# Killing Games 333333

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NICK CARTER

stands and made his way up Lower Belgrave. At Eaton

Place, he flagged a cab.

"Hotel Bnstols Berkeley Street near the square. You

know it?"

"Righto, guv."

At Hyde Park Corner they drew abreast of a police radio

car. The officer at the wheel had his uniform cap tipped

back and he looked bored. Carter wondered if Interpol had

his picture out. If they did, that meant he had to dodge

bobbies as well as Longbone's hordes.

He slouched further down in the seat.

"'Ere ya are, sir."

Carter paid and took his time walking across the street

to the hotel. Through the first set of double doors he waited

until the cab had driven off. When it was out of sight he

retumed to the street, zigzagging his way east to Old Bond

Street where he hailed a second cab.

"British Museum, please."

"Ihey moved and Carter scanned other cars. Past the

Ritz, the cab slowed in the crawling confusion of Picca-

dilly Circus. The driver was good. He maneuvered through

the smaller streets and even managed to avoid the conges-

tion nea.A4aymarket.

From there it was clear sailing.

"You can let off here."

The driver ncxided without turning his head and reached

back with a gnarled hand. Carter paid and jumFEd from the

cab, just avoiding a bus on his way to the curb.

He skirted the museum, and when he wassure there was

no one behind him, darted into Blcx)tnsbury Way. The

Avondale was in the middle of the block.

Carter checked in, using the third set of documents he

carried, under the name of Field.

In the room, he dropped the bag and headed for the

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bath. Striprxd, he took the cold needles of the shower with

gratitude, rubbing the weariness from his eyes and tem-

pies. Once he had shaved he felt alive again. Again he

dressed in the plain brown tweed and rather shabby jacket.

There were two small airline bottles of Pinch in the bag.

He popvkd one of these and sat down with the phone direc-

The closest television repair shop was in Russell

Square, akx)ut ten blocks away.

"Universal Telly."

"Do you make service calls?"

"Yes, sir, we do. Mileage beyond two miles."

"Excellent. And how late are you open?"

"Nine this evening, sir."

'Wlhank you, I'll ring you back." He flipped the direc-

tory until he found the number of the Strand Palace. "Miss

Jova Kalen's room, please. "

He let it ring ten times and was about to hang up, when

Jova's breathless voice answered.

"Jova, this is Nick Carter. "

"Nick, I'm so glad to hear from you! Are you in Lon-

"Yes, but I don't want anyone to know it. Do you un-

derstand?"

"Of course."

' 'How are things?"

"Fine. Amold and his wife have teen We're al-

most finished with all the paperwork. Did you know I'm

"Yes."

"I'd rather have Lilly back."

"I know, Jova. Just enjoy the money Lilly would

have wanted you to. I want you to do me a favor."

"Anything."

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"Jot down this number: 441-579."

'Got it."

"I want you to call that number. A woman will answer.

Identify her as Caroline Minor. When you do, tell her that

her package at is ready and ask her if she

would like to have it sent around. Have you got that?"

"Yes," Jova replied, repeating it.

"Good. I want you to call me back at 949-771 and tell

me what she says. Okay?"

"Will do."

Carter hung up and picked up his drink. By the time he

had finished it, the phone rang.

"It's me, Nick. I just talked to her."

And

"She said that that would be fine. She'll in the flat all

evening."

"Terrific. See you

Carter hung up without allowing a reply and left the

hotel. Staying with his maximum security ritual, he took a

full twenty minutes to cover the ten blocks to Russell

Square.

Numt*r 18 was just off the square in a tiny, alleylike

street. It was a five-story building with yellow bricks and

ugly stained glass in the first-floor windows. An old van

was parked in front. Lettered on its side was UNIVERSAL

TELEVISION.

But where was Universal Television?

Carter mounted the single step and litted the door

knocker. It at once, as if the woman had been hid-

ing behind it. She was gray-haired, flat-chested, fifty, and

she wore a mustard-colored dress three sizes t(X) large for

her.

"Yeah, wha' is 't?'

"Universal Television?"

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"He's me 01' man, got his shop in the basement aroun'

the side." The door slammed in Caner's face.

He walked around the side and down into an even nar-

rower alley. The sign could barely deciphered through

the dirt on the glass. It said: UNIVERSAL TUEVISION,

MONTE BABCXEK, EST. 190

Carter entered. "Anyone here?"

"In the back!"

He wound his way through the piles of old TV sets,

cables, antennas and tutrs to a smaller rcK)rn. He found a

large round man in blue coveralls sitting at a worktEnch.

"Mr. Babcock?"

'Ihe man turned on his stool and stared at Caner with

eyes that amxa.red abnormally large trhind thick metal-

framed glasses. "Yeah?"

There was something about the man and the shop that

told Carter he need look no further. "What's your normal

charge for a service call, Mr. Babcock?"

"Twenty punds plus parts."

"How would you like to make three hundred punds for

two hours' work?"

The moment BabccEk pulled the van into the narrow

street Carter spotted them. lhere were two of them,

slouching in the front seat of a Jaguar sedan.

'SHere," Carter said, and the van halted.

It was barely stoppd when Carter jogged up the

and ran his eye down the mailboxes. Caroline Minor was

in 5B. There was an L. Hastings in 3B. He slouched back

to the van, his hands shoved carelessly into the long side

pockets of the blue coveralls. He opened the passenger side

door and removed a heavy tool box.

"If they asked, we're answering a call to Three-B, name

of Hastings."

"Right you are."

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"You wouldn't lose your nerve on me, would you, Mr

Babcock?"

The man's round face split in a grin. "Laddie, for

hundred pounds I got nerves of steel."

Back in the building, Carter raced up the five flights an

knocked on the door of 5B. •mrough the hall windows

could see St. James's Park, even make out the ducks on th

water.

From the other side of the door he could hear a woman'

heels clicking on a hardwood floor, and then the door bu

She was tall, thirtyish, with a face, dark hair, an

deep blue eyes. She wore a tailored beige dress and sensi

ble walking shoes. On the floor of the hall behind her we

four suitcases.

"Caroline Minor?"

"Yes, but I didn't order service

"I've got your package from Carter said

and stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

'*Who are you?"

"My name is Nick Carter. Cory is in Paris, Caroline; h

couldn't risk coming to London. You can trust me."

"You have to. Do you know you're being watched?"

"Yes, I spotted them this morning. Come in."

Carter followed her past the four packed bags into

room bright with color. "Why the bags?"

"My holiday starts in the morning. I'm visiting my au

in Scotland."

Her face fell. "I was told this morning that my holida

had been changed. It started today."

"And were you told to go to Scotland?"

"No, but we have to let our know where

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are all the time. It's company policy. How is Coryo•s

Just from the way she said it. Carter guessed she had

more than a helping-hand interest in Howard. ne boy was

a char-men

"Alive. Both of us are. for now. "

"Penny Collins and Margery Driver have also had their

holidays changed. The three of us are the only ones left at

M16 who worked for Cory."

"Figures. Are they in this, too?"

"No, Cory only asked me for help."

Carter thought for a minute and then said, g *Get on the

phone and call your hairdresser. Set up an appointment for

the day after you return."

"My hairdresser?"

She grabbed the phone and started to dial. Carter moved

to the window and delicately parted one comer of the drape

until he had an unobstructed view of the Jaguar.

He paid no attention to the woman's words. When he

heard her hang up he paned the drape a little more. Sec-

onds later, one of the men leaned forward and took a hand

microphone from the dash. The man spoke, listened, nod-

ded, spoke again, and hung the mike back on the dash.

"What is it?"

Carter tumed, moving from the window. "Your phone's

pped. Sit down, Caroline, and let's get to work."

Her grave, handsome face was expressionless as she

efted a briefcase from the floor and set it on a table be-

een them. Silently, she removed reams of computer

rintouts and carefully laid them out.

"Oh, God," Carter moaned, "I don't think a service call

ill take that long."

"Don't worry, I have most of the material in

y head. God, I hope Cory appreciates all this. I had a

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hellish time smuggling all this out."

With a restless swing of her dark hair she started ver-

bally leading Carter through the maze.

At the end of a half hour he went down to the van,

supposedly to get a replacement part.

"Which one of these is big and bulky enough to be seen

by the Jag?"

"Picture tube, there," Batxock gestured.

Carter grabbed it. "They ask you?"

He ncxlded. "Major repair, Hastings in Three-B. They

seemed satisfied."

"Good show, Mr. Babcock," Carter said with a grin.

Carrying the new picture tube, he returned to the flat.

"Okay, let's finish it off," he said, taking his chair

again.

