# Последний самурай сканы

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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"Very well, Mr. Carter. I'm going to prove some-

thing to you. First I'm going to show you that a

Japanese woman who has been properly trained is

a match for any American man, and second I'm

going to demonstrate that we women in general

are not so easily brushed aside."

With that, she unzipped the back of her sun-

dress. "l don't have a ghi," she explained, "but

there's no one here but the two of us." The dress

slipped to the floor and she stepped out of it.

I stiffened. I wasn't sure I liked this. She was

pushing things. First getting me down here on

some false pretense of taking offense at something

I'd said, and now this. I figured either she liked me

more than she let on, or there was something else

on her mind, and it was this something else that

bothered me.


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I opened the heavy steel door to the gymnasium and

looked inside. There was a broad expanse of highly

polished floor; wrestling mats quilted with oblongs of

sunlight were scattered about; and in one corner stood

some tumbling equipment. But there was no sign any-

where of Gigi Minamoto, the Japanese girl I was sup-

posed to meet here.

It wasn't an important date, just a silly sort of bet

we'd had, and I toyed with the idea of leaving. But then

I thought better of it. After all, here I was in my ghi

already, and I could always use the workout. So I went

in, slipped off my shoes, and placed them next to one of

the mats. Then I began the slow, snakelike movements

of the Tai Chi cycle. I hadn't gotten more than a few

minutes into the warm-up when I heard the door slam

behind me.

' 'Hi," she said brightly, and when I turned she was

bent over, unstrapping a sandal, her thick black hair

hanging like a curtain from her head almost to the floor.

"l'm not so awfully late, am I?"

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NICK CARTER

c 'Not so awfully, no. "


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"Not so awfully, no. "

' 'Good. " She walked barefoot across the glistening

boards onto the mat where I was standing. "I 'm a little

surprised to see you," she went on. "l guess I didn 't

really think you 'd come. ' ' She stood directly in front of

me and for the first time I noticed how small she was—I

guessed about five-two—and yet perfectly propor-

tioned, with a springy, athletic grace to her movements.

"I don't like it when people infer I'm a male

chauvinist. Especially when all I did was make a simple

statement of fact. "

"You said women don 't belong in martial arts com-

petition with men. And when I said I was as good as you

in any art you care to name, you scoffed."

"I didn't scoff. "

' 'Maybe you didn 't say it, but I saw it in your look.

You don't think I could best you. '

never said .

"No, admit it. You don't think I could, do you? I

mean, if we really tried, if we were both fighting for our

lives, you don't think I could win.

"You're right. I guess I don't.'

"Very well, Mr. Carter. I'm going to prove some-

thing to you. First I'm going to show you that a

Japanese woman who has been properly trained is a

match for any American man. And second I 'm going to

demonstrate that we women in general are not so easily

brushed aside. "

With that, she unzipped the back of her sundress. "l

don't have a ghi, "

she explained, "but there's no one

here except for the two of us. " The dress slipped to the

floor and she stepped out of it.

If she was attractive dressed, nude she was positively

breath-taking. Long, sinuous arms, high breasts that

looked up at you alertly, eagerly; tight, well-con-

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ditioned thighs disappearing into a perfect v behind

the flimsy veil of a pair of blue lace bikini panties, the

only article of clothing she still wore.

' 'If you have a ghi

She watched me watching her.

and I don 't," she went on, breaking into my thoughts,

' 'then I have the advantage. "

"You want me to take my clothes off, too?"

"lt would be fairer. That way I wouldn't have any-

thing to grab onto."

I stiffened. I wasn 't sure I liked this. She was pushing

things. First getting me down here on some false pre-

tense of taking offense at something I'd said, and now

this. I figured either she liked me more than she let on,

or there was something else on her mind, and it was this

something else that bothered me. When you make your

living working undercover, you learn to be cautious.

I'd known this girl only a week. She was a therapist

here at the AXE rest and recuperation facility outside

Phoenix. I'd checked into the facility a few days ago

after a stint in the hospital for a dislocated shoulder I'd

gotten during my last assignment. She'd been tending

to it, kneading it mostly, and massaging it. Now I know

the security people in this place are the best there are,

and that the checks they run on perspective employees

are but still I wondered.

And yet as I looked down at her, her breasts trem-

bling slightly as she took a breath, I knew I wanted her.

I decided I'd take my chances. I untied my tunic and

took it off, then my pants. At this point I had nothing

left but my jock strap.

"We might as well go the whole route," I said,

slipping that off and tossing it aside.

"Okay. " She rolled the panties down her thighs and

kicked them off the mat with her foot, revealing be-

tween her thighs a tiny triangle of baby-fine black hair


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kicked them off the mat with er oot, reve ng e-

tween her thighs a tiny triangle of baby-fine black hair

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NICK CARTER

so ephemeral an artist might have air-brushed it on.

"This is the way we fight in Japan," she said.

She made me a curt bow, which was only slightly

comical and all the more engaging considering she

didn 't have stitch on. then doubled her fists and assumed

hachiji-dachi, the basic karate stance. I shook my head

and did the same. I guessed that if I wanted her, I was

going to have to first go through this charade of a fight.

We broke stance and circled one another, not quite

knowing how to start. Neither of us wanted to be the

first to make contact. Then out of the'blue she rushed

me, thrusting her foot into my stomach in a long frontal

kick. It was only half-hearted and I managed to catch

her by the ankle and pull up. She fell down hard and

stayed down, looking up at me with a mixture of sur-

prise and indignation.

I didn't say anything but watched her expression,

hoping for a smile or some hint that she was going to

take this little setback lightly, but the smile never came.

Instead, she sat there glaring up at me, and if there was

any element of joking around about all this, if there had

been any hope of dismissing the whole thing as a girlish

prank, it was gone now. She meant business.

She rolled to one side and kicked again from a crouch

position. It was an unusual attack and I wasn 't ready.

Luckily, I got a forearm in the way, but this was no

faint-hearted kick. She stung my arm, then skipped

away before I could counterattack.

She was up now, dancing tauntingly in front of me.

Only this time it was my turn. rushed her with a series

of kicks and punches, trying to unseat her, to disturb her

balance.

But hitting her was like hitting a brick wall. She

defended herself against each blow and never moved a


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half-step in either direction. Finally, on my last punch

I caught her chin with my I could tell it hun her.

I backed off to see if she wanted to give up and call it

quits, but she didn't give me any sign. Her jaw set

determinedly, she wasn 't looking at me. Down deep, I

really didn't think she'd had enough, and in a way I

hoped she hadn 't. As they used to say down on Delaney

Street, this kid's got moxie.

I squared off for another attack, but if I thought that

last blow had slowed her any, I was wrong. As I came

toward her, she grabbed my hair, fell down, and flipped

me high into the air—and I landed squarely onto my

dislocated shoulder. It didn 't hurt all that much—it was

mostly healed—but the unexpected pain kept me lying

on the mat a split second. Then I quickly pulled myself

together and tried to scramble to my feet, knowing

she'd be looking for just such an opening. But she was

faster than I thought. Two swift kicks knocked my legs

out from under me and sent me sprawling.

Then she danced away, letting me get up un-

molested. Apparently she enjoyed this bit of toying

with me, and I let her have her little victory.

We came together warily in the middle of the mat. By

this time we'd each inflicted a little damage—and we

knew enough to be careful.

We circled. I moved my hands hypnotically in front

of her face, hoping to distract her long enough to give

me an opening. Her eyes flickered away from mine,

and I saw my chance. With a yell, I leapt into the air and

thrust my foot into her stomach. It's a classic move—

known as yoko-tobi-geri—and it caught her unaware.

