami replied, "in the flat below. The ran-som demand will be delivered to the villa early this eve-ning." "You are too good to me, Amin Koulami. You pay me to carry on a kidnapping that you have already done. Then you show me the way to collect the ransom for myself from this Donahue." Koulami shrugged. "Your cousins have transported our goods with faith. You supply as with the boat we need at Falid. I am merely completing your payment with British money." Muchasi leaned forward, grinning through his dark beard. "Amin Koulami is a shrewd man. I think he

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gives nothing for nothing." Koulami matched the other man's grin. "I have told you what I want. You are not to negotiate fully for at least seventy-two hours. When the exchange is made at last, hand over Donahue. But kill the agent, Carter. I ask no more than that." Muchasi looked to his two cohorts and saw his own greed reflected in their eyes. "Done, Amin Koulami. A bargain." Koulami stood and walked from the room. Halfway down the stairs, Achmed spoke. "He and his entire tribe are no match for M16 and Carter." "I am well aware of that," Koulami said, a sly smile stretching his lips. "But they will buy us what we most need, time. And if one of them kills Carter, it will just be a plus."

Najjar's team was good. They evacuated the houses on both sides of Number 17 quickly, quietly, and effi-ciently. When the time came they went in as a unit, covering all the exits and the roofs. Effredge and Carter were relegated to a Mercedes sedan a block from the site. Silently, they smoked and waited and watched. Between them on the seat, an open walkie-talkie let them know the progress. "Ready on the roofs?" "Ready." "Unit Two is inside the cellar." "This is Unit Three. We're over the wall and in the courtyard. No signs of activity." "Unit One?"

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' 'Ready at the front. "

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They heard the exploding pop of a grenade launcher

and saw windows all along the front of the house shat-

ter. In seconds* tear gas flooded through the broken

windows into the street. Then they saw the first team hit

the front door.

"Unit One. We're inside."

' 'Unit Two. Something strange about the cellar door

we're checking. "

"Control, this is Unit One. There's a high-wire and a

trip-wire in the main hall."

"All units," Najjar's voice barked, "the whole house

is booby-trapped! Back off for the second team!"

Carter saw the bomb squad leave their van and enter

the house. He flipped his cigarette out the window and

glanced over at Effredge.

"They've flown. "

"Looks that way," the M16 man replied.

Ten minutes later, Najjar approached the car.

"They're gone. There is no doubt that they were in

there, but there's no sign of them now. "

"Anybody hurt?" Carter asked.

"No, we spotted the booby traps in time. I'll have a

forensics team go over the place, and my people will in-

terrogate the neighborhood. "

"The interrogation might do some good," Carter

replied. "But the house will be clean."

"Probably."

' 'Mind if we take the car back to the villa? I want to

check the Darvais Pride by radio, and I'd like to take

Miss Brussman to the airport myself."

"Of course, go ahead. I'll follow as soon as every-

body's working. "

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The powerful motor of the Mercedes purred to life.

Carter made a U-turn and headed for the coast road.

"He's beat us again," Effredge said.

"Yeah," Carter growled. "The bastard moves like a

cobra."

Carter finished the light meal a servant had brought

to his room, and pushed the plate away. He lit a cig-

arette and wandered to the window. Below, the pool

shimmered in the floodlights. At the bottom of the hill,

two of Najjar's men lounged against the tall wrought-

iron gate and smoked.

Their job would soon be over. He had checked the

Darvais Pride. She was under full power and about an

hour from Port Said. At the speed she was moving, she

would be through the canal and well down the Red Sea

by morning.

Jt was nearly eight o'clock. Eliza's plane left at nine-

thirty. It was time to collect her. He shrugged into Wil-

helmina's shoulder rig and was reaching for his coat

when the door opened.

Eliza stood trancelike in the doorway. Her eyes were

glassy and her face was deathly pale.

' 'Eliza, what the hell

She thrust an envelope and a single sheet of paper into

Carter's hand.

' 'The cook just gave me this. She was shopping in the

village. When she returned she found it in one of her

baskets. Since it had my name on the envelope, she

brought it right to me."

Carter flipped the sheet Of paper and scanned it. It

was a message made up of cut-out newspaper letters:

WE HAVE PETER DONAHUE. TELL THE

AMERICAN CARTER BUT NO ONE ELSE. IF THE

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EGYPTIAN AUTHORITIES ARE TOLD WE KILL

HIM AT ONCE. STAND BY TELEPHONE EIGHT

A.M.

"Nick, what do they want?" Eliza cried. "Peter

knows nothing. He—

"He doesn't haye to know anything. If it's Koulami,

he wants us you and me."

"Us? My God, what for?"

"Me, for my skin. You to get at your father."

Her skin turned even paler. "What are we going to

do?"

"The only thing we can do. Wait until eight o'clock in

the morning. C'mon in, I'll fix you a drink. You look

like you need one."

The bottle of scotch was three quarters of the way

down and Carter didn't feei better. Eliza had done her

share of hitting, and he could tell, even from across the

room, that the booze was having very little effect on her

as well.

In the last two hours he had left the room once, to

check again on the progress of the Darvais Pride. Every-

thing okay there.

"Do you want to get some sleep?" he had asked.

' 'No. May I have another drink?"

"Sure."

Neither had spoken of taking her to the airport. Leav-

ing had been out of the question for her, and Carter

hadn't pushed.

Now he lounged on the big sofa while she sat by the

window, absorbed in her own thoughts, now and then

throwing out a comment.

"Now I'm really scared."

"You should be."

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she said, pausing to sip from her

"You're right,"

glass. "I've been an ass."

Carter didn't answer that one.

"Peter is a nice boy. He doesn't deserve to be in-

volved in this. Will they harm him?"

"They might," Carter said, ' 'if we don't follow in-

structions until we see a way to spring him. My hunch is

they want to get you and me close. They don't really

care about Donahue."

She turned. The light was behind her, and he couldn't

see her face. ' 'So you'll try to rescue him?"

"l will rescue him. The rub is, I won't risk you to do

it."

"What if I'm part of the deal?"

"Then they can go to hell."

"Rather than risk me, you'd let them kill Peter?" she

gasped.

Carter killed time by stubbing out his cigarette.

't Yeah, I would."

"At least you're truthful.

"They can get to your father through you. They can't

through Peter. It's as simple as that."

"It's a shitty deal."

' 'Yeah, it sure as hell is. But they're shitty people."

She finished her drink and set the glass aside.

"You're a hard bastard, you know that? But I guess

people like you have to be. "

Carter didn't answer that one either.

Then she was moving toward him, her hips swaying

sensuously in the tight skirt where it hugged her body.

As she stopped in front of him, her hand went to the

buttons on her blouse.

"I'm sorry about last night. I was an ass."

' 'Do you know what you're doing, Eliza? "

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"No, but please don't try to tell me. "

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She leaned over to kiss him. Her parted lips drew him

to her. At contact, her lips parted further. She drew his

tongue into her mouth and caressed it with hers.

When she stood again, she slowly unbuttoned the

blouse and let; fi fall free. Then she was twisting her

hips, easing the slim skirt over her thighs.

Carter stared at her face instead of her voluptuous

figure.

' 'Why?" he asked. "Curiosity about someone who

kills people for a living? "

"Perhaps. Maybe I don't think you're any different,

really, than they are."

The laugh that rolled from Carter's throat was hol-

low.

"Or maybe it's to prove to you that you're missing

something," she murmured.

"Or prove to you that I'm man enough to let them

kill Donahue. "

"l don't know," she growled low in her throat.

"Let's find out."

He took hold of her hair and pulled her head back.

I' Just because I kill people, Eliza, doesn't mean I'm a

man," and he laughed and let her fall on top of him.

She was picking at the buttons of his shirt, fastening

her mouth to his chest. When she finally had him naked

to the waist, she slipped off the rest of her own clothes

and pressed his face into her breasts. They were smoth-

ering him.

She had to work his hands for him, run them along

her legs. Her lips were sucking at his ribs as if to draw

blood.

Then she was above him, straddling his body.

Carter gave up and let the room start to swim.

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When it was over and she was back at the window, he

lit a cigarette.

"Well?" he said at last.

"Not much," she replied without turning. "You still

think I'm a spoiled brat who takes nothing seriously?"

"Yes, I do. And I still think you're an ass, as well."

She turned and walked back to the sofa to stare down

at him. "Then you should know that it's through Peter

that they can get to my father. Believe me, Carter, Josef

Brussman could care less what happens to his daughter.