"That's about it, really. The information from 'Klon-

dike' has been invaluable to tk)th M16 and your CIA."

"And Klondike has never paid a dime?"

"No, and his identity is known only to Sir Phillip

Avery."

Carter picked up one thick sheaf of printout. "But this

rundown on Sir Charles's corporate acquisitions matches

perfectly with M16 incoming intelligence on economic

conditions, precious metal finds, and so forth."

"Yes, it's obvious Sir Charles had inside information."

"Proof enough," Carter said. "But faced with it, Sir

Charles could claim two dozen sources other than Sir Phil-

lip for his source. What about Wolf LongN)ne?"

"His having access is highly irregular, Vf course, but not

enough to bring more than a reprimand. However, when I

cross-referenced everything he had access to or had his

name on, I carne across a strange thing."

"Yes?"

"The complete and research development fil

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on a man named Anthony Hobbs-Nelson is gone. Even his

security clearance and that of his wife, Nanette, has disap-

peared from Records. It is as though neither of them ever

existed. I only discovered it when I came across one of the

ld sign-out sheets."

"Wolf Longbone signed it out?"

"Yes. I did some checking through Scotland Yard.

hortly after Hobbs-Nelson resigned from M16, he and his

Te were killed in an auto accident. Their Land-Rover

ent off a cliff in Wales. They were both drowned."

"Any sign of foul play?"

"Not according to Scotland Yard. But it d(ES seem odd,

oesn't it, that everything about the man should

Records?"

"It sure as hell dcrs," Carter said, "What did

obbs-Nelson do?"

"He played games."

"I your pardon?"

"In a think tank," Caroline explained. "Your rEople

ave a whole crowd doing exactly the same thing in Wash-

ngton. You know, 'what if' games. What if there were a

amine here or there? What if all the oil in the world were

ontrolled by one company? What if there were a crop

ailure in the Soviet Union? What if... t?"

"Okay, okay, I've got it. Just what kind of games was

obbs-Nelson playing?"

"That's just it, I don't know. Everything he had or was

orking on is gone from Records."

"Shit," Carter hissed. "Sorry."

"My sentiments exactly," she said, laughing for the first

me since Carter had entered the flat. The movement made

lacy shoulder strap slip from under her dress. She pushed

out of sight with a blush.

Carter kept staring at where the strap had been on her

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white skin, a long-ago memory tickling his brain.

First you see it and then you don't.

An aftemoon in the War Room at the Pentagon. War

games, the results flashing across computer screens and

disappearing.

"Caroline, when our people play these games, no matte

the outcome, it's automatically transferred in all stages to

computer storage dem)t in Langley. Do you have the same

process?"

Her face was vacant for a moment, and suddenly she

shuffled through the printouts and selected one. Sh

flipped through it until she found a number and color

coded index. She studied it and looked up with a b

smile on her face.

"Portsmouth."

"Do their coding readouts to yours i

Records?"

"Yes."

"So you could dig out Hobbs-Nelson's stuff no matte

how deep it's buried?"

"I could, but I couldn't get inside the Portsmouth com

plex without the very highest authority."

'SIYI get that. In the meantime, how do you get to Scot

land in the moming?"

"BritRail, the ten o'clock train from Paddington."

"Okay, here's what I want you to do

For the next fifteen minutes, Caroline Minor listene

and nodded avidly. By the time Carter left her apartment

she was glowing with the excitement of being a real spy a

last.

"How did it go, laddie?"

s 'One hundred percent, Mr. Babcock. How would yo

like to make a few hundred more rx»unds?"

"Telly repair is slow this time of year. Answer yo

question?"

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'*I'll need a motorcycle tonight, something fast and

powerful, like a BMW

"My nephew has one. Go on!"

'*Can you get a sign painter?"

' 'My brother. Go on!"

"Can you and your brother make this van look like one

of those BritRail catering vans that service the trains?"

Suddenly the old man broke into gales of laughter.

"Don't need to do that, laddie."

"Why not?"

"My brother-in-law is a dispatcher at Waterloo Station.

We'll ask him for a little loan!"


THIRTEEN

Carter paid off the cab just a few blocks from the

Thames and walked through the decaying sprawl of South-

wark. After two wrong turns he finally found Ihlbien

Street and numtrr 12.

The garage was in the rear, more a lean-to shanty than a

solid building. But inside everything was as Batrock said

it would

The BMW was a big, black with the key

in the ignition. Laid out carefully across the tank and seat

was a set of men's leathers, boots, and a visored helmet.

He found another set, slightly smaller. in the saddlebags.

Babcock and family were earning their money.

Carter stripped, stored his clothes in the empty saddle-

bag, and put on the leathers. He wheeled the machine from

the garage and pushed it about a block before firing it up.

Minutes later he was on Lambeth Road and heading

south. On the edge of the city he picked yp the Mll and

wound the BMW up to 110 miles hour. It was a dry,

star-filled night with little traffic other than slow-moving

u-ucks.

It seemed that •no time at all had passed when he

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zoomed through Harlow and crossed the M25 near Epping.

At Redbridge, where the Mll ended, he for cof-

fee.

What he was doing was far from kosher. ne instruc-

tions were specific: contact no one, wing it, report only to

Sir Phillip Avery or John Hutchins.

Well, instructions be damned. They went out the win-

dow with Sharon Purdue.

Carter had worked closely with Jonathan Hart-Davis of

M16 many times in the past. Theirs had been not only a

good working relationship, but the Killmaster also knew

that he had the old intelligence warhorse's friendship and

oust. If anyone could open doors and work a miracle or

two, it was Jonathan Hart-Davis.

And, Carter he would do it without asking too

many questions.

This was the reason for Carter's late-night ride to Hart-

Davis's country place outside Epsom. Because the Kill-

master wanted no one to know of the meeting, he had not

called M16 in London first. He had just assumed—because

it was Saturday, a weekend—that the man, like all Lon-

doners of his class, would be in the counüy.

Outside of Redbridge he caught the A24. Now it was a

straight shot south on an excellent, lightly traveled road.

Carter had the impulse to push the big machine to its

150mph top, but held it in check. With half the B)lice in

the world on the lookout for him, it was no time to be

arrested for speeding.

Just outside the village of Epsom he had to stop and

study a map. He had been to Hart-Davis's country place

once, years t*fore, but the maze of tiny, hedgerow-sided

lanes in the area could lose a local if he weren't careful.

At last he found what he hoped was the right lane and

he was off again. He passed open fields cultivated like

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children's blocks, farms with the moving shapes of cattle

and horses.

fien, about 2 hundred yards ahead. he spotted the two

stone pillars that marked the drive he remembered. A shin-

gle on one of the pillars pointed the way,

Carter cut the engine and rolled txtween them. When he

had glided as far as he could, he jumped off and pushed.

Near the house he pushed the BMW into the heavy

shadows of some trees and checked his position.

It was a million-to-one chance that they would have

Hart-Davis staked out, but by this time Carter knew he

could count on nothing.

Everything looked normal. ne house was three stories,

a farmhouse made over into mock Tudor. There were lights

burning on the first and second

He emerged from the trees and walked up the wide ave-

nue toward the house. There were two Carter rang

them both. The maid or housekeeper who answered was

narrow-eyed and the door only a few inches. Alarm

flashed through her eyes when she saw the ominous figure

in black leather.

what is it?"

"I'd like to see Mr. Hart-Davis," Caner said. Past the

woman, the hall was dark. A suit of armor and helmet

stood improbable sentry at the foot of a staircase.

"At this hour?"

"It's very important. I've just ridden down from Lon-

don."

Suddenly a tall, lean man with distinguished gay at

his temples appeared behind the woman. "What is it,

Louise..

Carter sighed with relief. "Jonathan, it's me."

The door was pushed open so that what light there was

fell across Carter's face. "Nick, what in God's name .. v"

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Carter slipped inside, his eyes moving from the man to

the woman with caution. The M16 man caught Carter's

meaning.

"It's all right, Louise."

The woman looked oddly at Carter but scurried away.

Both men watched her go, and then Hart-Davis turned to

the AXE agent.

"Now, what the hell are you doing down here?"

"It's a long story. But first, can your housekeeper be

trusted? don't want anyone to know I'm down here, let

alone in England."

"Lord, yes, man, she's tEen with me for twenty years."

"Your family?"

"They didn't come down this weekend."

Carter sagged against the wall. "Jonathan, as we so

crudely say in the States, I'm in deep shit."

ne other man chuckled. "Not surprising, for you. Sup-

we chat over a brandy?"

The long hall curved left and right, Square in its center,

a large framed picture of the Queen hung on the wall.