I'd hoped to knock the wind out of her and get this

thing over with quickly, but no chance. Even though I

made clean contact with her practically unprotected

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abdomen, she rolled with the blow beautifully, letting

her entire body absorb the shock. Her stomach muscles

were as firm as the underbelly of an Icelandic cod.

She hit the mat and rolled, then sprang to her feet. I

couldn't help but be impressed. The measure of any

karate champion is "hara, ' ' or balance. One asks: How

well is he rooted? Can he be upset, caught by surprise,

moved? If he can't, then he 's firm in his in life

and undefeatable in battle. Gigi Minamoto had this

elusive quality in abundance. As much as any man I'd

ever fought.

She charged me again, peppering me with fast jabs

and kicks from both feet. I stood my ground, countering

each one as fast as she could deliver them, and, on my

last counter punch, popped her neatly on the nose, not

enough to bloody it, but hard enough to let her know I

could have if I'd wanted to.

She backed off a minute, holding her nose and blink-

ing. She looked at me strangely; I wasn 't sure what she

was thinking except she wasn 't as mad at me anymore.

She side-stepped toward me, ready to engage me

again, only this time passively, waiting for me to at-

tack. I obliged with a fast punch I really had no hope of

landing. She grabbed my arm and braced for another

judo throw, only this time I was ready. I shifted my

weight, and instead of catapulting head over heels, we

simply tumbled onto the mat in a pile.

Then it became a wrestling match, each of us trying

to hold the smooth, sweat-soaked limbs of the other. I

was caught up in it. I wanted to dominate her.

Finally, I succeeded in straddling her, pinning her

wrists to the mat.

She was a strong girl, and holding her took a great

deal of strength. I watched as she struggled to get free,


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beautiful even now, face dripping with sweat, the mus-

cles of her neck straining as she wrenched her head

from side to side.

Then she stopped fighting suddenly and looked at

me. Our eyes met and I could feel her body go limp

underneath me. I started to say something, then

stopped. I knew what she was thinking. We were both

thinking it.

I let go of her wrists and her arms entwined behind

my head and pulled my face down to hers. We kissed

for what seemed a long time. This was where our fight

had been leading us all along, I thought.

I rolled off her and lay down to one side, sliding my

hand down her body. She trembled like a child. At that

moment she was completely defenseless. The sweat

allowed my hand to glide effortlessly over her skin. I

brushed between her legs.

"Yes," she said softly in my ear.

A few minutes later I was drowning in her.

When it was over we lay for a time without moving.

Then she rolled me off her and stood up. She shook out

her long black hair and walked to the other side of the

mat.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

'SI have to leave. " She'd found her underwear and

was stepping into them, her back to me.

"Just like that?"

"Isn't that the way you men like to do things?

Wham, bam, thank you ma'am?"

I got up and approached her from behind. "I don't

get it, " I said, putting my hand softly on her shoulder.

' 'This was a verymice thing that happened here. Let's

not spoil it . .

She turned around and looked at me sharply. 'How?


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By getting all emotional? No, I didn't mean that. I'm

sorry. I really have to go. This isn't the way it was

supposed to turn out. "

"How was it supposed to turn out?"

She didn 't answer me. She had her dress on now and

was zipping it. "I 'm sorry, Nick. I didn 't mean for it to

happen like this. "

Before I could stop her, she'd picked up her sandals

and run out the door. I wasn't sure, but I thought she

was crying.

After the door slammed, it was just me and a lot of

unanswered questions in the big room of the gym-

nasium. I gathered my clothes together and dressed

slowly, thinking.

I wasn 't sure why she'd reacted the way she did, and

it bothered me. Was there some other motive in all this

beside just seducing me? Maybe things hadn 't gone as

planned. I didn't know, but I learned long ago that,

when it comes to women, it 's trst not to think too much

and to wait.

I didn 't have much time for thinking anyway. When I

got back to my room, I found a message shoved under

the door. Hawk wanted to see me in Washington at

once.

As I walked into Hawk 's office, he was standing with

his back to me, his hands in the pockets of his baggy

pants, staring out the window. It was July in

Washington and ungodly hot, but he wore his suit

jacket just as always: summer, winter, or nuclear

holocaust. I started to say something clever, but

thought better of it. From the look on his face, he wasn 't

in a joking mood.

"You here finally?" he said, turning around.

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' 'I came as fast as I could. "

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' 'All right. Sit down. We've got an emergency. " He

settled in tEhind the big, beat-up wooden desk and

opened a file folder. I pulled up a chair.

"Know anything about recombinant genetics?" he

asked.

' 'Sort of. You can rearrange the genes in a cell. Some

people say you can create anything you want. "

' 'That's right, organisms that never existed before. ' '

' 'Diseases without cures, " I said.

He looked at me levelly as if trying to decide if that

was a flip answer, and if he was goingto tolerate it if it

was.' 'Whether you know it or not, that's exactly what's

happened. About three weeks ago some scientists at the

University of Michigan were trying to synthesize in-

terferon. They think it might be a cure for cancer. The

idea is they rearrange genes in certain bacteria and the

bacteria produce the chemical. At least that's the idea.

But something went wrong and a new organism Æk)pped

up, and this thing, whatever it is, likes to eat green

vegetable matter. In fact, it consumes leaves, grass,

trees, anything green so fast they tell me one plateful

could strip the entire planet bare in a matter of

months. "

' 'The entire planet?"

"I was talking to the Bureau liaison last night. That's

what he said."

Jesus, I thought. No wonder the old man 's guff. He

hates getting anything secondhand from the F.B.I.

"That sounds incredible, " I said.

"I know. It's hard to believe, but fifteen years ago

we said the same thing about Agent Orange. "

"The entire planet. That 's amazing. I don't suppose

they've developed an antidote for it either. "


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"It can be killed. That's not the problem. The prob-

lem is, it's airborne and it multiplies at an incredible

rate. Once it's loose, you could never contain it. "

"Let's hope it never gets loose. "

' 'As a matter of fact, Killmaster, that 's exactly why

you're here. Yesterday, one of the culture dishes they

use to grow this stuff—they're calling it MBD, micro-

biological defoliant—turned up missing. So far we've

managed to keep a lid on it, but if this stuff isn't found

soon, word's going to get out. "

"There'll be panic. And the Bureau's handling it?

Who's the agent in charge?"

' 'Bill Hagarty. "

I shook my head. "Never heard of him.'

"He's young. I don 't know. I don 't think they 've had

the slightest idea what they're doing over there since

Hoover died. "

"What I want to know is, if this thing is only one day

olds and the Bureau is just warming up on it, why are we

being called in?"

He threw the file folder across the desk to me. ' 'Lo

Sin was in the area. "

"Lo Sin? That's impossible. '

"Apparently not. He was seen checking into a motel

in the Ann Arbor area. He spent the night, then left in a

hurry. "

"But it couldn't have been Lo Sin. He was aban-

doned by his guides high in the mountains. There's no

way he could have gotten down alive.

"Apparently he did, N-3. We have a positive iden-

tification on this. "

I opened the file. Inside was a timetable of the stake-

out on Lo Sin's motel. I read it over quickly and noticed

there were several hours of the second day unaccounted

for.


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out on

In •s motel. I read it over quickly and noticed

there were several hours of the second day unaccounted

for.

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"You have to admit this defoliant business is in

keeping with the- Buck-Rogers-twenty-first-century

sort of thing that appeals to LO Sin," Hawk said,

watching me and drumming his fingers.