But he would go to the gates of hell to save his son.


TWELVE

The sun was just coming up when Captain Denton

Jurgens strolled along the deck, morning coffee in

hand, toward the wheelhouse.

Jurgens had retired eight years previously from the

Royal Navy. He had served since in Oman and Bahrain

as a naval advisor. It was in Bahrain that he had caught

the eye of Fawzi Quadima and been offered his present

position.

He had jumped at it. His job as skipper of the Darvais

Pride was the least taxing of any position he had had

thus far in life, and he was looking forward to living out

his days in luxurious retirement as master of what had

become, in all but name, his very own floating palace.

In the next two hours, Captain Denton Jurgens would

rue the day he took over the Darvais Pride.

He mounted the steps to the wheelhouse and nodded

to his first officer. "Good morning, Mr. Miller."

"Good morning, sir."

"Something wrong, son?"

"J don't know, sir. There's a large ketch there, sir.

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She's under both power and sail, and she's been running

parallel to us for the last hour."

"Where?" Jurgens set his cup aside and lifted a pair

Of field glasses from his chest.

"There, to starboard, sir, about a half mile. She

seems to be closing on us."

She was a thirty-footer, two-masted and sleek.

Jurgens could see exhaust coming from both her stern

pipes, and she was riding every inch of sail she had

aboard.

"Odd, that, under full sail with her power on."

"l agree, sir. I've been pacing her, and she puts on a

knot or two when we speed up. She also begins tacking

if we throttle back."

"She does seem to be closing a bit. What's our posi-

tion?"

"Just south of Fa'id, sir. We should be sighting the

locks just short of an hour. Should I alert security, sir?"

"No, don't think so, Mr. Miller, not unless they close

hard. Go below, get yourself some coffee. I'll keep an

eye on her."

"Aye-aye, sir."

As the first officer left the bridge, Jurgens adjusted

the powerful glasses to a finer focus.

He counted three men: a deckhand curling line in the

stern, a helmsman, and what appeared to be the master.

He was directing two young women through the rigging.

Good sailors, Jurgens thought, and damned attrac-

tive women. More than likely just out for an early-

morning cruise.

Captain Jurgens forgot the ketch and turned to his

chart table. With a sigh, he started filling out the many

multiple forms that would see them through the canal.

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Carter heard the whooshing sound Of the opening

drapes. He opened his eyes, and immediately tried to

close them again. They didn't make it.

"Coffee?"

Carter winced as he got Eliza Brussman into focus.

She had changed into a white jump suit. He guessed that

she had been up all night, but she looked alert and fresh-

scrubbed.

6' Yeah, coffee. "

"You like it black?"

"Yeah, black."

"You fell asleep. "

"I know," he said, accepting the cup with a shaky

hand. ' 'You?"

' 'No, I stood under a shower for an hour. Confession

must be good for the soul. I feel wonderful. "

"Good for you," Carter mumbled.

His eyes felt like mud cracking in the sun. There were

little men trying to dig a tunnel through his brain. His

mouth felt like it had been sucking on alum all night,

and his breath reeked of stale alcohol.

"Would you like a shower?" she asked.

"That would be nice."

He watched her cross the room, and came up to a sit-

ting position very carefully in case his head fell off. He

sipped some coffee, felt it burn his tongue, and sipped

some more.

She came back into sight. "Shower's running."

g 'I can hear it. What time is it?"

"Six-thirty. Your M16 friends are downstairs. Don't

drown. I'll be back."

Carter got to his feet, and only then did he realize that

he was stark naked.

And then he remembered.

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She had talked about herself, her father, and Peter

Donahue for nearly an hour. At the end of it, Carter

had carried her to the bed and they had made love a sec-

ond time.

Only the second time was far different—and far more

satisfying—for both of them.

As he stepped under the spray, the trials and tribula-

tions of the family Brussman came back to him in a

rush.

According to Eliza, she had never been bounced on

her daddy's knee. In fact, from her first childhood

memories, she couldn't remember a kind word or a

warm glance from her father.

Her mother was the daughter of a peer who promptly

disinherited her for marrying out of her class. Brussman

was a Jew, and, worse yet, a poor Jew, the son of a Gere

man refugee.

In time, probably after Eliza's birth, the strain got to

both her parents. Her mother had given up everything,

the life she knew, for a man who didn't love her. Slowl

she had begun to realize that Josef Brussman had mar

ried her for only two reasons: his ego, and a son.

In the end, the bolstering of his ego became mean

ingless, and she had birthed a daughter instead of a son.

Brussman ignored his wife and daughter beyond pro

viding for their welfare. He sought out women fo

affairs with the same tenacity with which he pursued

success and wealth.

Finally he settled on one woman. Her name wa

Patricia Donahue. Probably the strongest reason fo

this was the fact that she bore him a male child. O

course, because of the prestige of his position

Brussman couldn't openly declare that Peter was h •

son. But that didn't stop him from grooming the youn

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man, providing his education, and, when the time was

right, hiring him so that he could keep his offspring

close to him.

"Does Peter know?" Carter had asked when she had

finished her

"No."

Brussman's mistress and his wife died within a year of

each other. But before her mother died, she told Eliza

the whole tale. The girl had grown up blackmailing her

father. In return for her silence, Eliza was given the

same good life and privileges as her half brother.

"So you see, Nick, that whoever these people are, it is

just luck that they have kidnapped the right person. If it

were me, he would never accede to their demands. But

Peter is a different story."

SO, Carter thought, stepping from the shower and

reaching for a towel, Peter has to be returned before

Brussman learns he has been taken.

He managed to shave, dress, and get down another

cup of coffee. By the time he had joined Effredge and

the others, he felt alive again.

It was seven-thirty.

"Captain, that ketch looks like she's cutting right

across our bow!"

Jurgens's head jerked up at the helmsman's words.

"Damned fools. Throttle back, half speed! "

' 'Aye-aye, sir. "

The bow dipped as the powerful twin diesels in her

bowels slowed. Jurgens put the binoculars to his eyes

and raked the deck of the ketch.

Sure enough, the ketch's skipper was directing his

craft right into the path of the Darvais Pride.

"What the hell are they up to, sir?"

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"Damned if I know, but I'm going to find out. Cut

your speed back to a quarter, and prepare to stop en-

gines if that fool doesn't change course."

"Aye, sir."

Jurgens grabbed a bull horn and headed for the bow.

The head of Quadima's security force had also seen the

ketch. He fell in step beside the captain.

"What's going on?"

' 'Probably carelessness. We'll find out soon

enough."

The two other security men joined them, their ma-

chine pistols at the ready.

By the time they reached the bow, the smaller boat

had heeled over slightly and was running parallel to the

Darvais Pride, not more than a dangerous thirty yards

to starboard.

"Ahoy, the ketch! Do you speak English?"

The small dapper man with the thin mustache that

Jurgens had already guessed was the ketch's captain

stepped to the rail. He, too, had a bull horn.

"Most assuredly, Captain Jurgens. We all speak

English quite fluently."

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Jurgens replied, and then he realized that the man had

addressed him by name. "You know my name?"

"l do, Captain, as well as the name of every person

on the Darvais Pride."

"It's a hijack," the security chief growled, and raised

his machine pistol. His comrades did the same.

"Wait," Jurgens barked. "l don't see any arms."

' 'Captain?" came the call from the other vessel.

"This, Captain, is a radio control device." He held

up a small black box about the size of a cigarette carton.

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"As you can see, one of the young ladies in the bow has

another just like it. Selwa? "

"Yes."

"Go ahead!"

As Jurgens end the others watched, one of the two

women spun the prop of a model airplane. Its miniature

engine roared to life and, controlled by the box in the

Other woman's hand, it sailed out over the water.

"Damned practical joke of some kind," Jurgens

roared, and turned back to the wheelhouse. "Helms-

"Aye, sir."

' 'Full speed ahead! "

"With all due respect, I wouldn't do that, Captain.

Keep your eye on the airplane,"

The little craft did a couple of loops, barreled, and

sailed back toward the yacht. When it was directly over-

head about a hundred feet up, there was a powerful ex-

plosion.

The men on the Darvais Pride all ducked to avoid the

falling debris.

Jurgens whirled to the little man on the opposite

deck. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" he

yelled.

"Captain, there are eight bombs planted against the

hull of the Darvais Pride. Any one of seven of them

could blow you in half."