Carter followed Hart-Davis through an door. It was a

man's study, with heavy leather furniture, a battered desk

littered with pipes and tobacco tins, and an OERn

ban

Carter fell gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs

and Hart-Davis moved to the bar.

There was a small, cheery fire in the fireplace that lifted

Carter's spirits. Over the mantel were faded pictures of

husky young men with bony knees. In the front row of

each, a younger version of Han-Davis crouched with a

rugby football.

Han-Davis retumed with the drinks, passed one to

Caners and took the opposite chair. "Well," he said slowly.

"you wanted to see me. I'm listening."

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It was an hour later. ney had finished a second brandy

and Carter had just about wrapped it up. When he fell

silent at last, Jonathan Hart-Davis released a long breath as

if it were the only one he had taken in the last hour.

"Anyone but you, Nick, and I would call this whole

thing prerxhterous."

Carter n«ided with a wan smile. "I know. But now I'm

sure Cory Howard is telling the Üuth, and I'm sure Caro-

line Minor's findings directly to collusion."

"I've known Sir Charles Martin for twenty-five, thirty

years. It's hard for me to rationalize that he's tehind the

whole thing."

Carter shrugged. "There is a rx)ssibility that he isn't. It

could that Avery and Hutchins are just using him. That's

why I need the Hobbs-Nelson material from Portsmouth.

Will you help?'

It was an agonizing two minutes txfore the M16 man

rose and walked to his desk. He a and wrote for

another two minutes. Then he made a quick series of phone

calls. Then, taking a ring of keys and a map, he retumed to

the chair oppsite Carter.

"Here is written authorization for this Minor woman to

get into the complex. Once inside, the call I just made will

give her access to records with her own personal code. You

know, of course, that if they have anyone down there in

security, they'll all over you."

Carter nodded. "That's why need a place close by."

Hart-Davis spread a map of the south \oast out on the

table between them. "The Records complex is here, at

Southsea. My wife owns a little cottage on a small lake,

here, near Stoke. It's off the beaten path, and there are no

other houses for miles. Here are the keys. Take the map as

well."

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"Thank you, Jonathan. And Harold Jansen?"

155

just reached him at Oxford. He'll meet you at the

cottage at nc»n tomorrow with his equipment."

Caner flopped back in his chair. "Great. And there are a

few things you can find out for me when you get into your

office Monday morning. "

Using a white. red-tipped cane, Carter tap-tapped his

way down the platform at Paddington Station. nie mus-

tache, dark raincoat, smoked glasses, and wide-brimmed

hat had been the best he could do on short notice, but

any disguise was than none. lhere was no safe

way he could contact Caroline Minor, so the only way

to make sure she got safely on the train was an eyeball con-

tact.

He found a partially vacant bench across from the train's

only "A" sleeping car, and sat. In his hand a Stratford

ticket could be seen by anyone passing.

It was nine-thirty Beyond (he gates for the northbound

train, a long line was forming, mostly family groups with

bawling children. And then, out of the mass. he saw Caro-

line.

She was striding down the ramp with her head up,

checking her ticket against the numbers on the sides of the

coaches. She wore a blue and white dress, a navy cardigan,

and carried a single bag.

As she passed Carter. her eyes moved in brief recogni-

tion, but her head never turned. A lady going on holiday

without a care in the world, Carter thought. Good girl.

He eyeballed her into the coach and watched her

through the windows into her compartment. She had barely

disappeared when Caner spotted the tail. He was a stocky

little guy with a bull neck and wise, cynical eyes. He en-

red the coach and took a tour through, noting that Caro-

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line was in her compartment, At the other end he stepped

off and spoke to a tall, thin one in a trench coat.

Carter held his breath until the thin one nodded and

moved away.

There would be only one of them staying on the train.

The stocky one got back on and took a seat in the second

class coach ahead.

Carter rose and tapped his way to the very last coach on

the train, boarded, and took a seat.

Moments later the train jolted ahead. For the next fif-

teen minutes it rocked west through London. At the Ealing

Broadway station, Carter waited until everyone had

boarded and the doors were about to be closed trfore he

stepped off.

Still using the cane and adopting a faltenng step, he

made his way down the steps and through the parking area.

Babcock was parked on the street with the motor run-

ning. Caner dived in and the white van lurched ahead in-

stantly.

ney had scarcely hit the highway north before Carter

was in the back, pulling off the raincoat and dark trousers.

Beneath them he wore a pair of white pants and a white,

smocklike shirt with the green insignia of BritRail on the

left breast

Back in the front passenger seat, he lit a cigarette.

"Good show, Mr. Babcock. "

"lid say that, laddie," the old man chuckled.

"How's our time?"

"We should hit the Stratford station five minutes

before the lady."

They were waiting on the loading dock, the rear of the

van facing the trairi as it pulled in. Through the small panes

in the van's rear doors, Carter could see Caroline Minor

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sitting at a table directly by the kitchen door of the dining

car.

'Ihe sight brought a smile to his lips. The timing would

be perfect. Atx»ut five minutes outside Stratford they

would clear the first class passengers out of the dining car

and it to the rest of the train for lunch.

Horrfully, when the stocky man entered the car he

would assume that he had missed Caroline in the passage-

way returning to her compartment. Even if he didn't make

that assumption, it would another hour or so before an-

other stop was made and he could check her compartment

from the outside.

"Here we go, laddie!" Batw•ock said.

Carter threw the doors wide as the train ground to a halt.

Babcock was already out of the van, pounding on the

train's matching dc»r and shding the walkway out.

A gigantic man with a florid face dressed in cook's

whites stood in the opening.

" 'Ere, what's this?"

s Off-load, bread and ice cream," Babcock said, mount-

ing the walkway and waving a piece of paper in the man's

face.

"What ya say? We're not due 'til Birmingham."

"Change," Babcock barked, maneuvering the cook so

that his back was to the dining car. At the same time, he

was blocking the view of the salad chef with his own body.

Carter was already scooting past them all with a tray of

bread on his shoulder.

"What change, mate?" the chef insisted. "We got too

much as it is!"

Babcock shrugged. "Order out of the bakery, I s'pose,

too much. Gotta put the bleedin' stuff somewhere."

lhe argument continued as Carter returned for another

tray. Short-and-Stocky was on the platfom, smoking. He

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was turned away from the train. It was obvious that all he

was concemed with was the people getting off to check the

Bard on his home turfe

Fourth tray set. Out of the comer of his eye he saw a

flash of color as the dining car dcx»r orrned and quickly

closed. Caroline darted between the tall bakery trays.

"Next time," Carter hissed. "Ice cream!"

She r«ided.

Coming out of the vant Carter Ten one-gallon

containers of ice cream spewed across the kitchen

The cook and salad chef went bananas.

Babcock apologized profusely and Carter Caro-

line on the shoulder. "Go!"

She did, into the rear of the van like a streaking hum-

mingbird.

Carter came up behind Babcock, slapping him on the

shoulder. "Better get on with it, mate. We got two more

pickups, ya know."

"Righto, lad. Sorry about the mess, IX)YS!"

While the ccx)k screamed at his subordinate to 'Get this

bloody mess cleaned up!" Babccxk hit the starter. Carter

slammed the dcx»rs and the van pulled away.

Short-and-Suxky was just tossing away his cigarette

and pulling himself up into his coach. He never once

looked their way.

"How'd we do, laddie?"

"Like a Swiss watch. You should have tren an actor,

Mr. Babcock. How long?"

"There's a pullout up here, runs douv by the river.

About fifteen minutes."

'Good enough," Carter replied, and tumed to Caroline

Minor. "How ... ?"

He didn't have to ask. The lady had already pulled the

tarp off the BMW and emptied the saddlebags. At the mo-

KILLING GAMES


159

ment, she was in lacy bra and panties, pulling on the

leathers.

"Scared?" Carter asked, changing his question.

"Lor', no, I've never had so much bloody fun!" came

the laughing reply.


FOURTEEN

It was just after dusk when Carter roared off the A3023

at Stoke and barreled down a tiny lane. It was a narrow

secondary road, black macadam, patched and hump-

backed. Beside it were hilly fields and gnarled, brown-

leafed trees.

"Where are we going?" Caroline asked from her perch

behind him.

"It's called Laura's Pond," Carter called back over his

shoulder. "Belongs to the wife of a friend."

He had memorized the map, and now he spotted a nar-

row, rutted dirt lane. A mailtx)x beside it said Laura's

Pond..

He turned in. A mile up the road they crested a hill and

dipped down into a clearing carpeted with pine needles.