"Yes, but it's out of his league. "

' 'That's what makes it such a concern. I wouldn't

want to hang the world in a balance against Lo Sin's

greed. The world would lose. "

I closed the folder and pushed it back up on the desk.

"When do I leave?"

"lmmediately. We've got you booked on a three

forty-five flight. You'll be using the cover, Nick

Carstons, Amalgamated Press. The local office knows

you're coming. Hagarty's been briefed, too. He thinks

you're CIA. No reason why he should know any

different. Good luck and keep me posted. "


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Two

If it weren 't for forty-odd thousand college kids, Ann

Arbor would be just another sleepy Midwestern city

entrenched in mechanism-like routines that go back

generations. But the students manage to break up the

monotony. Everywhere you look there are multitudes

of scrubbed, smiling faces and heads of chestnut and

blond, ungrayed hair. All in all, it's about the last place

you'd expect to find the beginning of the end of the

world.

I got to the Holiday Inn around supper time, checked

in, then went down to meet Bill Hagarty in the lounge.

He was already seated at a table waiting for me. When

he saw me, he got up and extended his hand.

"Bill Hagarty, " he said.

' 'Nicholas Carstons. 'Nick' to my friends. "

€ 'I hope we'll be friends, Nick. " From the way he

said it, I gathered he didn't have too many at the

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moment. His handshake was a little damp and I could

see he'd already had several drinks.

' 'Sit down. What're you drinking?"

"Scotch."

"Scotch, " he told the bartender. "Make it a double,

and I'll have another brandy. "

We waited in silence while the drinks were made.

When Hagarty had a fresh glass in front of him, he

started to fill me in on where things stood.

"I'm going to be brutally honest about this," he

said, fingering the little cocktail napkin under his drink.

"We don't have much in the way of leads. Security in

that laboratory is non-existent. It was probably an in-

side job, but we can 't be sure. We've been checking out

the personnel who had access to the area where the

culture was kept, and so far everybody looks guilty. '

He waited for me to say something, and when I

didn 't, he went on. "It happened the night before last,

some time between ten and three in the morning. We

know it was after ten because that 's when Dr. Meade—

the big honcho out there—went home, and he says he

checked it, and that it was after three because that's

when it was reported missing. "

"Anybody in the lab between those hours?"

' 'Two. Dr. Neil Strommond and an assistant, a Miss

Trumbull. "

"Any possibility there?"

"As easily as anyone else. We're still checking them

out. But I don't have much hope for it. "

"Didn't they hear anything? Notice anything sus-

"You'd think they would, wouldn't you? Ihis lab

isn't that big a place. You'll see for yourself when we

go out there tomorrow. Just a cinder block building out

in the middle of nowhere. You 'd think a strange noise

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or something would've alerted them. Ihey'd know

right away if someone was in the building. But these


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or something would've alerted them. Ihey'd know

right away if someone was in the building. But these

scientific types are amazing. When they're working on

something, they're in a fog. You can't break through,

even when you're talking with them. "

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe they weren't

working at all. MaytE there's something going on be-

tween the good doctor and his lady assistant. "

This idea amused him. He shook his head. "They

say they were working in separate rooms, and I believe

it. You really have to know these people to understand.

They live in a world of their own. "

He took a long pull at his drink and almost drained it.

Then he put it back on the table and looked at the glass

distractedly as he rolled it back and forth on its edge.

' 'They've been driving me nuts, too," he went on.

"It's like they don't know what they've done. Here

they go and discover the most potent weapon of the

century, something so dangerous just to drop it spells

the end of everything, and what do they do? They

squabble among themselves over who owns what until

they fumble the ball and lose it. Then they sit me down

and try and convince me just how dangerous and valu-

able this stuff they just lost really is. "

He stopped talking and in the dim light of the bar

could see how young he was—not more than twenty-

eight—even though as he stared into his glass there was

a deep furrow of concern across his forehead that aged

him considerably.

"Maybe this time we've really blown it, " he said.

"l work in government. I see how things are bungled

and screwed up. The hopes of mankind, our chances

for survival, misfiled, misappropriated, squandered.

Maybe it was just inevitable. Sooner or later we were

bound to come up with something so dangerous, so


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desü-uctive, that mishandling it would kill us all. Then

we'd be a lead pipe cinch to let it slip through our

fingers. "

He finished what was left in his glass and set it down

with a clack. "l drink too much. " He stood up none too

steadily and began fumbling in his pocket.

"Don 't worry about it, " I told him. "l 'II take care of

it. "

He stopped fumbling and looked at me. "Okay. I

owe you one, then." He made a sticky sound with his

mouth and looked around the empty bar, tying to

focus.

"You going to be able to make it home?"

' 'Don't worry about me," he said. "I 'II pick you up

in the morning. Eight o'clock. "

I nodded. He turned awkwardly and I watched as he

threaded his way between the tables and out the door.

He still looked a little rough the next morning when

he came to get me in his car. His eyes were red and his

razor hand must have been a little shaky. In the clear

light of day he looked more his age.

On the way we talked about unimportant things and

the conversation lapsed a good deal. I got the feeling he

didn't want to discuss the night before, so we didn't.

Instead Lwatched the Michigan countryside slide by the

window and tried toimagine what it would look like

without green plants.

We drove for twenty minutes or more. Hagarty had

said this place was isolated, but I'd had no idea just

what an out-of-the-way spot it was until we came over a

hill into what looked to be a completely deserted valley.

There were no houses or farms, and no signs of human

life. Even the land was unfenced. At the bottom of the

hill we took a turn into a gravel driveway that extended


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or something would've alerted them. Ihey'd know

right away if someone was in the building. But these

scientific types are amazing. When they're working on

something, they're in a fog. You can't break through,

even when you're talking with them. "

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe they weren't

working at all. MaytE there's something going on be-

tween the good doctor and his lady assistant. "

This idea amused him. He shook his head. "They

say they were working in separate rooms, and I believe

it. You really have to know these people to understand.

They live in a world of their own. "

He took a long pull at his drink and almost drained it.

Then he put it back on the table and looked at the glass

distractedly as he rolled it back and forth on its edge.

' 'They've been driving me nuts, too," he went on.

"It's like they don't know what they've done. Here

they go and discover the most potent weapon of the

century, something so dangerous just to drop it spells

the end of everything, and what do they do? They

squabble among themselves over who owns what until

they fumble the ball and lose it. Then they sit me down

and try and convince me just how dangerous and valu-

able this stuff they just lost really is. "

He stopped talking and in the dim light of the bar

could see how young he was—not more than twenty-

eight—even though as he stared into his glass there was

a deep furrow of concern across his forehead that aged

him considerably.

"Maybe this time we've really blown it, " he said.

"l work in government. I see how things are bungled

and screwed up. The hopes of mankind, our chances

for survival, misfiled, misappropriated, squandered.

Maybe it was just inevitable. Sooner or later we were

bound to come up with something so dangerous, so


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NICK CARTER

desü-uctive, that mishandling it would kill us all. Then

we'd be a lead pipe cinch to let it slip through our

fingers. "

He finished what was left in his glass and set it down

with a clack. "l drink too much. " He stood up none too

steadily and began fumbling in his pocket.

"Don 't worry about it, " I told him. "l 'II take care of

it. "

He stopped fumbling and looked at me. "Okay. I

owe you one, then." He made a sticky sound with his

mouth and looked around the empty bar, tying to

focus.

"You going to be able to make it home?"