The little man paused, going so far as to calmly light a

cigarette while he let that sink in. Then he spoke again.

"I want your security people to place their guns on

the deck and step away from them. I want you to stop

engines, and I want you—

"You can go to hell!" Jurgens roared.

The other man flipped one of the buttons on the box

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in his hand. There was a muffled explosion from just

under the yacht's bow, and a geyser of water soared into

the air.

"That was just proof that the bombs are there, Cap-

tain. Now do as you're told."

Jurgens's face went gray and his fists clenched. ' 'Get

Quadima."

The security chief ran to the hatch, and moments later

appeared with Quadima himself.

"What is going on, Captain?"

In sputtered, staccato words, Jurgens explained.

Quadima's wise, dark eyes didn't blink. When Jurgens

finished, he turned to the ketch.

"What do you want?"

"Surely it must be obvious. I'm hijacking the Darvais

Pride and everyone on it. "

"Do you want money?"

The little man cackled with laughter. 'iMoney? I have

no use for money. You have one minute."

Quadima had never been an emotional man and he

wasn't one now. Quietly and rationally, he weighed the

circumstances and realized that they were outma-

neuvered.

The minute was almost up when he turned to Jurgens.

"Do as they say."

The engines were stopped and the ketch pulled along-

side, close enough to toss grappling hooks.

Two more men appeared on the deck of the ketch. As

the little man with the mustache climbed over the rail of

the Darvais Pride, the men behind him attached a tar-

paulin on the stern decks.

"Good morning, Captain. Your Excellency. I am

Amin Koulami."

"The terrorist," Quadima said hollowly.

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"Not at all ... the revolutionary. I know that you are

checking in by radio with Egyptian security until you are

through the canal and have cleared Egyptian waters in

the Red Sea. What time is your next communication

due, Captain?

Captain Jurgens looked to the ship's owner.

Quadima's dark eyes were smoldering and his lips were

a thin line beneath his beard. At last he nodded.

"Just about now two or three minutes."

Koulami nodded. "You will make the usual transmis-

Sion and report no trouble. One of my people will, of

course, monitor you even though it is not necessary.

Should you deviate from your usual report and alert the

authorities, you would be committing suicide. If an

Egyptian gunboat even approaches us, I assure you I

will blow us all to hell. Selwa!"

"Yes, Amin?"

"Accompany the captain."

"Yes, Amin."

The two of them moved aft toward the wheelhouse.

By now several crates had been transferred to the

deck of the yacht and were already being covered by the

tarp and tied down. The ketch, with just two men

aboard, had cast free of the yacht and was already mov-

ing away.

"You will list these crates as personal property on

the canal manifests, Your Excellency," Koulami said.

"With your prestige, I am sure there will be no inspec-

tion. "

By now all the others aboard had come up on the

main deck. Koulami's eyes roved over their faces and

fell on Josef Brussman.

"If it isn't money," Quadima said, "just what do you

want? "

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' 'Safe passage of my goods through the canal, Your

Excellency."

"What for?"

' 'I'm sure Dr. Brussman can answer that, can't

Brussman cleared his throat. "They have plutonium

and nuclear fuel in the crates. They want me to build

them a bomb and a reactor."

Quadima cursed an astonished oath in Arabic.

Koulami glanced briefly at each of the men. "'As long

as Dr. Brussman does as he is told, none of you has

anything to fear. "

Brussman stepped forward, his eyes on a direct level

with the little terrorist. "Go to hell."

Koulami didn't speak. He turned and walked to the

edge of the bow. He stooped and picked up one of the

machine pistols. It was barely in his hands before he

turned and fired.

Ten slugs ripped into the body of one of Quadima's

men, driving him over the rail and into the sea.

"l think you will do as I say, Dr. Brussman, or the

blood of everyone aboard the Darvais Pride will be on

your hands. "

Harlan Effredge and Eliza were waiting in the library.

On the table between them was a plate of sweet rolls, a

large pot of coffee, and the telephone.

"We goofed," Effredge said. "She's told me about

Donahue."

Carter shrugged as he poured a fresh cup. c 'We didn't

know. Has the Darvais Pride checked in?"

' 'About five minutes ago. Everything is all right

there. Should we bring in Najjar?"

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"We might have to, but let's wait until they declare

some terms."

They killed time smoking, drinking coffee, and

avoiding one another's eyes. When the telephone rang,

Carter grabbfd_it.

"Yes."

"To whom am I speaking?" The English was heavily

accented and the voice was a growling rasp.

"Carter."

' 'Good morning, Carter. First of all, Peter Donahue

is alive and quite safe."

"What do you want for him?"

' 'That will be determined in the next two days."

"Two days," Carter hissed. "You're mad. Why wait

two days?"

"It is not your place to question our motives, Carter.

Stay by the telephone. We will contact you at eight each

morning and eight each evening .. ."

"Wait. "

"Whatever you want in return for Donahue will take

time to prepare. Can you give me some hint?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and a

muted conversation in Arabic. Finally the voice came

back: "I have instructions not to negotiate for seventy-

two hours. But will teli you this: the safe return of

Peter Donahue will require money ... a very, very great

deal of money."

Carter's eyes widened in surprise. "Money?"

"That is correct, Carter, money. Lots of money. And

let me caution you again: do not alert Egyptian security.

Jf we have any hint that you have, Peter Donahue is

dead."

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The line went dead and Carter slowly replaced the

receiver.

' 'What is it?" Eliza asked. "What do they want?"

"Money," Carter replied.

"Money?" Effredge declared. ' 'No mention of

Brussman?"

"None, and they won't get down to it for seventy-two

hours. "

"It's crazy, a diversion of some kind."

"Maybe," Carter said, "but this changes the picture

if it's true. Eliza e"

"This family secret business, about Peter .. e"

"Yes?"

"We've assumed Koulami found out about Peter

somehow. That's why he was taken instead of you."

"Yes. "

't Yet you've said many times that no one outside of

you and your father knew. How sure are you of that? "

She leaned her head on her hands in thought and took

a great deal of time answering. At last she rolled her

eyes up to Carter. ' 'Now that I think of it, there's no

conceivable way anyone else could have known. Both

my mother and Patricia Donahue did exactly as my

father wished. Peter was born in a small, private hos-

pital outside of Paris. There was nothing to attach Peter

or his mother to any of us."

Carter pushed a legal pad toward her and handed her

a pen. "l want dates, names, places, Eliza. Every detail

you can think of concerning all of you."

As she began to write, Carter and Effredge moved

across the room.

"Octopus?" Effredge said.

Carter nodded.

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Octopus was the master computer at Langley. If

anyone in the Western world had a security clearance,

their background information had at one time or an-

other been fed into it.

"If Octopus doesn't know the real story behind Peter

Donahue, theri iPS a pretty sure thing Koulami wouldn't

know."

' 'The seventy-two hours," Effredge said. ' 'It is a di-

version. "

"Looks that way," Carter said. "Step up the checks

on the Darvais Pride. It looks like Koulami means to

draw us away and hit it. Also, get Najjar in here. I don't

care what they say; we're going to need official help on

this now."

Effredge left the room. Eliza continued to write furi-

ously as she recalled details.

Carter got back on the phone. It was time to let the

old thief, Abu Djabi, in on the whole action. His army

of thieves and informants might still prove to be the one

difference in the whole mess.


THIRTEEN

Time.

They say the Swiss measure it, the French hoard it,

the Italians squander it, and the Americans profit from

it.

Well, right now, time was on the side of Koulami:

time, and the element of surprise. Obviously the little

terrorist was buying it with Peter Donahue. But only

with distraction in mind.

Octopus had come back with a complete printout.

Nothing in it even hinted that Peter Donahue was the

son of Dr. Josef Brussman. It wasn't a long shot for

Carter to surmise that Koulami was just trying to

muddy the waters. The man had no idea that he had kid-

napped the key to Josef Brussman.

The evening phone call was no more than a check-in.

Carter hadn't pushed the question beyond trying to get

a dollar figure. The caller was vague but again stressed a

"large amount. "

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Najjar had jumped in with both feet. Surprisingly, he

now gave Effredge and the Killmaster his fullest coop-

eration.

He had his people combing everywhere and coor-

dinating witb the street people of Abu Djabi.

A mountäiri of electronic equipment was brought in

for the evening call. Carter kept the contact as long as

possible, but it wasn't long enough to get a definite

trace.

"Sorry," Najjar said, reporting from his operators.

"All we could get is an area."

"Where?"