Carter glided to the side of the cottage and parked the

BMW in a gardening shed.

Together they walked around to the front dc»r.

"Isolated enough?" Caroline commented drily.

"That's the idea," Carter said, unlockfrig the door.

Inside, it was dark, dank and musty. Caroline immedi

ately went around windows, while Carter check

the kitchen. By the time he returned to the living room,

sweet breeze was wafting through the windows.

160

KILLING GAMES

161


161

"It's lovely, just like a honeymoon cottage," she said

with a grin.

Carter ignored that remark and opened the doors to the

bedrooms. "This one's yours. 'Ihe lady of the bouse is

about your size, if you want to change. Also, you'll need

something of hers to enter the complex tomorrow."

Caroline bathed while Carter whipped up a meal. ney

ate, and then took their coffee down to the edge of the

r»nd about fifty yards from the cottage.

He sat with his back to a tree. She dror:Bi down in the

pine needles beside him, a pair of black slacks taut over

her rounded hips.

Immediately, Caner launched into a detailed, moment-

by-moment recitation of the next morning's exercise.

When he was through he went over it all again.

"Of course. Really, I'm quite bright."

He grinned. "I know you are."

"Pretty, isn't it?" She threw a small stone into the pnd,

making circular, ever-widening ripples in the still water.

"Don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Not very romantic, are you."

"Too busy being worried."

"About what to do with what we find tomorrow if it's

what I think we'll find?"

"That's tomorrow."

Suddenly her hands reached out and drew Carter's head

ward hers. She kissed him. Her lips were soft and fra-

ant and clinging.

When he felt himself sinking. he broke it and stood.

'It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Caroline sighed and felt in step behind him. "Looks like

t's going to tr a long night tonight."

In the housé she moved away to her bedroom.

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162

'Good night."

"Good night."

Carter found the phone and direct-dialed the Pari

number given him by Cory Howard. He was twenty min-

utes ahead of the designated time, but Howard was the

and picked up.

"It's me. How're we doin'?"

"I've found him. He's staying in a fleabag over i

Montmartre, the Verdun. And guess why?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Carter replied.

'They tried for him, blew his pretty new Citroen all t

hell."

"And he lived through it?"

"He wasn't in it. His girl friend was taking the car ou

of the garage to meet him in front of his flat. ne gir

friend ended up all over the garage and Liard went under

ground. I had one hell of a time finding him."

"If he thinks it's his playmates, he might talk easier t

you."

"I'm hoping so. I'm going in tonight."

"Watch your back, Cory," Carter growled. 'They wan

everypne out of the picture. They'll be looking for him

well."

"Don't worry about that. Where are you?"

Carter gave him an update and the of the cot

tage.

"Let you know how I fare this fine night."

"You do that," Carter said.

"By the way," Howard added, "anytiing more on ou

little lass, Sharon Purdue?"

'Got a man working on it first thing in the morning."

"Got a feeling, Nick, she's in up to her pretty head

Later."

"Soon," Carter replied, and hung up.

"Was that Cory?"

KILLING GAMES

163


163

Carter tumed. She was in the doorway. He was sure

Laura Han-Davis's white Fignoir and negligee never

looked so good on Laura Hart-Davis.

"Yeah. He thinks he's on to Henri Liard. Between what

he can get from Liard and what you get in the morning, we

should nail it."

"If your computer man can make sense of it."

"Harold Jansen is the best in the business."

"Mind if I use the phone? My aunt in Scotland is going

to worried sick."

"Sure."

Carter moved past her into his bedroom. He to

the skin and lay on the in the dark without tuming

down the covers. He lay there for several minutes, but

sleep wouldn't come.

He heard the low murmur of her conversation through

the closed tkdrcx)rn door, and then the receiver hit the cra-

dle.

He waited to hear her dcx)r close. It didn't. Instead, his

orrned softly.

She stood in the doorway. The peignoir floated from her

hand. The moonlight was directly behind her, shining

through the negligee.

"I don't t*tieve you've got a damned thing on under

that," he groaned.

"I don't." A rustling sound and the negligee joined the

dropped EEignoir.

"Persistent, aren't you," he said.

"Is that what you call it?" She moved to the foot of the

t*d, then

'C'mere, dammit."

She floated to the bed and then down to his side. She

wound her arms around his neck and drew him close. 'Ihe

eagemess of her lips and fingers lit a blaze inside him. She

moved one silky-smooth leg close to his, and the familiar

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NICK CARTER

ache began throbbing in his groin.

"How long have you thought about this?" he asked,

closing one hand over her breast.

"Since you came to my flat. You didn't think I was

going to let something like this pass without getting it all,

did you, after months in stuffy Records?"

"Like I told you, it's going to a long day tomorrow."

In reply, she laughed and rolled upward to straddle his

body.

"I don't give a bloody damns as long as you make it a

long night tonight."

In the heat of sexual battle Carter thought he heard a

sound outside the cottage. But the desire steam-

ing from her body drove the thought from his mind.

A heavy mist had rolled all the way up to the hills of

Montmartre from the Seine. A block from the Hotel Ver-

dun Cory Howard stood in the shadows of a doorway, a

cigarette in his lips, its glow dimmed by a cupped hand.

He had been there for a half hour, and for the half hour

before that he had stood in the alley tEhind the hotel. Both

spots looked clear.

He had gotten Liard's room number with a phone call

during the shift of desk clerks, a lot of gobbledygook about

one room and then another and then the name that

Liard was using, Dupré.

It was a corner room, fourth floor. The lights had gone

out about twenty minutes earlier.

At last Howard buttoned the flap of hixtrench coat up to

his neck and walked slowly down the narrow street. At the

alley he darted in and picked up his pace. A fire escape ran

up the side of the hotel. At the first-floor platform he dis-

covered what he had already guessed.

The place was a firetrap. The windows were so painted

shut, they were impossible to open.

KILLING GAMES

165


165

He moved on up to the top floor and used the iron Iad-

der bolted to the side of the building to reach the roof.

Above the street there was a heavy breeze that blew

yellowed newspaper and other light debris from one end to

the other. As much by feel as by sight, he moved away

from the stone paralkt guarding the flat roof. To his right,

about dead center in the roof, was a chimney stack. Just on

the other side of it he found the trap leading down.

A short flight of wooden stairs t'»k him to a storage

room. Several aprons hung by the door, as well as a white

cupboard. He pulled the handle. The d'X)rs were locked.

He put a knee against the wall and heaved. The doors

swung orrn. lhe tongue of the lock was still out, but ren-

dered useless by a forgotten bolt. Passkeys, one for each

floor and a master linen room key, hung on nails inside.

Howard took the key for the fourth floor and one of the

masters. The latter opened the door to the room he was in.

The hall was empty and barely lit by a low-watt bulb.

He used the stairs, avoiding the center treads that creaked.

and moved down co the fourth floor. Using the butt of his

Walther, he popped the bulb, putting the comdor into inky

darkness.

At Liard's door he crouched and listened. From the

other side came a wheezing sound, interrupted now and

then by a cough. Howard couldn't sure, but the sounds

were very much like a knocked-out drunk gasping for air in

his sleep.

Cautiously, he inserted and turned the key. He lay on his

belly and opened the door only far enough to see into the

Henri Liard lay on his back in the middle of a messy

bed. He was fully clothed. Beside the bed on the floor

were two brandy tx)ttles, one empty, the other nearly so.

Howard slithered into the room. closing the door softly

behind him. As he wriggled across the floor, he took a pair

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NICK CARTER

of handcuffs from his pxxket and pulled his tie free.

Liard was sprawled like an X. In seconds one wrist was

handcuffed to one side of the and his other wrist was

tied to the headboard. When this was done. Howard

the contents of a water pitcher into the man's face and sat

on the rail.

He came out of it slowly, sputtering, until he saw the

figure on the t*d.

"No! Oh, dear God, no! Why? ... I have done every-

thing you asked .. ."

'Calm down, Henri." Howard lit a cigarette, holding

the flame long enough so the other man could see his face.

Liard stopped struggling to free himself, and

"Howard, you—

"Did you think I was dead by now, Henri? No matter. If

I .can find you, they can. It's only a matter of time."

"What do you want?"

"Information. Lots."

"No! Mon Dieu! They'll kill me!"

"You damned fool, they'll kill you anyway. They al-

ready tried once."

Suddenly Henri Liard could take no more. The good life

he had envisioned from his treachery had become a night-

mare. His whole body trembled, and then he began to

whimper. Seconds later he was weeping openly.

Howard was unmoved. He sat, quietly smoking his cig-

arette, until it was a butt that he dropped to the floor and

ground out with his foot.