' 'Don't worry about me," he said. "I 'II pick you up

in the morning. Eight o'clock. "

I nodded. He turned awkwardly and I watched as he

threaded his way between the tables and out the door.

He still looked a little rough the next morning when

he came to get me in his car. His eyes were red and his

razor hand must have been a little shaky. In the clear

light of day he looked more his age.

On the way we talked about unimportant things and

the conversation lapsed a good deal. I got the feeling he

didn't want to discuss the night before, so we didn't.

Instead Lwatched the Michigan countryside slide by the

window and tried toimagine what it would look like

without green plants.

We drove for twenty minutes or more. Hagarty had

said this place was isolated, but I'd had no idea just

what an out-of-the-way spot it was until we came over a

hill into what looked to be a completely deserted valley.

There were no houses or farms, and no signs of human

life. Even the land was unfenced. At the bottom of the

hill we took a turn into a gravel driveway that extended


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+ 110%

sand nosighSO uman

life. Even the land was unfenced. At the bottom of the

hill we took a turn into a gravel driveway that extended

THE LAST SAMURAI

17

back behind a copse of pines. This led to a parking lot in

front of a squat, nondescript, one-story building. At

the front door, wearing a white lab coat unbuttoned in

front, stood a slender, tEarded man in his mid-forties,

apparently waiting for us. He walked over as soon as we

were stopped.

"Dr. Meade, this is Nick Carstons, " Hagarty said by

way of introducing us. Meade shook my hand and ad-

justed his glasses. He looked as though he hadn't slept

in a week.

"Carstons," he said, as though he were trying to

place me. ' 'You'll have to excuse me, but I've met so

many people in the last few days and I can't seem to

remember who they are or what they do. "

"You don't know me, Doctor. I just got here. All I

want to do is look the place over and have you tell me

what happened."

"l see. All right. " From his tone it was obvious he'd

already told his story more times than he could count

and didn't relish having to tell it again.

He led us into the building, through a heavy metal

door into a small lobby. There was nothing in this room

but an empty glass case on the wall and a fire extin-

guisher. From the lobby a narrow corridor ran straight

back to another which ran perpendicular. Off the sec-

ond corridor was a total of eight small rooms. Meade

stopped in each one of them, flipped on the lights, and

told us what went on there. Each room had its quota of

lab tables, electronic equipment, and experimental

animals that made a racket whenever they smelled

humans.

' 'Where is everybody?" I asked after the third or

fourth empty room.

"l told them not to come in today. Was that all


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S 'Where is everybody?" I asked after the third or

fourth empty room.

"I told them not to come in today. Was that all

right?"

18

NICK CARTER

'*Fine, Doc, " said Hagarty. "As long as we know

where they all are."

Meade took us into the next room and opened the

door. "And this is the storage area," he said, turning

on the light. This room was larger than the rest. There

was a bank of shelves against one wall; against the other

stood a sink with water running in it and a big, double-

door refrigerator. The water in the drain made an un-

healthy gurgling sound.

'This is where the e coli are stored after they've been

treated. Then we take the cultures in for viewing under

the electron microscope on campus. "

"Isn't that a little inconvenient?" I asked. "Why

don't you have a microscope here?"

"Ectectron microscopes are not easy to come by,

Mr. Carstons. They require funding and funding is

something we're a little short of lately. "

He walked to the refrigerator door and opened it.

'The MBD culture was kept here on the second shelf. I

checked it at ten o'clock Monday night. It was gone

when Strommond checked it again before he went

home at three."

I bent down to examine the shelf. It was empty now;

obviously Hagarty's team had taken it out and put it

•through every possible test. Then I checked over the

outside of the refrigerator. " lhere's no lock on this

door, " I said.

"We never thought there was a need for one. We ire

scientists, not criminals. " From the edge in Meade's

voice I gathered I wasn •t the first to make this observa-

tion. I was beginning to understand why no one could

say for sure if someone had broken in or not.

"But something that valuable,'

I persisted.

g 'Wouldn't you keep it under lock and key?"

'Value is a relative term, Mr. Carstons. Remember,

THE LAST SAMURAI

19

we didn't go out looking for this discovery. We came


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a neea totoneum

scientists, not criminals. " From the edge in Meade's

voice I gathered I wasn •t the first to make this observa-

tion. I was beginning to understand why no one could

say for sure if someone had broken in or not.

"But something that valuable,'

I persisted.

g 'Wouldn't you keep it under lock and key?"

'Value is a relative term, Mr. Carstons. Remember,

THE LAST SAMURAI

19

we didn't go out looking for this discovery. We came

upon it by accident. What we are trying todo is expedite

the synthesis of a chemical which we have every reason

to believe will be a great benefit to mankind. And in

trying to do that, we stumbled on something that may

very well kill us all. You can understand why we

weren't pleased. "

"Wait a minute. You didn't like this stuff, so you

deliberately left it out where anybody could take it,

hoping they'd get rid of it for you?"

' 'Thatss not what I said .

Hagarty, who'd apparently already covered these

points with Meade before and was now nosing around

the room, presently bumped into a tray of what looked

like sheep gut in the sink. When Meade heard it, he

sprang to it defensively.

"Don't touch that! " he said. "That's a new method

of extracting the e colis." He pushed Hagarty out of the

way and readjusted the apparatus, balancing it back and

forth until he had it the way he wanted. ' 'Maybe we

ought to finish this discussion in my office. It'll be

easier to talk. "

Meade's office was just up the hall, a modest room

barely large enough for a desk and two chairs. The two

of them sat; I volunteered to stand,

Hagarty began asking questions about the other men

on the research team, trying to get some hint as to how

they all felt about one another. It was a good ploy,

although Meade was obviously unwilling to play the

gossip. I listened, but after a while my mind began to

wander.

It wasn't much of an office. Certainly no one was

ever going to accuse Dr. Meade of expropriating funds

from his project for his own use. There was a bookshelf

in one corner crammed with books and pamphlets, and


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bOOkSh

in one corner crammed with books and pamphlets, and

20

MCK CARTER

snapshots were scotchtaped to one wall. On the Other

wall was a bulletin board stuck with a multitude of

papers. On the bulletin board I spied a list of names.

"What's this?" I asked Meade.

SSA roster of the students in my seminar. "

"Graduate students?"

"Yes. "

"Would any of these have access to the lab?"

' 'They don't have keys, if that's what you mean.

They 've all tren out here at one time or another. They

know the routine. But surely you don't think—these

students are reputable people. They've come a long

way to get in this class, "

'What is it?" Hagarty asked. I handed him the list.

He looked it over, then set it on the desk in front of

Meade. "We have that already," he said.

I pointed out to Meade the name that had caught my

eye. "What about this one?"

"Thao Seng? He's a Chinese Very bright, but

then most of them are. Quiet. Keeps to himself. Surely

just because he's Chinese you don't think-—

"He's definitely Chinese?"

"No. He•s Taiwanese, actually. I rememtEr that

specifically because he was so upset when our govem-

ment recognized mainland China. "

It fit. Or it might fit. A disgruntled student in a

foreign country was just the sort of recruit Lo Sin would

be looking for. nere was an address next to the name:

110 Clermont Street, Apartment 20.

s 'May I have a copy of this?" I asked.

"Take that. I have others. 't

I folded it and put it in my pocket,

The interview with Meade had run into rough water.

Hagarty asked several more questions, but the good

doctor was reluctant to commit himself. Finally,

THE LAST SAMURAI

21

Hagarty told him to susrrnd operations at the lab until

further notice, and we left.