' 'It's a Cairo exchange."

'(Can you rig a ring-through from this phone to your

Cairo headquarters? I want to be close to them for the

next call in the morning. "

s 'I'll have my people get right on it."

' 'Good enough, " Carter said, turning to Eliza. "I'll

get you on the early-morning flight from Cairo to

Rome. "

"No."

"Yes."

"Nick, all this isn't Peter's fault. He's being used and

he has no idea why. I've never been able to openly call

him 'brother,' but he is my brother. In many ways, my

father has hurt him as much as me. I want to see this

through."

Carter was about to object again, but he saw that it

would be useless.

"Okay, but you stick to me like glue. This could still

be a ruse to get at you."

Najjar provided a car and a driver. Effredge and his

people would drive two other cars, a lead and a backup,

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in caravan. Also, M16 had a safe house that even the

Egyptians didn't know about. It was there that Carter

and Eliza would spend the night.

An hour later they were headed south on the road to

Cairo.

It was almost two in the morning when they were

dropped off in front of the safe house. It was in the

wealthy Rajadi section of the city. Three of Najjar's

boys would patrol the grounds all night.

Only a section of the house had been maintained,

three rooms on the second floor. One of them served as

a kitchen, another as a study/office with a single desk,

chair, and telephone.

"There's only one bedroom. "

Eliza smiled a crooked smile and rolled her eyes.

"Good God, Carter, you think that makes any dif-

ference now? "

"No," he grinned sheepishly, "l guess not."

She headed toward the bathroom with bag in hand.

Carter scared up a bottle and a couple of glasses.

He wasn't too sure he was going to be able to sleep

anyhow.

He rummaged through the kitchen until he had the

semblance of a meal. It was ready by the time she

emerged from the bath.

"Hungry?"

"Not really." She poured a little whiskey into a glass

and added water from a bottle.

She wore the same nearly transparent negligee she had

worn when she slipped into his room at the villa. But

over it now was a layered peignoir that demurely con-

cealed her body.

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"You're sure?" he asked, building himself a sand-

wich.

"I'm sure." She sipped her drink and stared at him as

he ate. "Nick?"

"Yeah?"

' 'Coming down in the car, you said that you were

going to push them. What did you mean?"

He chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with

scotch. When he spoke at last, he chose his words care-

fully.

"I'm gambling that it's not Koulami who has Peter."

"Then who?"

"There are renegade terrorist groups all over the Mid-

dle East. They're not in this for any true cause. It's

profit under the guise of terrorism. I'm guessing that

Koulami put the snitch on Peter and turned him over to

one of these groups."

"But what can he gain?"

l' Time, and keeping us occupied while he goes after

your father in his own way, whatever that is."

She emptied the glass and set it on the table. "What

are you going to do in the morning?"

"Try to push up their timetable confuse them."

"How?" she asked, turning slowly back to face him.

Carter pushed the plate of food away. He had lost his

appetite.

"By confusing them. By telling them that Peter isn't

worth a very large amount of money."

"My God .. ."

"l'm going to try and force them into immediate

negotiations ... tomorrow, if possible."

"But surely you'll pay their ransom if there's any

chance . . e"

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"Eliza, believe me—if I'm right about Peter's cap-

tors, they have no intention of turning Peter over to us

even if we pay."

"Then my father should be told! He could force

them—

' 'Jesus, you don't care, do you?"

Carter lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mask his fea-

tures. "It doesn't make any difference if I care."

Like a robot she moved across the room to the tier Of

bunk beds. Facing away from him, she shed the peignoir

and slid beneath the covers in the lower bunk.

' 'Either way, Eliza," Carter murmured to her back,

"we'll have to get Peter back by force. Believe me—

can't believe any of it. Jesus, you are a hard bas-

tard."

Carter smoked in silence, knowing it was futile to

explain his plan. She wouldn't understand.

He finished his cigarette, turned out the lamp, and

undressed in the darkness. Just as he was about to climb

into the upper bunk, he touched her shoulder.

"Good night, Carter."

The ring-through worked perfectly. At a few seconds

past eight, the telephone rang.

Carter waited until Najjar's man gave him the sign.

"Carter?"

"Yes."

"You have done very good so far. Only twenty-four

hours and we will meet."

There was a long silence and the voice, when it re-

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turned, was tense. ' 'What do you mean, 'no'? "

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"Just that. No. I have consulted with Washington

and London, and my people see no reason to carry on

with this farce any longer. "

' 'Farce? what do you mean by farce, Carter?"

"Peter Donahue's value to us is negotiable. The short

Of it is, he is not worth as much money as you seem to

want."

"I think you are bluffing."

'C Think what you want. Good-bye."

"Wait!" A short hesitation. "You want him dead?"

• 'Of course not. He is a British citizen. But without

demands, there can be no negotiation. And without

negotiation, we see no reason to tie up our people any

longer. "

' 'One moment."

Carter looked up at the man on the other phone. The

Egyptian held up two fingers for two minutes. One of

those minutes dragged by before the caller came back on

the line.

"We will call you back in one hour. "

The line was dead.

Carter knew before they told him that the trace had

been completed.

"Well?"

"We got it, but it won't do any good. It's a call box in

the Amali district. "

Carter nodded. "They'll just switch to another phone

booth next time. "

"That's it."

"What do you think?" Effredge asked.

"l think they'll play," Carter replied. "Put your

people on alert. I've already told Djabi."

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The Killmaster moved down the hall to a small dining

room. Eliza, looking tired and haggard, sat drinking

tea. She glanced up when he entered.

"Well?"

"They'll call back in an hour. I think they'll take the

bait."

' 'And kill Peter as soon as they have it. "

' 'No, Eliza. I'm more sure now than ever. They want

money. They won't kill the goose until the golden egg is

laid."

Carter sat with her, trying to answer the questions she

asked about the method he planned to use to rescue

Donahue. When he left her to return to the communica-

tions room, he was pretty sure she felt better: queasy

about the method, but better about Peter Donahue's

chances for survival.

He entered the computer room just as the ship-to-

shore shut down.

"That was the Darvais Pride. No sign of anything out

of the ordinary. They should be out of the Gulf of Aden

by late tonight and heading around Oman by morning. "

Carter walked to a huge wall map and traced the

route of the Darvais Pride. He ran a pointer up the Gulf

of Oman and then into the Persian Gulf. The tip of the

pointer stopped just off Bahrain.

"Interesting ... "

"What's that?" Effredge said at his shoulder.

"Keeping approximately the same speed from the

time Eliza got the note in the cook's basket, the yacht's

location would be here, just off Bahrain, at the end of

the seventy-two hours."

"And just across from the coast of Iran."

' 'Yeah."

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"Think that's when Koulami plans to hit?"

"Could be," Carter replied. "Maybe we—"

163

The hot phone they had set up rang, interrupting both

their thoughts and discussion.

"Yes, Carter bere."

' 'We are prepäréd to deal immediately."

"That's very sensible of you, " Carter replied, hearing

the audible sighs of relief from the others in the room.

"This will only be a preparatory meeting, of course. "

"To make sure we understand each other, American,

hat do you mean by 'preparatory'? "

"I'll want to see Peter Donahue, to make sure he is

live and unharmed."

"That is agreed. "

"And to negotiate the price and means of trade."

"Agreed, but I tell you now, Carter, we will not

egotiate the place for the exchange. That we decide on

ourselves. Agreed?"

Carter had already assumed this, but he still took

everal seconds to answer. "Agreed, " he said at last.

"You will have to come to Cairo."

"That will be no problem," Carter said, giving noth-

ng away in his voice that they had already made the

ove from Alexandria.

"Excellent. Now listen carefully. At precisely noon,

ake a taxi at the Mosque of A1 Axhar. Instruct the

driver to take you to Tahrir Square. Walk across the

quare and get into another taxi. Have this one take you

o El Gamhuria Square. On the side of the Palace

useum there is a bank of call boxes. Wait for the sec-

nd one to ring. Do you understand?"

"l understand."

"One other thing."

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1

' 'We want the woman to enter the main dining room

of the houseboat Omar Khayyam. She will dine there

until she receives a call."

' 'No," Carter said.

"Yes, this is the only way we will deal."

"So if anyone follows me, she is available to take

Donahue's place. "

"No, Mr. Carter. If anyone follows you, we will

shoot the woman. Good day."