"l can get you out of here, Henri, andYrobably to Por-

tugal or South America. I'm sure you've got funds stashed

to live on once you get there."

ne crying tapered off. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah. But I won't do it for nothing,"

Liard's eyes 01xned wide and his mood shifted. "What

do you want to know?"


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KILLING GAMES

"Everything. You fingered us, didn't you?"

A hard swallow. "Yes."

"Who?"

167

don•t know, swear it. only spoke to them on the

telephone. It was always a man or a woman."

"Accents?"

"British. The call was always to an exchange in Lon-

don, a dead number routed through. The man's voice was

low, raspy, very hard to understand."

Wolf Longbone, Howard thought. "And the woman?"

Liard shrugged. "A woman's voice, British. What

else?"

"How were you recruited?"

"A telephone call, years ago, right after I went with

StarFire. It was the same woman. We met in a Geneva

hotel I walked in, there was a lamp in my face, she

was in the darkness. I never saw her, but it was the same

woman. I recognized the voice."

'Good, Henri. Now, trsides fingering me and getting

Longchamp blown to hell, what else have you done for

Howard lit another cigarette and managed to keep his

face calm as it out of Liard.

It was hard.

Liard had tren privy to almost all of StarFire's dealings:

ew mineral finds, potential lease purchases, dirt on for-

•gn leaders in Third-World countries they wanted to Frne-

te, even industrial espionage StarFire had gleaned from

eir

All of this had tEen passed on to London.

My, my, Howard thought. If they had a man like Liard in

very major mining and precious metal refinery conglom-

rate in the world, they could bring the world to its indus-

ial knees!

He ground out the second butt. "Why do you think they

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NICK CARTER

decided to dump you, Henri?"

ne man's face paled even more and the twitching in his

face and txxiy returned. "You'll help me get away?"

will."

"StarFire was taken over by a Geneva company, Hol-

derstraf. I went into the computers and started digging. I

traced ownership back and found other companies they

have taken over."

"Like they did StarFire?" Howard asked.

Liard ncxided. "For some time, we've had a key man in

Geneva. He works for the govemment, in the registration

office for foreign corporations. "

"He could trace the lineage tEtween companies?"

"Yes. I have it all. in my briefcase in the closet."

Howard slid from the bed and got thebriefcase, lifting

out the contents. It was eighty pages of compute

printout. He only had to l*ruse a third of it to know that, in

the hands of a smart intelligence analyst in international

business, the printouts could tell the whole story and prob-

ably reveal narnes.

Howard put the printouts back in the briefcase, lock

it, and faced Liard. emey caught you snooping?"

Another long swallow. "Yes."

"You were going to blackmail them for a bigger slice o

the pie."

"No. It was only insurance e"

"Merde, Henri. But no matter, let's get out of here."

As he untied the wrist attached to the headboard, How

ard asked casually, "You said you alwaysscalled London?"

"Yes, always."

"What was the nurnl*r?"

"Four, four, nine, eight, eleven."

Howard froze,' a chill raising the hair on the back of hi

head.

KILLING GAMES

169


KILLING GAMES

169

'Ihe nurntrr. A contact numtkr. A number he knew so

well. Had used so often himself.

Jn a trance, he moved around the bed toward the hand-

cuffed wrist.

He never made it.

There was the single reverberating thud of bone and

muscle against wood, and the door shattered inward.

Three of them, two men in front and a woman backup.

The men came through first and dropped to their knees. In

a split second they had positions, and the high-caliber si-

lenced automatics in their hands started spitting flame.

One man was firing point-blank at a paralyzed Henri

Liard on the bed. The second man was leveling at Cory

Howard.

They both fired at the same time. Howard felt a burning

sensation inside his left leg too near his crotch for comfort.

It spun him around and slammed him against the wall,

knocking the Walther from his grasp.

His shot had hit home, dead center chest. The shooter's

body had fallen backward into the woman's legs, knocking

her to the floor.

The second man was jamming a fresh clip into his auto-

matic.

Howard had no time to paw for the Walther. He ran

fonvard and threw himself at the shooter.

His right hand was taut over his left shoulder. Like a

snake it moved out, his elbow straightening, the muscles in

his forearm contracting.

His target was the promontory of the larynx atx)ve the

man's Adam's apple.

The blade of his hand struck with a dull thud. It

smashed the thyroid cartilage through the wall of the man's

throat, killing him instantly.

ne txx:ly went down with Howard on top of it.

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NICK CARTER

He sensed, and then saw, that the woman had extracted

herself from the first shcx.)ter and gotten to her feet. With-

out pausing in his movement, Howard rolled the dead man

over him.

Even as the slugs from the woman's gun slammed into

the corpse, Howard was painfully pushing his shield to-

ward her.

Then he threw the lifeless, blo«xiy body at her and fol-

lowed.

She the dead missile, but didn't bring the

gun up fast enough to stop the live one.

He came up from his crouch, bringing his fingertips

together and ramming them swiftly up into her neck. Her

feet left the floor with the force of the blow that separated

her skull from her spinal cord.

Howard didn't even check. He knew all three of them

were dead.

lhe slug had riPIEd the hell out of his inside thigh. He

would make it if he didn't lose t(X) much

In the bathroom, he stopped the flow with a washcloth

and two towels. His trench coat would cover the mess until

the towels were saturated and the started running

down his leg.

Back in the bedroom, one glance told him Henri Liard

would never cry again. The had emptied a whol

magazine in Liard, starting at his head and ending at hi

groin.

Howard grabbed the briefcase, found his Walther, an

hit the stairs. With his leg, there wouw be no going u

over the rcx)f. He went down, taking the steps three at

time, dragging the leg behind him.

The only real noise had been the shot from his unsi

lenced Walther. But it was enough. He heard

ping open and running feet.

KILLING GAMES


171

The night clerk in the lobby was frantically dialing the

phone when Howard hit the bottom step.

Howard put a slug in the wall a foot from his head. The

phone went one way, the man the other, out of sight.

The four blocks to his car seemed to an hour:

Thankfully, the streets hadn't come alive with the new day

as yet.

He knew a safe doctor in Pigalle, less than a mile Nway.

He would phone from there.

He managed to get the car started and moving. A film

was starting to cover his eyes, so the streetlights all came

together. Out the driver's side window he his

off the spire of Sacré-Coeur.

It worked. Minutes later he was passing the gaudy

neons of Pigalle. Minutes after that he went around the

Place de la Chapelle and down St.-Denis. At Rue Cail he

turned left and jolted to a stop in front of number 47 with

two wheels on the curb.

He looked down. In the illumination of the streetlight

through the windshield he could see his lap, all blood down

to his knees.

Dragging his leg and clutching the briefcase, he made

it up the steps. The was answered on the third ring. Dr.

Valjean Reschard was used to late-night callers.

"Monsieur le docteur, I h0iE you me

"Monsieur Howard.. i"

"A telephone... I need your-—

It was all he got out. He fainted in the dcrtor's arms.


FIFTEEN

The building was unobtrusive, sitting in the center of

others much like it on Queen Street up against the vastness

of Her Majesty's vast Portsmouth naval base. One word

was engraved in the stone above the door: MARITIME.

What went on in the four floors above ground had noth-

ing to do with the three floors below ground, where all the

vast daily input from foreign intelligence, M16, was stored.

Carter stood at the bar of a small pub, the Port Sea,

across the street, An hour earlier he had let Caroline Minor

off at a public restroom in Victoria Park four blocks away.

Inside, she had changed from the black leathers into a

green dress and light jacket. The leathers were now in the

saddlebags of the BMW parked in front of the pub, and

Caroline was in the building.

"Another, sir?"

"Yes, please, and do you have a public phone?"

"In the rear, right beside the men's 100."

"Thanks."

Carter camed his beer to the rear of the pub and fed

coins into the phone. The phone rang in Jonathan Hart.

Davis's private office only once.

"Central

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KILLING GAMES

"Hart-Davis, please."

173

"One moment." She was gone two. "Who's calling,

'Carter."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Caner. There are two messages' here for

you. One, Purdue clean, have contacted. Will cooperate.

Subject is under constant surveillance."

"And the second?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. In checking other items of our

conversation I ran across odd obstacles. Will call back if

you call first."

"Your boss didn't say what the 'odd obstacles' were, did

"No, sir. He's still down in the Records computer room.

Do you have a number?"

Carter gave her the pay phone number. 'Tell him to ask

for Smiley, but I I won't be here very much longer."

He hung up and went back to the bar.

Fifteen minutes later he saw a flash of green at the

and then she was on the street.