On the way back to town Hagarty asked to see the list

again. He unfolded it and read it while he was driving.


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ave hers.

a.

I folded it and put it in my pocket,

The interview with Meade had run into rough water.

Hagarty asked several more questions, but the good

doctor was reluctant to commit himself. Finally,

THE LAST SAMURAI

21

Hagarty told him to susrrnd operations at the lab until

further notice, and we left.

On the way back to town Hagarty asked to see the list

again. He unfolded it and read it while he was driving.

"Which one were you looking at?" he asked.

I pointed to name, Thao Seng.

He handed it back to me. "l talked to that kid myself.

. . what's that word theyuseto

He's a dead end. He's .

descritE the Chinese? Inscrutable. He was inscrutable.

But he's a dead end anyway. "

"Why's that?"

"He was out of town somewhere when it happened.

Chicago, I think. "

"He still might have had something todo with it. I'd

like to talk to him all the same. "

"Suit yourself. But I'll tell you what I'm betting on.

I •m betting one of these effete-intellectual-snob doctors

dumped this stuff to keep it out of the hands of the

Pentagon. I'll lay you ten to one, that's what hap-

pened. "

' 'Maybe. "

Traffic picked up as we neared the city. Hagarty

dropped me at my motel, then headed on downtown to

his office after telling me he'd get a hold of me later.

I went in immediately and rented a car. Then I

headed for Clermont Street.


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Three

Clermont Street was two and a half blocks of dirty

wooden houses facing each other over a strip of broken

pavement about three miles from the university came

pus. Number one hundred and ten sat in a state of

disrepair just before the road dead-ended into a

railyard.

I pulled up in front of the house and checked the sheet

again. One hundred and ten was the right number and

the numerals were on the porch railing, even though

they'd been painted over years before. Yet the place

looked deserted. Waist-high weeds stood in the yard;

windows were boarded up or broken.

I turned off the car and went up the walk to the porch.

nere were no bells to ring, but I laid a hand against the

dusty wooden door and it opened.

Inside, the vestibule was dark and smelled of decay-

ing wood. I listened, and thought I heard movement

upstairs. A long series of mailboxes on the wall were

24

23

MCK CARTER

empty except for one, which had a small white card

with the name Thao Sengrtyped on it. It looked fresh.

I climbed the staircase and found a dark hallway at


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Inside, the vesu u e was

an sme e o ecay-

ing wood. I listened, and thought I heard movement

upstairs. A long series of mailboxes on the wall were

24

23

MCK CARTER

empty except for one, which had a small white card

with the name Thao Sengrtyped on it. It looked fresh.

I climbed the staircase and found a dark hallway at

the top, so dark in fact that I had tofeel the nurntrrs on

the doors until I found the one I was looking for. I

knocked. Nothing. I knocked again and waited. Then

suddenly the door sprang open and there stood a long-

haired Chinese youth in tennis shoes and a tee shirt. He

seemed very surprised to see me.

I was just atX)ut to say something when he turned

abruptly and ran back into the apartment. I stood there

for a split second, then took off after him,

He disappeared through a door in the kitchen. There

was a stairwell that I guessed led down to the basement.

It was steep and dark, too dark to be sure he wasn't

waiting for me a little further down with a weapon; I

pulled Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger, out of her hard

leather case under my arm and proceeded with caution.

On the first landing were two doors. One led to the

first floor apartment. the other was a rear ground-level

exit. Both were wedged tight and I didn't think he'd

gone through either ofthem, or I Sd have heard him. Just

then there was a noise downstairs.

One wall ofthe staircase to the basement was cement

foundation, the other open. I pressed my back against

the cement and side-stepped on down, Wilhelmina out,

ready for anything.

When I reached the bottom, I waited. There was a

whirring noise, like a small electric motor running. It

was curious. I couldn't place it. I squinted, but I

couldn't see a thing.

The longer I waited, the less I liked it. I had the

distinct impression coming down here was a big mis-

take.

I felt along the wall fora light switch, but I didn't get

THE LAST SAMURAI

25


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When I reached the bottom, I waited. There was a

whirring noise, like a small electric motor running. It

was curious. I couldn't place it. I squinted, but I

couldn't see a thing.

The longer I waited, the less I liked it. I had the

distinct impression coming down here was a big mis-

take.

I felt along the wall fora light switch, but I didn't get

THE LAST SAMURAI

25

far. Suddenly a blunt object hit my hand. Before I could

pull it back, another something, like the blunt end of a

hard-swung hammer, hit the other hand and Wilhel-

mina dropped to the floor.

I stooped to retrieve her and got hit with the same

thing again, only this time I knew what it was. From the

smell of leather it was a boot, and whoever it belonged

to, he wasn't the long-haired, tennis-shoe-clad kid I'd

chased down here.

I needed some fighting room, so I took the blow and

rolled with it, ending up face down against a pile of wet

cardboard boxes.

I jumped to my feet. My hands stung from where

they'd been hit, but they didn't hurt so badly that I

couldn't do some damage in return. The only problem

was how. Although my eyes had adjusted to the dark-

ness I still couldn't see anything clearly.

I sensed him moving to my right and I charged,

putting up a wall of karate punches and kicks he'd

damned hard pressed to get away from. I caught him

several times, once neatly on the chin, I knew, because

I could feel his head snap back. I moved to close in on

that spot with an old-fashioned right hook when my

hand hit something solid. It felt like a car door. The

knuckles of my hand cracked sickeningly and a bolt of

pain shot up my arm, Was that his arm? I wondered.

I didn't get much time to mull this over. The next

thing I knew he was using my head for a punching bag;

hands, arms, all feeling like they were wrapped

in cement. My knees buckled and I went down. Then he

started kicking my chest and stomach, hoping to do

internal damage.

He was a real pro about it, though. He knew just how

far to push it. He'd stopped me pretty good, then

backed off, leaving me on the floor not quite out. Then


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far to push it. He'd stopped me pretty good, then

backed off, leaving me on the floor not quite out. Then

26

NICK CARTER

he rolled me over with his foot. triggering the spring

release for Hugo, the pencil-thin stiletto, I keep in a

chamois case on my forearm. Hugo ejected, but my

hand wasn't there to catch him, and he skittered off

across the floor.

My mystery assailant then wedged another toe under

my shoulder and tried to roll me over face down. But

he'd miscalculated: I wasn't as incapacitated as he

thought. J grabbed his fcx»t, gave ita shove, and he went

tumbling into the darkness with a crash.

I dragged myself to my feet and hobbled off, looking

for some kind of shelter. I had no intention of fighting

any more; I knew when to retreat. But I had something

else in my mind. Whoever this tough guy was he was

waiting down here for one specific reason: to hurt me

badly. And I wanted to know who he was and why me.

I found a darker patch of the basement which luckily

turned out to be a niche of some kind. I ducked into it

and leaned back against the wall to rest for a second. I

knew I didn't have much time. I had only one weapon

left, Pierre, the tiny gas bomb which I keep where no

personal search will ever find it, in a sack next to my

scrotum. Pierre was my last hope.