Carter dropped the phone. "Shit. "

' 'It's really no problem," Effredge said, ' 'the way

you 've got it figured. "

"No, we can cover her," Carter replied. "l just

didn't want to use her unless we had to. "

He crossed the room and lifted a second phone. ln-

stantly the connection was made.

' 'Yes, my friend."

Quickly he gave the old thief the route.

"It sounds as though they will use a cutout, my

friend."

"It would seem so."

"Most likely, you will never reach the phones at the

museum."

"That's what I figure," Carter growled. "Do your

people have the cameras?"

"Oh, yes, and they have been instructed in their use. I

will have them all along the route, have no fear of

that. "

"Good. And, remember, Abu, no one is to try and

follow. Only the pictures."

' 'My people are as shadows."

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Carter replaced the phone. There was already a scurry

of activity in the room. He headed back down the hall-

way to tell Eliza Brussman that she was about to be put

on the hot seat with him.

In the sudden surge of the moment, the planning, and

the adrenali8e funning through his body, he had forgot-

ten about the Darvais Pride and the timetable of the

yacht's arrival in the middle of the Persian Gulf.


FOURTEEN

At precisely noon sharp, Carter stepped from the

shade of the A1 Axhar Mosque. He ambled among

tourists clutching their children and cameras until he

reached a long line of taxis.

The one he chose was less than a year old, but it

looked as if it had led an attack in the '67 Egypt-Israeli

war.

'J Where?"

"Tahrir Square," Carter replied, and fought the

G-force that sent him into the seat as the driver applied

the gas and plowed through the gears.

Like a missile with a faulty guidance system they flew

through the streets of Cairo's oldest quarter. On the

turns, the driver and his machine defied gravity. On the

straightaways, they defied Other machines, donkey

carts, stray sheep and goats, and a shifting sea of human

pedestrians.

Carter could only hope, as they flew through the

maze, that in that throng of humanity Abu Djabi's

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people were waiting, clicking their cameras at the fol.

low-up car.

They would have to have one somewhere behind him

to make sure that he didn't have a tail.

They Jhe Abdin Palace at Opera Square and

hurtled into the wide boulevard Shari' Qasr A1-Nil.

Ahead, Carter could see the tower above the square and

behind it the Nile Hilton.

And then they were in the square, careening through

the traffic circle.

"Here is fine," Carter replied.

The driver took a full inch of rubber off his tires

screaming to a halt. He held his hand, palm up, over the

seat.

He hadn't bothered pulling to the curb, and behind

them a million horns sounded like the mating call of two

million camels.

Carter shoved a wad of bills in his hand and dived

through the door. He barely made the sidewalk with two

motorcycles, a Vespa, and another cab trying to disen-

gage his torso from his legs.

Instead of dodging traffic and other pedestrians—

neither of which paid any attention to lights across the

square—he chose to walk around. He took the higher

elevation of steps the whole way around the square. By

so doing, his watchers would be able to spot him easily.

And, he hoped, Djabi's people would be able to spot

them.

As he moved, his eyes took in everything. And

everywhere he saw people. They thronged the walkway

and the street. They poured from shops and offices and

strolled casually in front of hurtling cars and motor-

cycles.

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At last he reached the opposite side of the square.

There were no stands, so he had to take his life in his

hands and wade into the street to hail a cab.

His arm had barely reached his shoulder when four

stopped. Carter rolled into the rear seat of the closest

one, a Mercedes that its German engineers would never

admit they designed.

Where?

"El Gamhuria Square," Carter said in Arabic, "and

double your fare if you go under the speed limit."

The driver shot off Tahrir with a roaring laugh. "In

Cairo there are no speed limits!"

U 'Then keep it under the speed of sound," Carter

replied, gripping a handle on each door as they bore

down on a thick line of schoolchildren crossing the nar-

row street in front of them.

The driver leaned on his horn, didn't touch his

brakes, and the youthful humanity parted like the sea

before the bow of his machine. The rear of the Mercedes

had barely cleared when the line closed behind it.

At El Gamhuria, the driver was kind. He not only

found the curb, he drove right up on it to discharge his

passenger.

Carter thanked him profusely, paid him the promised

double fare, and staggered back out into the blistering

heat.

He had to go around the square and down three

blocks to reach the museum.

They hit him one block short of it. A tiny Opel with

two men in it—the driver and a passenger in the

rear—cut him off just as he was crossing the mouth of a

narrow alley.

The rear door opened and there was a guttural cry.

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Carter did.

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Both men were swathed from head to toe in white,

flowing galabiyas, with desert burnooses wound tightly

around their faces.

The one in rear had a monster Webley pointed

directly at Carter's gut.

"Do as you're told."

was told to go to the call boxes by the—

"Now you're being told something else. Do as you're

told. "

The alley was narrow, barely the width of two cars

and then only if neither of them were larger than the

Opel and both- of them rode the curbs. There were

several cutoffs and a long S-bend.

Halfway through the bend, a red Austin mini met

them. When the two cars were side by side, they halted.

There wasn't room for the doors to be opened. Instead,

the rear windows were rolled down.

"Through the window!" To the command was added

a prod from the Webley.

Carter managed to crawl through. His legs had

scarcely cleared when the mini lurched forward. It

careened off the alley into one of the cutouts, and his

new galabiya-clad seat companion, also with Webley,

handed him a black hood.

"Put this on!"

Carter did.

' 'Now get down on the floorboard! "

He started to, and was helped along by powerful

hands and the barrel of the gun.

When he was on the floorboard with the man's feet

on his chest, the muzzle Of the Webley stayed near his

crotch.

"Do not try to look to see where we go, or try to see

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my face. If you do, I will shoot. Not to kill, of course.

Maybe I just shoot your cock off. Nod if you under-

stand, Carter."

The Killmaster nodded vigorously. not only from the

threat, but also from the pain caused by the prodding

Webley.

But he also made a careful mental note of the tone

and timbre of the man's voice.

When the time comes, he thought, this son ofa bitch

is going to be the first one to get it.

They kept the hood on him the entire time, but

through sounds and his sense of smell Carter was able to

pick up a few things.

The air was cleaner, hotter, and drier. That. plus the

length of time they had driven, would place them quite a

distance from the city center of Cairo, either in the hills

or the western desert.

From the sounds, he guessed it was a small village

teeming with tradesmen and children. He also guessed

that they were somewhere near the river.

When they removed the hood, the room was so dim

Carter didn't even have to blink to adjust his eyes.

There was only one window, and it was covered with

a blanket. The only furniture was a long, rough-hewn

table and two rattan chairs. It was stifling.

Carter was shoved into one of the chairs. The other,

at the opposite end of the table, was occupied by a large,

heavyset man naked to the waist. His legs in dirty white

slacks were stretched out in front of him. His dark torso

was glistening with sweat, either from the heat or the

stone jug on the table in front of him. Beside the jug sat

a machine pistol.

His head and face were covered with a burnoose.

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There were four other men in the room, all in white

galabiyas and burnooses.

Carter guessed they were the occupants of the two ex-

change cars.

"Do you waot a drink?"

"No," Carter replied, "but I want my cigarettes."

The leader nodded, and one of the other men lit a cig-

arette and passed it to Carter. It was a harsh Egyptian

brand.

"I can't have my own?"

"No. I don't trust your CIA. I have heard that you

have poisoned darts in cigarettes and cigars."

Carter shrugged and inhaled the acrid smoke. ' 'We

are prepared to pay you a quarter of a million Egyptian

pounds. "

"No, a half-million ... dollars."

"One hundred thousand dollars."

"Ridiculous!" the man raged, grasping the machine

pistol and cocking it as he aimed at Carter's chest.

would kill you and be done with it now!"

Carter inhaled and blew two perfect smoke rings.

They floated across the table unbroken in the still air.

"Yes, you could. But then you wouldn't get anything,

would you?"

The tension lasted for a full three minutes. At last the

man settled back in the chair. He dropped the gun to the

table and drank from the jug.

' 'A quarter of a million American dollars."

Carter ground the cigarette out on the table and

leaned forward on his elbows. ' 'Koulami is using you."

' 'Koulami? I know no Koulami."

"l think you do. I think his people kidnapped

Donahue and turned him over to you."

g 'Why would this Koulami do that?"

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"l haven't figured that out yet. Perhaps you did

something for him and this ransom for Donahue is part

of the payment. That's the way it usually works for

mercenaries, isn't it?"

' 'Mercenaries! We are the People's—

"Bullshit. You're a bunch of thieves trying to scre

anybody you can."