Carter waved the bartender over. "Do me a favor, mate.

Name's Smiley. If I get a can on your pay phone, tell my

friend that I've gone back to the rx}nd."

do it."

By the time Carter reached the BMW, Caroline Minor

was just turning into Victoria Park. He cranked up and

followed.

She was waiting at the 100. Carter pulled up, let the

machine idle, and handed her the leathers.

"Nick..."

He followed her stare over his shoulder. Two men in a

small sedan had pulled into the street from the side of the

maritime buildings. One of them pinted at Carter and the

woman and trgan frantically waving.

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NICK CARTER

"Get on!" Carter hissed.

Caroline drew her skirt to her hips and swung one leg

over the seat. The instant Carter felt her arms slide around

his middle he released the clutch and the B)werful machine

lurched forward.

'Vlhey're coming after us!" Caroline said when they hit

the street. "Fast!"

Carter checked the sideview mirror. Ihe sedan was

gaining rapidly.

'*That won't last," he growled.

He leaned the machine over until their knees were prac-

tically on the ground. Behind him he heard the scream of

tires. When he righted, he saw the sedan backing up franti-

cally to make the turn.

It was the last he saw of them. Four turns later he

headed back to the harbor and the A3.

Dr. Harold Jansen was definitely a lower-case-thk per-

son, the kind who becomes invisible when not speaking.

Behind inch-thick glasses he had the washed-out look of an

underdeveloped photograph.

But he was a genius.

He'had been waiting in the cottage when they arrived,

his equipment all set up.

During his tenure at M16, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson ha

worked on six "games." Caroline had brought the discs fo

all six. All but one of the "games" had tEen completed.

"It has to be this unfinished one," Caroline said.

"Figures," Carter agreed. "Precious meals."

Jansen went to work, with Caroline over his shoulder

Every few minutes she would nervously ask, "Can yo

finish it?"

'Ihe answer was always the same. "I'm sure of it. Com

puter science has come a long way since this young m

devised it."


175

lhe phone rang. Caroline dived for it, but Carter beat

her to it.

"Yeah, Carter here." In the comer of his eye he saw her

move into the

' 'Nick, it's me ... " Carter could hear the strain in How-

ard's voice.

"What Cory?"

"They got Liard and put a slug in me. I screwed up,

must have led them right to him. But I got the Nick.

And that's not all."

"Yeah?"

"Liard's contacts were a man and woman in London.

NO doubt the man was Longt»ne

"We knew that already," Carter said.

"Yeah. But the woman, Nick ... recognized the con-

tact numlxr. Nick, it's Caroline, Caroline Minor..

Ihe Killmaster felt the hard muzzle just tæhind his right

ear, and then heard the low whiqrr. "Turn around,

slowly."

He did. She had an earplug in one ear with a tiny an-

tenna sprouting from it. In her left hand was a powerful

walkie-talkie. And in her right hand was a Webley .45 au-

tomatic. Ihe hand holding it was steady, r»inted right at

Carter's gut.

"Nick? Nick, are you still there?"

"Yeah, Cory, I'm still here."

"It's Caroline, Nick. She must have just been careless

and given me the same contact number to use that she gave

Liard and God knows how many others."

"Ask him where he is," she hissed.

Calmly, Carter hung up the phone.

"That's too bad," she sighed, bnnging up the walkie.

"Wolf, are you there?"

"Yes. We'll have to move at once, just in case. I'm

coming in."

176

NICK CARTER


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NICK CARTER

"There were two men in a dark sedan following us o

the motorcycle."

"I know," said the raspy voice over the walkie. "W

intercepted them on the road. They are now in the pond."

"Ihe walkie clicked off and Carter's hands balled in

fists. He tensed, ready to spring.

"I wouldn't," Caroline said icily. "From this distance

could empty the clip before you get to me."

She was right and the Killmaster knew it. He forced th

added adrenaline from his body.

"Miss, just what in God's name is going on?" It w

Jansen, still sitting at his computer.

"Shut up, old man, and start breaking down your equip

ment. You're going to finish the game somewhere else."

"I don't suppose you have an aunt in Scotland," Carte

said drily.

"No."

"And you're not on holiday."

am on a long leave of absence. So long that I doub

that I'll ever return to musty Records. You were a wonder

ful coincidence, Carter. Without Cory making his silly ex

tortion demand on Sir Charles, and you tring brought in

we might never have gotten the rest of Hobbs-Nelson'

little game."

The rear door (pled behind Carter. The woman nod

ded, and hands bent his arms up his back

Then a damp cloth was pressed to his face and he fel

his knees turn to water

The room was stark, with paint-rreling walls, d

high beams, and a rugless floor. Blankets were piled neatl

on the foot of the cot where he lay, and there was a s

table and two chairs.

All this came to Carter as he slowly came awake.

There were two doors. One was ajar. Through it h

KILLING G


177

could see a bathroom. Something he desirrately needed.

He half walked, half crawled until he reached the tx)wl.

Nothing came up, no matter how hard he tried. But the

pit of his stomach still felt as though it held seven helpings

of very hot and very bad Mexican chili.

He turned on the faucet, got it ice cold, and drank and

drank from his hands.

That worked. The water came right back up, and along

with it the feeling that he was dying. More cold water, this

time over his head, and he was able to walk back into the

room and check the rest of it out.

There was a tall arrnoire with drawers. Empty.

He up at the single window. It was glass, iron

bars, and then shutters, The heavy grillwork made the

room as secure as a cell.

He checked the door. It was cut in lateral planks, inches

thick and joined on the outside. Short of battering down

two or three hundred pounds of solid walnut, there was no

way out of the room through the door.

Carter was about to upend the cot and check out the

exterior, when a key hit the lock. The opened and

Caroline Minor came in can-ying a tray of food. Right be-

hind her was 250 pounds of bull mastiff sporting a machine

pistol. Carter guessed that was Wolf Lnngt»ne. He was

sure when the man spoke.

"Food, wine, eat. It will keep you alive a little longer."

e laugh that followed the words sounded like the wheeze

f a ruptured

"Where are we?" Carter asked, holding his seething

ger and showing far more calm than he felt.

"Scotland," the woman replied. "Dr. Jansen is coming

ong quite nicely. By tomorrow we should have it

l."

"Wonderful, I'm glad for you. Could I have a ciga-

tte?"

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NICK CARTER

"Of course, but you'll have to smoke it while we are i

the rcx)tn."

Carter smiled, accepting the cigarette and pouring som

wine. It was all his stomach could handle.

"Just what will you have 'all' of?'

The two of them exchanged looks. The mastif

shrugged. The woman lit a cigarette for herself and too

one of the chairs.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out for yourself.

few years ago, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson came up with

game to first subvert and then control the governments o

ninety percent Of the Third-World countries' economie

through minerals and precious metals. Oil, gold, uraniu

are all valuable, but without the precious metals for in

dustry, worldwide business would grind to a halt."

Carter nodded. "I've already figured that much out."

"Wolf was doing research for Hobbs-Nelson. He ale

me to the game. I began lifting his research and prognosti

cations and sending them to my surkriors."

Carter's head came up alertly. "Your superiors?"

Her laugh was jamng. *'Ah, I see you höe realize

very little. have been a rising star in the KGB since I w

seventeen years old, Carter, and saw my father die of blac

lung and my mother scrub the homes that I could ne

enter."

Carter shook his head. "I've heard all that crap befo

What about you, Wolfie? Your old man have black lung?"

The woman answered for him. "No, Wolf is only

product of our Western society. His drivbis greed."

lhe mastiff nodded and showed a gold tooth in a smile

"My superiors saw potential in Hobbs-Nelson's gam

but for obvious reasons it could not Soviet-impl

mented."

"So you had Sir Charies Martin implement it."

KILLING GAMES

179


179

"Sir Charles was intrigued with the plan. Once again,

greed. •mat same greed had already pushed him into our

tent."

Caner pured more wine. "Are you telling me you con-

Sir Charles's wealth?"

"From the beginning," she admitted with a smug smile.

"However, Hobbs-Nelson never got over his anger at M16

turning down his brainchild. He was going to take the final

game to the Americans."

"so Wolfie killed him." ne mastiff grinned even more.

He had skin like an elephant. "How did Howard and I get

into all this?"

S Coincidence, pure coincidence. We had given up any

chance of getting our hands on the final two phases of the

game, because the variables and Hobbs-Nelson's conclu-

sions were in Portsmouth where we couldn't get at them.

We had gone as far as we could go. But then Cory Howard

sent his extortion demand and contacted me. It was all

made to order if I could get Cory or the agent sent after

him to get me into Portsmouth Records."