Round and smooth. about the size of a pullet egg,

Pierre was designed with a very specific talent. He was

meant to be used in small confined areas where one

wants to stun but not kill. He isn 't much good out in the

open where the gas dissipates, and he certainly isn 't any

good in a tiny basement where the thrower can •t avoid

being gassed himself. But I've found over the years that

Pierre can be far more versatile if one is willing to get to

know him. I unscrewed his case. There are really two

bombs. In one half is the nerve gas itself, oily, smelly,

and in this concentration, deadly. In the other is the

propellant, a sodium chlorate compound which is

LAST SAMURAI

27

highly volatile in water. I removed the plastic mem-

brane that separates the two halves and put the one

containing the nerve gas carefully on the floor. He was


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being gassed himself. But I've found over the years that

Pierre can be far more versatile if one is willing to get to

know him. I unscrewed his case. There are really two

bombs. In one half is the nerve gas itself, oily, smelly,

and in this concentration, deadly. In the other is the

propellant, a sodium chlorate compound which is

LAST SAMURAI

27

highly volatile in water. I removed the plastic mem-

brane that separates the two halves and put the one

containing the nerve gas carefully on the floor. He was

getting to his feet, I could hear him grunting. In a

moment he'd come looking for me.

I chucked the chlorate crystals on the floor. My

was that there would be enough moisture there for them

to react, though not explosively. Sure enough, they

started to sputter and smoke and a dull light filled the

room.

He stood about ten feet from me, looking at the

glowing chlorate in amazement. He was short, defi-

nitely Oriental, wearing a dark suit that looked two

sizes t(X) small. He had an enormous chest and back for

his size, so big that he strained the button of his jacket;

but by far the most peculiar part of him was his head. It

was shaved and the skin of it was practically translu-

cent. Blue veins ran beneath the scalp and on either

temple were large hirnps of what looked like scar-

tissue. He looked up and saw me staring from my niche

just as the light was beginning to fail.

I dove for the floor, In the last seconds I 'd seen where

Wilhelmina had fallen when she 'd been knocked out of

my hand. If I could get her back, I could tip the scales in

my direction.

I scrambled, but the beating I'd taken earlier slowed

me down. He lashed out with a kick that caught me in

the stomach. I curled like a worm in a fire. From the

sound of it, he'd broken a rib. He hit me a few more

times, and thankfully I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was groggy and in a great deal of

pain. When I slowly pulled myself to my feet I found

that I couldn't stand completely up. For a minute I just

stood there doubled over.

28

NICK CARTER


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me down. He lashed out with a kick that caught me in

the stomach. I curled like a worm in a fire. From the

sound of it, he'd broken a rib. He hit me a few more

times, and thankfully I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was groggy and in a great deal of

pain. When I slowly pulled myself to my feet I found

that I couldn't stand completely up. For a minute I just

stood there doubled over.

28

NICK CARTER

Then groped for the stairs, found them, and took my

time climbing to the first landing. The rear exit door

was open, but the door to the first floor apartment was

still wedged tight. I banged on it, thinking by some

miracle someone might answer, but nothing happened.

I climbed to the second floor, stopping once along

the way to get my breath. Every time I inhaled, a fire

started in my side and after a while I had to wait a few

minutes until the fire subsided.

The door to the kitchen of the second apartment

stood open. The apartment was dark. I 'd gotten here in

the early afternoon; it was now twilight. I guessed I

must have lay on the basement floor five, maytr six

hours.

I turned on the light. The kitchen was empty, except

for some rags and sheets of newspaper that looked as

though they might have been used as shelfparrr eons

ago. There was no stove or refrigerator.

ne front room was the same story. No furniture, no

carpeting, no drapes. The place looked like it had

stripped, or never furnished in the first place. There

must have been something here the first time I came

through, I thought. But I was moving so fast I couldn 't

say for certain.

1 went into the bedrooms. They were empty, as well,

although not completely. On the floor of one I found a

plastic case, the sort that movie film might come in. I

stooped down with some effort and put it in my pocket.

Then I left.

Outside, the cool Michigan breeze stirred the night

air. and a few deep breaths did me more good than a

medicine chest full of pills.

I drove back to the motel, still hurting. I had to hold

the wheel with one hand and my side with the other.

When I made it upstairs to my room, I heard the


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+ 90%

being gassed himself. But I've found over the years that

Pierre can be far more versatile if one is willing to get to

know him. I unscrewed his case. There are really two

bombs. In one half is the nerve gas itself, oily, smelly,

and in this concentration, deadly. In the other is the

propellant, a sodium chlorate compound which is

LAST SAMURAI

27

highly volatile in water. I removed the plastic mem-

brane that separates the two halves and put the one

containing the nerve gas carefully on the floor. He was

getting to his feet, I could hear him grunting. In a

moment he'd come looking for me.

I chucked the chlorate crystals on the floor. My

was that there would be enough moisture there for them

to react, though not explosively. Sure enough, they

started to sputter and smoke and a dull light filled the

room.

He stood about ten feet from me, looking at the

glowing chlorate in amazement. He was short, defi-

nitely Oriental, wearing a dark suit that looked two

sizes t(X) small. He had an enormous chest and back for

his size, so big that he strained the button of his jacket;

but by far the most peculiar part of him was his head. It

was shaved and the skin of it was practically translu-

cent. Blue veins ran beneath the scalp and on either

temple were large hirnps of what looked like scar-

tissue. He looked up and saw me staring from my niche

just as the light was beginning to fail.

I dove for the floor, In the last seconds I 'd seen where

Wilhelmina had fallen when she 'd been knocked out of

my hand. If I could get her back, I could tip the scales in

my direction.

I scrambled, but the beating I'd taken earlier slowed

me down. He lashed out with a kick that caught me in

the stomach. I curled like a worm in a fire. From the

sound of it, he'd broken a rib. He hit me a few more

times, and thankfully I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was groggy and in a great deal of

pain. When I slowly pulled myself to my feet I found

that I couldn't stand completely up. For a minute I just

stood there doubled over.

28

NICK CARTER


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+ 90%

me down. He lashed out with a kick that caught me in

the stomach. I curled like a worm in a fire. From the

sound of it, he'd broken a rib. He hit me a few more

times, and thankfully I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was groggy and in a great deal of

pain. When I slowly pulled myself to my feet I found

that I couldn't stand completely up. For a minute I just

stood there doubled over.

28

NICK CARTER

Then groped for the stairs, found them, and took my

time climbing to the first landing. The rear exit door

was open, but the door to the first floor apartment was

still wedged tight. I banged on it, thinking by some

miracle someone might answer, but nothing happened.

I climbed to the second floor, stopping once along

the way to get my breath. Every time I inhaled, a fire

started in my side and after a while I had to wait a few

minutes until the fire subsided.

The door to the kitchen of the second apartment

stood open. The apartment was dark. I 'd gotten here in

the early afternoon; it was now twilight. I guessed I

must have lay on the basement floor five, maytr six

hours.

I turned on the light. The kitchen was empty, except

for some rags and sheets of newspaper that looked as

though they might have been used as shelfparrr eons

ago. There was no stove or refrigerator.

ne front room was the same story. No furniture, no

carpeting, no drapes. The place looked like it had

stripped, or never furnished in the first place. There

must have been something here the first time I came

through, I thought. But I was moving so fast I couldn 't

say for certain.

1 went into the bedrooms. They were empty, as well,

although not completely. On the floor of one I found a

plastic case, the sort that movie film might come in. I

stooped down with some effort and put it in my pocket.

Then I left.

Outside, the cool Michigan breeze stirred the night

air. and a few deep breaths did me more good than a

medicine chest full of pills.

I drove back to the motel, still hurting. I had to hold

the wheel with one hand and my side with the other.

When I made it upstairs to my room, I heard the


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I drove back to the motel, still hurting, I had to hold

the wheel with one hand and my side with the other.

When I made it upstairs to my room, I heard the

THE LAST SAMURAI

29

phone ringing. I took my time answering. I knew who it

had to be.