The man's knuckles went white as he made two fist

on the table. The tension in the room could be cut with

knife. Not one of them, even the leader, seemed to

breathe.

Carter jumped on it.

'SI want Donahue, but I also want Koulami. I'll tell

you what I'll do. I'll give you one hundred thousand

dollars for Donahue, and a half-million for both o

them."

There were general grunts and groans, but there wa

no instant turn-down or acceptance of the offer.

' 'Wait."

Three of the men followed the leader from the room

Carter bummed another cigarette from the guard the

had left behind, and waited.

It was nearly a half hour before they returned. Be

tween two of them was Peter Donahue. He was doped,

little beat and battered and his clothes were in tatters

but he was breathing.

Carter wasn't too surprised when he got his answer.

' 'We know no Koulami. We accept the one hundre

thousand American."

Carter shrugged. "So be it. Where and how do w

make the trade?"

"It is now six o'clock. In six hours. at midnight—

"No," Carter said.

"I told you, American, that we—

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"Would set the place, yes. I must set the time. It will

take longer than that to get the cash." Now it was

Carter's turn to buy the time he needed.

There was another hurried conference, this time in the

far corner of the room. In the middle of it, the leader

turned back to Carter.

"When? How much time will you need?"

"Until dawn tomorrow."

More talk.

' 'Very well, we make the exchange one hour before

dawn tomorrow. "

"Agreed."

"And we want the money in gold."

Carter hesitated for only a second. "That should be

all right."

One of the men spread a map out in front of Carter.

The leader had a similar map in front him that he re-

ferred to as he spoke.

"Do you see the area north of Cairo where the great

Nile divides?"

"l do."

"You must get a white van. It must be white. Drive to

the dam just before the divide. Cross the dam and wait

until precisely six o'clock .. ."

That would be dawn, Carter thought.

' 'At precisely six, drive into the desert exactly four

miles. There you will find a road to your right into the

dunes. One mile into the dunes, stop and walk one mile

further. Another van will meet you there, with Donahue

in the rear. We will exchange vans. Anyone following

you, or any helicopter overhead, and Donahue will be

shot."

Carter concentrated on what he knew of the area. It

was a good choice. Open country, but populous within a

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short distance. They could have a second van or car

waiting, transfer the gold, and be gone without a trace.

If they weren't double-crossed.

Carter soon learned how they managed to cover that.

"There is a tearoom in the Khan bazaar. It is called

the House Of Abor. The woman, Eliza Brussman, will

enter at exactly six o'clock. She will order breakfast and

she will not leave until you receive my call. If she so

much as rises to relieve herself before the call, she will

be killed."

Neat, Carter thought, very neat.

At that time of morning the Khan el Khalili would

be a teeming, shoulder-to-shoulder mass of humanity.

Tradesmen and early-morning shoppers looking for the

day's bargains would be as thick as flies on honey.

A person could be stabbed or shot in that mess and

the assailant would be gone before the body fell down.

Carter agreed. "We have a bargain." He just hoped

that Eliza would never have to take her morning break-

fast in the House of Abor.

Four hours later, just after ten o'clock, Carter was

dumped in a deserted street of the old quarter.

By the time he peeled off the hood, the only other liv-

ing thing in the street was a mongrel dog whining and

sniffing at his feet.

Film from the fifty and more cameras had already

been collected by the time Carter grabbed a taxi and

reached Government House. He, Effredge, and two of

Najjar's people went over each print as it came out of

the darkroom.

Abu Djabi's invisible street people had done a mag-

nificent job. There were shots of Carter at every stage,

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and everyone around him had been included.

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Carefully they culled through them, trying to get a

pattern. By one o'clock in the morning, they had it.

Two men had spotted Carter at Tahrir Square. They

were both in Redouin dress, but the folds of their bur-

nooses weren't* över their faces. Again they were seen

talking through the window of the red Austin. Again

they were seen on two• Vespas, obviously checking the

reai of the Austin after the last switch was made.

"Looks like they may be small fry," Effredge said,

"but they're the only obvious ones."

Carter nodded. "Their faces are the only clear ones.

Let's hope somebody has a line on them. Get another

set of these run off for Djabi."

Together, they walked the four best shots into Naj-

jar's office. A runner was sent across town with a set for

the fat old thief.

Najjar's computer came through with an ID almost

simultaneously with the call from Djabi.

"The taller one with the scar across his nose is Hadi

Rajdaq. He is very evil, my friend, a sadist. His chief

pastime is raping and torturing young whores starving

in the streets."

"An address? "

"My people tell me he shares a garret with another of

his kind in the old city on the edge of the Muski. An

alley called the Hareski. The other man might be the

other in the picture."

"l would like three of your people to back us up,

Abu. They will be paid well."

"l will send five for the price of three," the old man

replied with a chuckle. "Hadi Rajdaq is a disgrace to

our profession."

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Carter hung up and turned to Najjar. The Egyptian

was frowning over the man's picture and his criminal

record.

"Well?" Carter asked.

Najjar leaned back and placed his hands at the back

of his head. Carefully, with narrowed, unseeing eyes, he

studied a crack in the plaster of the ceiling.

"Hadi Rajdaq is a festering pimple on the underbelly

of Cairo."

That was all Carter needed. Carte blanche.

Hadi Rajdaq looked at the scene before him through

hashish-dimmed eyes. After tomorrow he wouldn't

have to be satisfied with street whores. He would have

enough money to buy a dozen women of his own. He

would make slaves of them, and for nothing they would

do whatever he was pleased that they do ... or endure.

He scratched himself and drooled a little as he

watched his friend Bassa maul the young girl.

She was naked, and the man, Bassa, was stripped to

the waist. From the perspiration covering their bodies,

the struggle had been going on for some time.

The girl screamed as the man slammed her across the

face with his open hand. He then pressed it over her

mouth and, grinning wildly, forced her head back. He

forced her body to his and bent his head to her small

conical breasts. He got his lips around one of her

breasts, and she sank her teeth into his hands.

Bassa bellowed with pain.

Rajdaq laughed softly.

The girl twisted out of the man's hands. He tried to

hold her, but her sweat-drenched body was too slick

She ran toward the door, with Bassa directly behind her

Halfway to the door, it burst from its hinges, splinter-

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ing into the room. Carter came in, diving to the left.

Effredge was directly behind him.

The girl screamed again and fell at Effredge's feet as

the silenced Beretta barked twice, shutting off Bassa's

roar.

Blood spread in a Rorschach pattern across the man's

darkly matted chest, and he fell silent to the floor.

In his hashish delirium, Rajdaq whirled, trying to

reach a holstered pistol hanging on the back of his chair.

The barrel of Carter's Luger arced down, smashing the

man's wrist.

At the same time, Effredge lifted the whimpering girl

to her feet. g 'Get out!" he rasped in Arabic, and pushed

her toward the door. One of the two dark figures in the

hall hustled her away.

The door had barely closed behind her before Carter

had Rajdaq spread on his belly across the table. Word-

lessly, they went to work, one on each side of the man.

Effredge planted a knee in the small of his back and

held his left arm down while the fingers of his right hand

curled in his greasy black hair. Carter held his right

hand to the table, the butt of the Luger poised above it.

"Who has Donahue? " Effredge growled.

"You are both sons of whores and your mothers fuck

pigs," Radjaq hissed.

Effredge lined Radjaq's face up with the table and

broke his nose by crashing his face into the hard wood.

For good measure, he slammed him two more times,

and then turned the bloody pulp that was left up toward

Carter.

"Who do you work for? " the Killmaster asked.

The man pursed his lips and spat blood into Carter's

face. The Killmaster raised the Luger and brought the

heavy butt down in a crunching blow across his hand.

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"That's just for starters," Carter said. ' 'I'll ask you

who, and where. Every time you

one more time . . .

don't answer, I shoot another finger off. "

They left him on the table, passed out, with two fin-

gers remaining on his right hand, after he had answered

each of their questions.

In the hall, Effredge mumbled in Arabic to Djabi's

men.

Carter knew, as the two of them raced for the street,

that neither of the men in the room behind them would

see the sunrise.

If they hadn't had the exact location of the house,

they would have spotted it from the van parked in the

alley.

There was one man, dozing in the driver's seat, a ma

chine pistol in his lap.

Carter took him out silently with Hugo.

At the end of the alley, Carter and Effredge climbed

to the roof of a building and made their way back to the

one they wanted.

Effredge went down the stairs from the roof. Carter

took the fire escape.