Carter sat back with a sigh and mashed out the tasteless

cigarette. "Which I so conveniently did."

"To my undying gratitude," Caroline said with a smile,

standing and moving to the door.

"One big flaw," Carter said. "I've told Jonathan Hart-

Davis everything. My guess is he found out something

about you. Those two men were chasing you in Ports-

mouth."

"Perhaps," she said. "But by tomorrow night it will

make no difference. I have already sent two coded mes-

sages to Sir Phillip Avery and your CIA man, John Hut-

hins, in your name. Tomorrow night you will meet with

em and all three of you will die. Proof will be found that

t was Sir Phillip and Hutchins who planned all this to

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NICK CARTER

further their careers. You, Carter, will die a hero for uncov

ering their plot. Hart-Davis may rant all he wants. No on

will believe him in the light of what will be found, and

will be his word against a powerful and wealthy patriot,

Charles Martin."

Carter pured the last of the wine. "And I suprx)se yo

go to Moscow?"

"At last."

She said it with her head high, her lips parted, and

odd, gleaming light in her eyes.

Carter felt sick to his stomach again.

"What about Cory Howard?"

"He's nmning, but he'll caught. With you go

Carter, he has no one left to call." She moved to the d

and paused. "By the way, there is no way you could get

of this room. But even if you could, there are two ve

nasty Dotrrmans prowling the grounds."

The two of them left and Carter threw up again in th

bathroom.


SIXTEEN

Carter ate only because he knew he had to keep his

mental and phystcal strength as close to as B'ssible.

But it was a strain. Whatever they had knocked him out

with had also created a longer term debilitating effect than

just sleep.

He surveyed his situation. He was in Scotland and, ten

to one, he was probably in a desolate area of Scotland.

They had brought Harold Jansen along and were at that

moment forcing him to fill in the gaps of Anthony Hobbs-

Nelson's deadly ecM10mic game.

nat was the key

Once the old man did his job and gave them the final

guidelines they needed, the waiting would be over. Caner

guessed that Jansen would meet with an "auto accident" to

further confuse Jonathan Hart-Davis and the M16 boys.

It was neat. Too neat,

The fact that the KGB was involved in the mess through

Caroline Minor was a monkey wrench the Killmaster had

not counted on, had not even taken into consideration. He

cursed himself for that, but there was a bit of consolation

in the fact that much of what had occurred was, as Minor

herself had said, pure coincidence.

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NICK CARTER

But it was coincidence that had worked in the woman's

—and her Moscow superiors'—favor.

Now he knew what he had to do. The question was,

could he do it... and do it in time.

They had emptied his ixxkets, even taken his shoes. He

hadn't so much as a nail file to use as a lever or digging

tool. Though, God knew, it would take a jackhammer to

dig through concrete and stone a foot thick.

Upending the cot, he crawled atop it to the window.

Once there, he the two sides of the window inward

and reached through the iron grillwork. The latch on the

shutters was tricky, but he managed to get it The

shutters swung wide and he pushed his face against the

grill to recon the exterior.

Directly beneath him, a stone B)rtico over a court-

yard. ne courtyard spread left and right, and led to a

graveled drive that ended in two huge wrought-iron gates.

Spreading each way from the gates as far as he could see

was a thick stone wall. Carter guessed it went all around

the estate.

If he could get out, how many were in the house tBide

Caroline Minor and Wolf Longbone? And were the

armed guards patrolling inside the walls along with th

dogs?

From the slanted across the courtyard and th

wall, it looked as though every light in the mansion spill

from windows. There were no searchlights outside, bu

light spilling through those windows from the inside woul

serve to illuminate any runner.

He checked the casement around the grillwork: wrough

inn, embedded deep in the stone enclosure.

Dropping from the cot, he got the fork they had left hi

to eat with. Back on top of the cot, he scratched at

cement around the bars with the prongs of the fork. I


183

cmmbled. Ihe cement was old, very old, and had become

brittle.

But, nevertheless, it would take hours with only the

fork, and that tool wouldn't last.

Again he checked the door. Not a hinge was visible. All

were set on the inside of the jamb. The lcrk itself had been

inset inside the dcxyr. There were no screws to work on.

For several seconds he stood in the center of the room,

willing his mind to evaluate any possible weakness in his

prison.

There was only one.

But how?

Getting through the the flCK)r, or the ceiling was a

job for a man doing life plus twenty

The window was his only chance.

Quickly, a plan formulated in his mind. It would make

noise. but if it worked, he would through the window

before they could move against him.

He went to work on the cot after pulling the mattress

from it. Canvas-covered wooden mattress supports.

Quickly, he riPIEd it off. The sides were sturdy, inch-thick

planks, sending his spirits soaring. The ends were mitered

and secured with screws.

He tore a strip from his shirttail and wraprrd it around

the fork until it became a handle. Then he went to work on

the screws.

It was a slow, agonizing process, but one by one he got

them out. He broke the glue on the comer wedges and

extracted the two side planks.

Bound together, they would make one hell of a lever.

Sweating, he tore the blankets into strips. These he used

to tightly bind the two side planks together so the stress

would always be on both of them together.

nen he set to work on the fork, honing it against the

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NICK CARTER

stone base of the wall. This, too, was slow, but patience

and bleeding hands soon paid off

Finally the handle edge of the fork was sharp enough to

cut the canvas into strips. From these he made a sling that

went around his butt and his shoulders across the upper,

stronger part of his back. When the sling was tied together

in front of him, there was still a long tail to tie to the grill.

Then he began to whittle on the ends of the planks,

sharrpning them. This, too, took an eternity. The wood

was stubbornly hard and he had to stop every few minutes

to rehone his fork/knife. All of this broken by trips to the

door to make sure there were no footsteps in the corridor.

It was the first faint gray light of dawn and his knuckle

were bleeding and skinless when he finally had a point h

was satisfied with.

He dragged the table over to the window and, standin

on top of it, went to work with the sharp end of the fork.

Surprisingly, it was only minutes until he had enough o

the cement away so he could get the sharp end o

the plank in the crevice.

Using it carefully, he IX)ked, probed, and chipped awa

until the plank passed easily between the grill and the case

ment.

Ignoring the pain in his bleeding hands, he strung th

canvas tail of the sling through the bars, back and forth

until the pull would equally distributed.

Despite the need for haste. he his time choosing

point for leverage with the bound planks. With the noise h

would make, he would have time for luck

three—strong wrenches at the most.

He made a final check.

The planks were in place and they hardly bent fro

pressure.

Using all the strength in his body, he tested the sling

KILLING GAMES

185


185

•me grill actually gave a little from just that amount of

pressure.

The fork, now razor sharp, was in his back pocket.

"Okay, genius," he said aloud, "let's see how much

physics you remembered."

He a deep breath and wrenched, twice. He levered

with his arms and pulled with all his might until every

muscle ached with the strain.

In the quiet dawn, the noise of the grill pulling from the

stone was sudden and loud.

He paused, getting his wind and renewing the strength

in his aching muscles.

ne grill was a third free. It had bit deeply into the

planks, but the wood was holding.

He wrenched again,

Over the clatter as he heaved, he heard running feet

outside the door.

The grill sagged, the two horizontal bars its only sup-

ports. Jerking out the planks, he battered the grill with the

butte

"C'mon, dammit!"

It worked.

The grill fell to the floor. He cut himself free of the

sling and, carrying the planks, hoisted himself to the sill.

He crouched there on his heels, framed in the window.

Behind him he heard a key in the door. Below him, the

barking of the two Dobermans and running feet accompa-

nied by shouts.

The portico roof was six feet below. Carter dropped

lightly, hoping he wouldn't break an ankle.

He didn't, and he was off and running toward the front

of the house.

"He's out! There he is!"

lhe chatter of a machine pistol was simultaneous with

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NICK CARTER

the chipping away at the stone of a chimney just to his left.

Carter ignored it leaped up to the main roofl Every

thing now was mass confusion, noise, and chaos A

the front edge of the main roof, shielded from view of th

courtyard, he swung the planks as hard as he could over hi

head and heaved.

They lit on top of the outer wall, tx)unced, and wen

over.

"He's over the wall!"

' 'Get the gates, bring the dogs!"

Carter crouched down long enough to see two men a

the gates. Both had Mauser machine pistols slung to thei

sides with leather straps. One held the leashes of two hug

Dobermans.

From the direction of the window he had just exited h

could hear Longbone's raspy voice directing the search.

Toward the center of the roof, he saw a small woode

enclosure and ran for it. There was a wooden hatch inside

He reached for the steel ring and tugged. If there was a bol

or padlock on the other side, he was finished.