"Where the hell have you been all day?" Hagarty's

booming voice wanted to know from the other end of

the line. "I've been trying to get a hold of you."

"Talking with Thao Seng. "

' 'That boy must be quite a conversationalist. But it

doesn't matter anyway. ne mystery is solved. The

defoliant's been found. "

"Found?"

"Not found, exactly, but we know what happened to

it. Strommond confessed about three hours ago. He

took it and destroyed it that night in the lab. He says he

did it for the sake of mankind. How about that for a kick

in the head? Nick? You still there?"

"I'm here. Listen, Bill, did you check his story out

carefully?"

' 'We 're still working on it. It was his girl friend, the

Trumbull woman, who put us on to it. She thinks he's

some kind of hero. At any rate, this thing is a long ways

from over. nat was a federally funded project, and

strictly speaking that defoliant was government prop-

erty. The Justice Department is already talking about

prosecuting. "

"And they'll make a national figure out of Strom-

mond in the process. Are you certain he's the one who

did it? Absolutely sure?"

"Reasonably. We aren't finished with it yet, but

everything fits so far. Why? You got some reason to

believe he didn't?"

"Just a hunch. I could be wrong. "

"You want to share it with me?"

"Not right now. It's not much of a lead." I lied to

him. None of what he was telling me made any sense,

but I wasn't sure I wanted Hagarty to know that.

30

NICK CARTER

"Suit yourself. If you want to stay on here, that's up

to you, " he said, "but the Bureau 's going to be pulling


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believe he didn't?"

"Just a hunch. I could be wrong. "

"You want to share it with me?"

"Not right now. It's not much of a lead." I lied to

him. None of what he was telling me made any sense,

but I wasn't sure I wanted Hagarty to know that.

30

NICK CARTER

"Suit yourself. If you want to stay on here, that's up

to you, " he said, "but the Bureau 's going to be pulling

out. We'll do the pretrial, of course, but that might not

be for months. "

*'My agency isn't as structured as all that. "

know. If you need anything just holler. s'

"All right. Thanks. " I hung up and an eerie feeling

descended over me. If Strommond had really done what

he 'd said, and there had been no one else involved, then

what was this episode in the basement of 1 10 Clermont

Street? It was like a piece to a completely different

puzzle.

I took the phone book out of the top drawer of the

nightstand and started calling local doctors, beginning

with the letter ' " and working through the list. It took

me six calls to find one who'd come to the motel.

After I talked to him, I lay back on the bed to wait. I

wondered what kind of man Strommond would have to

be to take credit for something like this if he hadn 't done

it. What was the motive? Notoriety? By the time the

newspapers and the other media were done, his name

would be a household word. It must be tough making a

reputation these days, at least in the high-powered

circles he probably traveled in, and not a bad image to

leave in the public mind either, Saviour of the world.

Ms. Trumbull would no doubt wait for him faithfully all

the months he was in prison.

It took twenty minutes for the doctor to get there. He

was young, with icy hands. He looked me over, asking

a lot of questions. I told him it was a bar fight. He

wasn't completely satisfied, but as long as there were

no knife wounds or bullet holes, he saw no reason to say

anything. He patched me up, taped my ribs, and wrote

me out a prescription. Then he put a couple of extra

THE LAST SAMURAI

31


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m

wou no ou wait or him faithfully all

the months he was in prison.

It took twenty minutes for the doctor to get there. He

was young, with icy hands. He looked me over, asking

a lot of questions. I told him it was a bar fight. He

wasn't completely satisfied, but as long as there were

no knife wounds or bullet holes, he saw no reason to say

anything. He patched me up, taped my ribs, and wrote

me out a prescription. Then he put a couple of extra

THE LAST SAMURAI

31

rolls of tape on the nightstand and left. After he was

gone, I fell into a much-needed sleep.

I woke up late the next morning to the sound of a key

tring put in the lock. The door swung open just as I rose

off the bed to see who it was, and I stood there staring at

the maid, a high-school girl in a plain linen dress with a

cart full of cleaning aids behind her. From the look on

her face. I could guess the impression I made.

"I'm sorry," she said, "There was no sign on the

* 'Ihat's all right. Come back later."

She started to leave, then stopped and looked around

the door at me. '*Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Don't worry. The doctor's already been

here. "

She nodded, then for a brief second just stared, and I

knew my face must have been a sight.

The harsh light in the bathroom proved me right.

Even though a lot of the swelling had gone down, the

skin was still split in several places and the bruises

made it look as though someone had tried to push me

head first through a meat grinder.

I got the styptic pencil out of my dop kit and did the

trst I could, then dressed and •went downstairs to the

parking lot. The tape on my ribs helped support the

bone and kept it from aching, Though it didn 't make it

any easier to breathe, it did make it possible to walk.

I let myself down easily into the car seat. As long as I

didn •t move too fast, I was all right. I started the engine

and headed back to the house. I wanted to see 110

Clermont in the light of day.

I made a left at the corner and came down Clermont

between the dilapidated houses I 'd seen the day before.

Only when I got to the place I was looking for, what I


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between the dilapidated houses I 'd seen the day before.

Only when I got to the place I was looking for, what I

32

NICK CARTER

saw was enough to bring me up short in the middle of

the street. ne broken-down unpainted two story of

a building I 'd been in yesterday was no more. In its

place was a heap of broken boards in an open founda-

tion. In short it had been reduced to toothpicks. The

wrecking crew sat on the curb having lunch.

J parked and walked over. The foreman, a meaty old

man who looked as though he really enjoyed tearing

buildings apart. talked with me for a few minutes, but

wasn't very helpful. He worked for a company, that

worked for a company that worked for an outfit known

as Landmark Realty. And Landmark Realty, I figured,

was a dead end.

At any rate, he said the dest•uction order had been in

the works for months, but he had no idea why they

chose this particular day to do it.

I told him I was an antique dealer interested in old

buildings. nen I asked if I could look the place over.

He agreed and I thanked him.

I walked down the sidewalk and up the front steps.

There was no house attached to them. The porch just

hung in mid air like a stage prop. Beyond it was the bare

foundation, nothing more than a big concrete box in the

ground. I let myself down into it carefully and began to

kick through the rubble. It was a good twenty minutes

before I found Wilhelmina lying on the damp floor. She

needed oiling, but other than that was in good shape.

Hugo was a little more difficult to locate. He'd

slipped under the door of what had used to be a coal bin.

I had to break off a support rod and use that to pry the

door up to get to him.

But the two weapons were all I found. Any evidence

of the battle I'd fought or of the mysterious Oriental

who'd done so much damage to me had been obliter-

THE LAST SAMURAI

33

ated. I guessed there wasn 't much more I could do here.

The wrecking crew soon started back to work, and I


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s rp underthe door of what had used to be a coal bin.

I had to break off a support rod and use that to pry the

door up to get to him.

But the two weapons were all I found. Any evidence

of the battle I'd fought or of the mysterious Oriental

who'd done so much damage to me had been obliter-

THE LAST SAMURAI

33

ated. I guessed there wasn 't much more I could do here.

The wrecking crew soon started back to work, and I

went back to my motel. I was in Washington by three

o'clock that afternoon.


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Four

Hawk's office was dark when I came in. He was at

his desk, the movement on a small portable TV screen

in front of him making shadows on his profile.

He didn't greet me. When I sat down across from

him, he snapped on the desk light and shined it in my

face. Then after surveying the damage for a moment or

two, he snapped it off and went back to watching the

set. hope you landed a few punches, anyway," he

said gruffly.