The blanket was gone from the window now, and i

was open to allow what little breeze there was into th

room. Carter poked one eye around for a look.

The scene was almost as he had left it earlier. Saia

Muchasi was still stripped to the waist. He had dis

carded the burnoose. He was in the same chair, and

second man occupied the chair where Carter had sat.

The Killmaster heard a faint sound below him an

looked down. Effredge was leaning out the window. H

held up two fingers and then made a circle of his inde

finger and thumb.

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He had taken out two men below, probably in the

room with Donahue. One had gone in the van.

Muchasi and his greasy comrade were the only ones

left.

"Aevno?" Muchasi wheezed, sipping from the jug.

"Yes, Saiad, it is time," the other man replied. "I

will have them put the Britisher in the van."

Carter recognized the voice. The one called Aevno

had been the one in the back of the Austin mini.

As he stood to leave, Carter shot him once in the

middle of the forehead. Before the body had sprawled

across the table, the Kiilmaster had tumbled through the

window.

Muchasi made a lurching grab for the machine pistol

on the table.

"Don't touch it," Carter hissed. "l want you alive."


FIFTEEN

Carter shook the sleep from his eyes and stretched i

the bucket seat as the little jet touched down. The stri

was military, in the desert south and east of Tel Aviv.

Muchasi was much more ready to talk than his peopl

had been. Radjaq, compared to his leader, had been

lion. Muchasi started spilling his guts with just th

threat that he was going to lose some fingers.

Two elements of his story dropped the last two piec

of the puzzle into piace for Carter: the time period o

seventy-two hours, and the arrangements for Koulam

to pick up the ketch.

Now all he needed was absolute clarification and h

had it.

They would need a special team, an extraordina

team, and there wasn't time to get them from the State

Delta Force, out of North Carolina, could have handle

the job quite well. But they were halfway around th

world.

A few high-level phone calls and the Israelis h

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agreed to jump in with both feet.

181

Carter hoisted himself from ihe bucket seat the in-

stant the plane came to a stop. A single man in combat

fatigues, boots, and beret met him at the foot of the lad-

der.

8 'Nick,"

the Killmaster replied, accepting the out-

stretched hand.

' 'I'm Major Zev Ben-Gal. I have a car waiting right

over here. "

"How are we set up and what do we know for sure?"

Carter asked as they walked toward darkened buildings.

"Looks like all your suppositions wcre on the button.

We've been in constant contact with one of your de-

stroyers, the Norman, all day. The Darvais Pride is

heading straight up the Persian Gulf, all right."

' 'And her course?"

' 'You were right there, too. She's drifting east little

by little. Based on the timetable you gave us, she'll be on

the fringe of Iranian waters by about eight tonight."

"So there's little doubt that she's not making any

kind of direct heading toward Bahrain. "

The major chuckled. "No doubt at all. She's playing

with fire coming that close to the coast of Iran."

"What do your intelligence people say?"

' 'Nothing specific yet. Not enough to get a readout

on. "

Both men climbed into the back seat of the staff car.

The driver sped away without receiving an order.

"Where are we headed?"

' 'We've set up communications at one of our

southern bases outside Elat. We have a team and

transport ready there if it's a go."

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Carter sat back in the seat and smiled. "Oh, I have

little doubt, Major, that it will be a go."

The base looked like little more than a large kibbutz

in the desert north of Elat. On closer inspection, the

buildings were disguised barracks, maintenance sheds,

and hangars. A landing strip, impossible to spot from

the air, had been laid down in the sand.

The nerve center was in an underground bunker.

Major Ben-Gal and Carter shot through security in

seconds and were escorted into the most inner Of the

inner sanctums. There Carter met Colonel Isser Frank,

who had been assigned to the project directly from

Jerusalem.

Frank was a large man—targe face, large hands, large

feet. Everything about him projected size and strength.

His face seemed devoid of expression, but his eyes—a

deep, sparkling brown—were like those of a sage who

had seen it all.

"You've got yourself a real knuckle-buster here,

Carter."

The Killmaster nodded.

"l wasn't thinking far

enough ahead of them to start with, it seems. Koulami is

sharp. "

"Crafty is more like it," Frank growled, passing out

coffee and leading them to a chart table. "l suppose

Major Ben-Gal has told you we're in open-line com-

munications with one Of your destroyers? "

did."

"All right, their course is subtle right along here.

Your people did two high flyovers, one at noon and

another about fourteen hundred, an hour ago. "

"Photos?" Carter asked.

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The colonel spread out several fifteen-by-twenty

glossies overlaid with light grid lines.

"Comparing your list of those aboard with these pic-

tures, there are three more people on the Darvais Pride

than there are supposed to be. Also, your list mentions

only one woman, Quadima's wife. There are two other

women on board."

"Do you have blowups?"

The colonel nodded and punched buttons on a con-

sole near his hand. The room darkened and a large wall

screen came to life.

Carter narrowed his eyes and fidgeted as the pictures,

made into black and white slides, appeared.

"Stop ... that one!" He crossed the room, picked up

a pointer, and touched it to the screen. 'ST his part . . .

magnify it!"

The colonel did, and Carter grunted. S' This is Amin

Koulami. The woman just behind him is Rami Sherif."

"You're sure?"

have no doubt of it."

The colonel sighed. ' 'All right. Planning has come up

with something we may be able to use."

Carter moved back to the table as Frank spread out a

chart.

' 'We have three deep-cover people along the coast in

from here to here. Yesterday, one of them

Iran . . .

reported an Iranian gun boat, the Qualliah, here in

Bandar-e Chiru. "

"Is that unusual?"

C' Very. They don't usually patrol that area at all by

sea. A reconnaissance flight once a day has always been

enough because of the proximity to Oman and the

United Arab Emirates. They don't want to take a

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chance on a boat-to-boat incident. "

Carter leaned closer to the map, tracing the grid lines

with his finger. With another finger he drew an imag-

inary line from Bandar-e Chiru out into the Persian

Gulf.

'Sli my supposition that Koulami wanted to stall me

with Donahue's kidnapping for seventy-two hours was

correct, the Darvais Pnde would be right about here at

that hour."

"That's right," Major Ben-Gal said. "She would be

just inside Iranian waters."

Carter cursed. "And if • the gunboat Qualliah were

here, she could intercept the Darvais Pride legally in her

own waters. "

Frank nodded. "It's a very crafty little plan. By the

time all the diplomatic wrangling was over, Brussman's

work would be done and Iran would have what she

wants. "

"And who knows," Ben-Gal added, "with the regime

over there, everyone on the boat could be tried as spies

and executed if it comes down to technicalities. "

Carter stood and stretched. "So if all of our variables

and guesses are correct, the only unanswered question is

how the hell they hijacked the Darvais Pride in the first

place. "

' 'We might even have the answer to that, Carter,"

Frank said, punching the console again.

Carter moved to the screen as Koulami's arm and

hand grew in size. The focus finally tuned in on a rec-

tangular box in his hand. A handcufflike chain securely

attached the box to his wrist.

' 'A radio-controlled detonation device? "

"We think so," Frank said. "Somewhere along the

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line, probably in Alexandria, they mined the yacht."

"And then made a suicide threat when they inter-

cepted with the ketch," Carter hissed. "Give up or blow

up. "

"Our inteHigence people see it that way," Ben-Gal

replied.

Carter went back to the chart. "But if we could in-

tercept the Qualliah before she intercepted the Darvais

Pride.. e"

The major and the colonel exchanged looks and then

smiled.

"Carter," Frank said, 'Care you suggesting that we

commit piracy on the military craft of another nation?"

"That's exactly what I am suggesting," Carter said.

The smile on Frank's lips faded to a thin line. "And

that's exactly what our planning ops people have come

up with."

The flare arced into the sky, glowed a fiery red, and

mellowed to orange as it dipped and fell into the sea. It

had barely disappeared when Ben-Gal fired a second

one and all hands peered across the sea toward the dis-

tant hulk of the gunboat Qualliah.

the old man hissed. ' 'She's

"She's taken the bait,"

turning this way."

' 'All right," Ben-Gal cried, "one man in the bow,

one man aft, under the canvas! Carter, you under fallen

sail, here. I'll be below. Judith . v"

The young woman nodded, and without further

orders shinnied up what was left of the main mast. It

had been cracked in the middle, and the top half and the

sails now draped over the port side amidships.