It gave.

Pushing the heel of his hand under the hatch cover, h

shoved. It moved, noisily, but moved. Only its weight hel

it down.

In front of the house they still ran around, shouting en

couragement to one another. Carter crawled to the blin

side of the hatch. He turned on his back and used bo

hands to heave up the cover. nen he propped it and pee

cautiously into the hole. The corridor yas a dozen fee

below. He could see the caqrting in the dim light from th

open door of his own room. He took the weight of th

hatch on his shoulder and swung his legs over the hole. F

a second he hung by one hand, using head and free arm

prop the cover again. Then he dropped to the floor.

KILLING GAMES


187

He inched along to the head of the staircase. In front of

the open door, lights burned in the hall. Shouts and the

noise of running men came from all around the house now.

Past the white glare of the hall, the shadows of the.passage

were a refuge. With luck, all of them would in the

grounds. It was a chance he had to take.

He went down one flight. Nothing. Another. Still noth-

ing.

Then he was on the ground floor in a long, brightly lit

hallway loaded with doors. One was open.

Cautiously, he peered in. It was a massive library with a

huge stone fireplace, Atk)ve the mantel were two shotguns

in a rack.

Caner fairly dived for them. Neither was loaded.

"Shit, shit, shit," he hissed, and charged to the end of

the room where a trhemoth desk squatted in front of a pair

of French dcors.

One by one, he yanked open the drawers. In the very

last one he found a yellow and red box of ammunition.

There were two shells inside. Better than nothing, he

decided, and loaded one of the shotguns.

Outside the French doors, a stone r»rch ran around to

another room much like the one he was in. Ihrough the

French doors of the other room, Carter saw Harold Jansen

sitting at a desk with his equipment trfore him. He was

sweating like a pig and glancing back and forth from his

computer screen to a guard who over him with a

machine pistol.

Carter wanted that machine pistol.

He glided out to the balcony on stocking feet and made

his way around.

Just as he was reaching for the knob, Jansen looked up.

He saw Caner and his eyes went wide.

lhe guard saw the change in the old man's face and

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NICK CARTER

whirled, bringing the machine pistol up.

lhe Killmaster fired the shotgun, both barrels.

Glass, fragments, and steel Fllets burst into th

room. most of the stuff ending up in the guard's body.

Carter was on him in a second. He slung the machin

pistol's leather strap over his shoulder and turned to Jan

sen.

"HOW

"He's d-dead," the old man stuttered.

"Besides him, dammit!"

'*The woman and three others."

"You're sure?"

"Y-y-yes. Ihey've all been in and out of here all night.

"Come on!"

Carter hustled him across the room and shoved him int

a closet.

"Stay there, don't move, and don't make a sound."

"You'll come back for me, won't you?"

"God willing and the creek don't rise."

He slammed the door and headed for the one leading t

the hall. There were stairs front and back. He headed up.

It was a sure thing the sound of the shotgun would brin

them back inside.

He sprinted the length of the house to the front stair

case. Just as he hit it, he heard the front door open and the

the sound of quietly padding feet on the carpet.

He waited until they were some distance down the hall

and then padded down the stairs himself.

They were moving toward the room had just left, on

on each side of the hall, their backs to him.

"Here!" Carter shouted.

ney whirled to face him, making themselves a

target.

Caner sprayed back and forth, cutting both of the

practically in half.

KILLING GAMES

189


189

The machine pistol clicked on empty. He threw it away

and staned forward to get one of theirs, when he sensed

movement on the stairs to his right.

He droprrd to his belly and rolled just as Longbone's

rifle fired. The slug hit the carpet inches from Carter's face

and he came up with a shoulder in the man's gut.

There was a raspy grunt and the rifle hit the floor.

Carter made the mistake of going for the rifle instead of

Longbone.

Like a human battering ram, the big man shot his head

into Carter's midriff, putting all the strength of his back

and legs into the suicidal plunge. Its full force struck with

deadly power, and Carter went back against the wall with

the crashing and breaking of a table, his head smashing

against the wall so hard that his mind went dead and his

vision shorted out.

He rolled just in time to avoid the big fist that came out

of the air aimed at his face, and gathered his legs to lash

out at LorÜ)ne's knees. He caught the man too low to

cripple him, but felt his feet grate across a kneecap, know-

ing it would cause pain sufficient to cramp the other man's

style for a moment.

Carter remained on the floor. From there he could roll

from any blow with more facility than if he were standing

up, and cxldly, Longbone was more vulnerable than he, if

he attacked.

He tightened his muscles for a roll that would allow him

to get up trfore came to grips with him.

He made the roll, but not quite in time. The big man

was in midair, hands out like claws to gouge for Carter's

eyes, but he adjusted as he fell, throwing one long leg out

to entrap the smaller man. Lightning reflexes, Carter rec-

ognized, and he lifted his own foot to catch Longbone's

belly or crotch.

There was a numbing weight on his leg, and a painful

190


190 (202 of 212) — + 110%


190 NICK CARTER wrench at his knee, but Longhorn's breath came out in a groaning mar. and he fell like a sack of sand. Carter was on him in an instant. All in one movement he pulled the honed fork from his back pocket and plunged it through the big man's right eye into the brain. Caroline Minor. He saw her in the doorway at the other end of the hall. The Webley in her hand exploded. but the slug went wild. Even a marksman couldn't hit a moving target at that dis-tance. She disappeared. Carter ran, picking up a machine pistol on the way. At the end of the hall he heard a roaring engine. and reversed. Out the front door, he took all six steps in one leap and ran for the gate. He slammed it closed just in time to stop the rush of the two dogs toward him from the woods out-side the wall. Then he ruined just as a big Mercedes lurched around the comer from the courtyard. The twin headlights hit Carter and the machine pistol. He could barely see her eyes behind the windshield. But he could see enough. She was going through him. Or she was going to try. He was thankful that the shanered windshield of the Mercedes obscured his view, so that he never saw the sl from his machine pistol take off her head.

T


SEVENTEEN

Greed. Carter sat in Sir Charles Martin's massive great room listening to it chapter and verse. Caroline Minor had come to him when she was Sir Phil. lip Avery's assistant. She had offered him tidbits that would expand his empire. When he was well hooked. she had put him together with Army in person. Through her, Sir Charles was able to pass selective Soviet secrets that took Avery and, in tom, Hutchins, in. By then Sir Charles knew about Caroline Minor's Mos-cow ties. But it was too late. Army and Hutchins didn't know, but their greed for power in their own agencies made them do whatever Sir Charles asked. And by that time Caroline Minor controlled Sir Charles completely. Even to far as to getting her transferred to Records, when her ac-cess to material would be ten times greater. When the Hobbs-Nelson game came along. it was her Chance for the grand coup. As the broken old man droned on, Carter looked around the room. A stenographer was taking it all down. Beside her was Jonathan Han-Davis, his face a mask.

191

192 NICK CARTER


192 1 (204 01212) — + 110%

192 NICK CARTER In a chair behind him, Sharon Purdue sat, her eyes va-cant. Now and then she glanced up at Carter. But when he would meet her gaze she would look away It wasn't really her (auk. She just blindly did what she was told. Caroline Minor wanted a progress report on Carter and Howard, and Sharon gave it through Avery, and, in tum, Sir Charles. Tough, Carter thought. An agent must have logic and common sense, not blind faith. In a comer, near the bar where he could keep refilling his glass, Cory Howard steed on crutches. Caner could are the hatred in his eyes as he listened to Sir Charles. Now and then he would shift his crutches, but his eyes never left the old man's face. The Killmaster wondered. Some day, when it had all blown over, when her Majesty's government had quietly transferred Sir Charles Martin's wealth and power to the crown, would Cory Howard come back and exact his re-venge on the old man? Perhaps. But even if he did, it would matter little. He would be killing a corpse. Caster didn't want to hear any more. He knew how it would all end. Avery and Hutchins had already been fired. Sharon Pur-due had handed in her resignation. Sir Charles Martin would continue to be a puppet, with another master pulling his strings. Hobbs-Nelson's deadly little game would be put back in the vault. The Don Quixotes who made up the govern-ments of the West were too humane to bring down a super-power by crippling a lot of little powers. Quietly, Carter slipped from the room. In an adjoining foyer he found a Phone and called the Strand Palace Hotel. lova was in her room.

VII I TV, C.I.A., 101

T


" V 193 (205 of 212) — + 110%

KILLING GAMES 193 She would be ready in an hour. Where? Why, as far as her v., wealth would take thorn. That is until Carter's hands healed and another call I came from Washington.

T