Carter slid under the sail and jacked a shell into the

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186 NICK CARTER

chamber of an Uzi submachine gun. It was a dangerous and daring plan, but it had every reason to work. They had flown by unmarked plane into Bahrain pos-ing as a team of bank auditors. Two U.S. helicopters had picked them up there. The old man was an Iranian fisherman. He was also deep cover for the Mossad. He had set sail hours before from one of the many coastal islands north of Bandar-e Chiru. One hour earlier, the team—Carter, Ben-Gal, the woman, Judith, and two agents—had dropped from the chopper to rendezvous with the old man and his fishing boat. Now the old man stood at a useless tiller while Judith, masquerading as his daughter, had climbed the mast to inspect the break that had stranded them at sea. Carter could hear the steady throb of the gunboat's engines. When he heard them idle back, he lifted a cor-ner of the sail ever so slightly. The Qualliah was pulling alongside, its twin lights bathing the fishing boat. "What is the trouble?" "Our mast snapped and my engine is out," the old man replied. "Where is your port?" "My daughter and 1 are fishermen out of Hendorabiz I have my license. Can you tow us?" According to intelligence, there were five men aboard the gunboat: a radioman, an engineer, a skipper, an two hands. Carter could see one man in the wheelhouse and thr at the rail. The missing man was probably the engineer somewhere below.

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SLAUGHTER DAY 187 "We are on night patrol" came the answer. "We cannot tow you." You mean you're on a timetable for a rendezvous and you can't lake the lime, Carter thought. "Then, can you take my daughter and me on board?" the old-man called. There was a confab between the three men at the rail. At last one of them shouted back, "Yes, we can do that much." Carter tensed. They had talked out the next few sec-onds a hundred times in the last three hours. Judith went over first and then the old man. He pro-duced his license and other documentation to the three men at the rail. The woman drifted behind them. Carter saw her hands fumbling at the small of her back beneath her heavy sweater. Then he saw the glint of the pistol in her right hand as she darted into the wheelhouse. He heard the scrape of booted feet to his left, and then Ben-Gal's voice in Farsi: "Stand fast! Don't move, any of you!" Carter came out from under the sail and vaulted the rail, as did the two other agents. The fifth man, the en-gineer, was just emerging from the hatch when he found himself staring into the barrel of Carter's Uzi. "This is piracy!" the Qualliah's skipper finally managed to blurt. "That's right," the major replied. "We're interna-tional terrorists." "But what do you want?" "The loan of your ship for a while, that is all." The four hands were bound and gagged below. The skipper was taken into the wheelhouse. "Now," Ben-Gal said, probing the man with his Uzi,

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188 NICK CARTER "we want your course for the intercept of the Darva Pride, and we want your recognition signal." "You're mad!" "Very. You have one minute before I start killie your men." Five minutes later they were on course for intercept.

(D T H8IcC»


Three hundred yards short of the Darvais Pride, t two powerful searchlights were flicked on. At the sa time, Carter, in a hooded wet suit, slipped over the ste of the Qualliah with a towline attached to his belt. Twice, as the gap between the two boats narrowed, bobbed his head above the surface. He recognized Jurgens, the yacht's skipper, at t rail, flanked by a an and another man. There was a e-er of e et re d-n dark figure just aft of the wheelhouse and he saw mov meet inside, at the wheel. • Cartel guessed this would be Koulami and the oth woman. If that were the case, the passengers and the rest the yacht's crew would be locked below. lust as the bow of the gunboat came level with th stern of the Darvais Pride. Carter dropped off. He cut right and swam with all his might to g around to the vacant starboard side of the yacht befo his lungs started screaming for air. At last he surfaced. Two hard strokes took him ami ships. He could hear voices from the port side, and the the gentle thud of the gunboat's rubber bumpers against the side of the yacht. Wilhelmina was in an oilskin sheath, shoulder-rigged under his left armpit. He pulled himself for enough out of the water to unclip the Luger and slide Hugo between his teeth.

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SLAUGHTER DAY 189 Then he grasped one of the rail uprights and slowly pulled himself upward until his eyes were just over the level of the deck. The starboard side, as he'd hoped, was deserted. All attention was on the gunboat. Cautiouy, as silent as a cat, he got a toehold on the deck and swung himself over the rail. He was two steps toward the wheelhouse when Rami Sherif stepped out. A sliver of light from one of the searchlights fell across her face. She saw Carter instantly but seemed more curious than surprised. She took another step forward, and then her eyes grew wide. She had seen the wet suit and the hood. Her lips parted, and Carter could see the throb in her throat as she started to scream out a warning. The scream became a barely audible gargle as Hugo drove into her throat. Her hands went instinctively up to claw the pain from her neck. They had barely touched the stiletto's hilt when life left her. Carter bolted forward. He caught her just as she started to fall and eased her silently to the deck. In prac-tically the same flowing movement, he darted into-the wheelhouse. Thankfully, both portside windows had been pulled down. Carter stayed in the shadows, leaning forward only far enough to place everyone. Judith and the old man were out of sight on the gun-boat. Ben-Gal's two agents were arranged fore and aft on the lights. They had exchanged clothes with the crew. The Qualliah's skipper, with Ben-Gal at his shoulder, was amidships, talking over the rail to Captain Jurgen and the other two members of Koulami's team, a man and woman.

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190 NICK CARTER Both of them had machine pistols, and even though it looked as though they were buying everything no far, they had their guns at the ready with their fingers on the triggers. Koulami himself was on the main deck just below Carter. He had moved twenty feet or so in front of the wheelhouse. His thumbs were hooked in his belt, and the deto-nator box was hanging, swinging slightly, from his waist. There was a flat, thin-lipped smile on his face, and his eyes gleamed like those of a cat in the light. The smile was smug, self-satisfied. The Killmaster had two choices. He could step from the wheelhouse and drop down on the man from above. That would entail getting him in one blow before he could reach for the box. Or he could ... Carefully, Carter laid Wilhelmina's barrel over the lowered rim of the window. He gripped his right wrist with his left hand, sighted, and squeezed. The 9mm slug caught Koulami dead center, left tem-- ple. The right side of his head exploded and he fell like a rock. Carter wheeled around, but there was no need. Ben-Gal, before the roar from the Luger even peaked, had flattened the skipper of the Qualliah. In the same move he had reached across both rails and grabbed Jurgens. One hard yank had pulled the yacht's skipper over to the gunboat, where both of them fell in a hcap on the deck. Koulami's remaining two people lurched to the side, bringing their pistols into play.

SLAUGHTER DAY


SLAUGHTER DAY 191 But they were a millisecond late. Ben-Gal's team was one of the best in the world, trained their entire lives for a situation just like this. Judith came out of the Qualliah's wheelhouse firing. The two agents at the lights joined in on the first burst. KoulamPs 'people were caught in a withering cross-fire. They were thrown across the deck before they could fire a shot. Carter dropped to the deck as Ben-Gal stood. "The fourth?" the Israeli asked. "The other woman?" "Dead, port side," Carter replied, and headed for the hatch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the major barking at the gunboat's skipper. He would be telling the man that this all happened in international waters. If he wanted to make an issue out of it, that would be fine. Then the governments of Bahrain and Egypt would give the press the story and pictures, along with evidence that the government of Iran had stolen nuclear fuel and plutonium, and had engaged in piracy to abduct an English nuclear scientist. Carter was pretty sure that by the time he got back on deck, the Qualliah would be hauling meekly back to-ward the coast of Iran. He used Wilhelmina on the door of the main salon. Quadima met him on the other side. "It's over," Carter said. "You're all safe. We should be in Bahrain in less than three hours." "Thank you. Thank you very much." Josef Brussman appeared in the far hatch. "They said they had kidnapped my assistant, Peter Donahue. Is he all right?" 111111

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"He's fine. Dr. Brussman."


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192 NICK CARTER

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"He's fine, Dr. Brussman," The man's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank God." "Don't you want to hear about your daughter, Doc-tor?" "I assume Eliza can take care of herself," he replied stiffly. "Yeah," Carter growled, "she sure can. She—and your son Peter—are on a flight to Rome. She said to tell you they'll wait for you there." Brussrnan's face flushed beet red, but he managed a stiff nod of his head that served as a bow. "Thank "Think nothing of it," Carter said, lighting a clip-retie. Brussman turned away. "Doctor ..." "Yes?" "I saved your ass, Doctor, but I would like the last word." "Oh? And what is that?" "I think you're a son of a bitch." The Killmaster turned and climbed back up on deck. The cigarette tasted bitter.