"He wasn 't like any man I've ever fought before, " I

said. "He was faster; his fists were as hard as that table

top; and I swear he could see in the dark. "

"This supposed to be some kind of excuse?"

"No, just fact."

He snapped on the light again and took another look

at me. ' 'I don 't see anything that won't heal. How about

the rest of you?"

' 'A broken rib, but I'm living with it.

36

35

NICK CARTER

He snapped the light off again. "l've been watching


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Four

Hawk's office was dark when I came in. He was at

his desk, the movement on a small portable TV screen

in front of him making shadows on his profile.

He didn't greet me. When I sat down across from

him, he snapped on the desk light and shined it in my

face. Then after surveying the damage for a moment or

two, he snapped it off and went back to watching the

set. hope you landed a few punches, anyway," he

said gruffly.

"He wasn 't like any man I've ever fought before, " I

said. "He was faster; his fists were as hard as that table

top; and I swear he could see in the dark. "

"This supposed to be some kind of excuse?"

"No, just fact."

He snapped on the light again and took another look

at me. ' 'I don 't see anything that won't heal. How about

the rest of you?"

' 'A broken rib, but I'm living with it.

36

35

NICK CARTER

He snapped the light off again. "l've been watching


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nwot•xcu

"No, just fact."

He snapped on the light again and took another look

at me. ' 'I don 't see anything that won't heal. How about

the rest of you?"

' 'A broken rib, but I'm living with it.

36

35

NICK CARTER

He snapped the light off again. "l've been watching

the news repons. This man Strommond is on the verge

Of becoming an intemational celebrity. They're even

talking about the NotEI Prize. "

"I don't think he did it," said firmly.

s 'I agree with you. At least as far as to say there's

something more going on here. The beating you took is

proof of that. But it doesn 't matter. It 's not our problem

any more."

"What do you mean?"

'l mean that everyone's satisfied that the defoliant is

gone forever, with chances about a billion to one that it

can ever remade. "

"But surely they know about what happened."

s' 'A few do. They •ve left it up to me to take care of it,

but we don't have the manpower to look into it our-

selves. We just can 't spare anybody.

*'But, Sir, we can't Just overlook this . .

"It'll tE taken care of, but not directly. I called

Hensen in Chicago last night. Told him there may be

more to the Strommond story than they're telling. I

even hinted I thought Strommond was lying. Hensen'll

find out one way or the other. He's one of the best

investigative reB)1ters in the business. "

He pulled a cigar out of his inside pocket and looked

at me over his glasses as he lit it. ' 'nat doesn't satisfy

you though, does it, Killmaster? You figure you 've got

a score to settle. Well, you may have to forego that

pleasure for the time being. I 've got another assignment

for you, one that you 're going to like. I'm sending you

to the Riviera. "

This was the last thing J wanted. I cleared my throat

and chose my words with care. "You know I 've never

been one to refuse an assignment, Sir, but in view of the


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tgnment,

THE LAST SAMURAI

37

nt state of my health , I'm going to have to respect-

Ily request some time off . . .

"So you can run back to Ann Arbor on your own?

orget it, Nick. Listen, I understand how you feel. If

ircumstances were different. I'd say sure, go on back

d see what you can dig up. But the fact is I need you in

e Riviera. "

I let go a sigh. It galled me to leave something like

is unfinished. But finally I said, "All right. What's

e problem?"

Hawk switched off the TV and turned on the desk

amp. Then he pulled a file out of a lower desk drawer.

' 'In the last week we've gotten two reports from John

attingly, our operative in that part of the Mediterra-

ean basin, Apparently, there 's a yacht anchored in the

arbor at Monaco belonging to a Swiss millionaire

named Roman St. Germaine. Word has it there's

enough tx»mb-making plutonium aboard that ship to

double the U.S. arsenal. Already representatives from

the Third World have landed in town. According to

Mattingly, as soon as enough interested parties are

nt, the auction will start.

"And you want me to scuttle it. "

"Right. Recover the plutonium intact. We 'II dispose

of it properly once you get it into this country. '9

"And you want me tojust forget about Ann Arbor. "

"For the time Nick, if I could give you time

off to look into this business on your own, I •d do it. But

this is urgent. t'

"All right, "I said with a sign. '*When dol leave?"

"Tonight. I 've got you booked on the first plane.

Use the cover name Andrew Caldwell. You're a nu-

clear physicist and weapons expert vacationing in

Europe. The ground work has already been laid.

38

NICK CARTER

Word's been spread that you 're disenchanted with th

U.S. and are looking to sell your services to the highe

bidder. So be greedy. This Caldwell character likes t

live well, but he can't live on what he's paid here. '


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onight. ve go you

P an

Use the cover name Andrew Caldwell. You're a nu-

lear physicist and weapons expert vacationing in

The ground work has already been laid.

38

NICK CARTER

Word's been spread that you're disenchanted with th

U.S. and are looking to sell your services to the highes

bidder. So be greedy. This Caldwell character likes t

live well, but he can't live on what he's paid here. "

'Then I get an expense account?"

"Within limits. nere'll be credit cards so you can

make it look good, but don't go overboard. "

During the whole of the six-hour transatlantic flight

stared out the window unable to sleep, reviewing ever

detail of what had happened, looking for some sort o

clue to the reason why. Nothing seemed to fit.

At the Nice airport I rented the fastest car I coul

find. a brand-new turtx»charged Porche Targa, an

took off along Le Grande Cornishe, the old highway

linking Nice and Monte Carlo that skirts the edges of

cliffs eight hundred feet above the Mediterranean. I

was a brilliant afternoon, the sun blazed in the sky, the

air was clear, and the wind whipped the ocean below

into flecks of white surf. I should have been exhila-

rated, high, but I wasn't. I had too much on my mind.

In Monte Carlo I had a reservation at the Loews, a big

new hotel right on the ocean with a gambling casino on

the main floor. It was an elegant place, really, designer

shops throughout the mezzanine, half a dozen restau-

rants and bars, a swimming pool on the roof. But

somehow it didn't matter to me—and for obvious

reasons.

The desk clerk gave me a broad smile when I handed

him my passport, then disappeared to check my name.

I took the opportunity to survey the lobby. It was

the height of the season, as they say, and the hotel

was overflowing. Everywhere I looked there were

scantily-clad bodies and white smiling teeth in brown

faces. A French girl, no more than twenty, but ele

THE LAST SAMURAI

39

gantly dressed, turned from where she was perusing a


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asons.

The desk clerk gave me a broad smile when I handed

him my passport, then disappeared to check my name.

I took the opportunity to survey the lobby, It was

the height of the season, as they say, and the hotel

was overflowing. Everywhere I looked there were

scantily-clad bodies and white smiling teeth in brown

faces. A French girl, no more than twenty, but ele-

THE LAST SAMURAI

39

gantly dressed, turned from where she was perusing a

shop window and gave me a curious stare. I smiled

back.

The desk clerk returned, still smiling and dangling a

key from a red plastic disc. "Four seventy-four in the

new section, " he said; then he rang a bell and a boy in a

red jacket came forward to help me with my bag.

As I followed him along through the lobby, I realized

I would have much preferred the Hotel de Paris just up

the hill. It was smaller, older, more in the tradition of

fine European hotels. In my present state of mind it

would have suited me better than the free-wheeling

holiday atmosphere of the Loews. But then it wouldn 't

have fit in with the Andy Caldwell cover, and that was

the important thing.

Besides, the Loews had another advantage. which I

discovered when I pulled open the drapes on the glass

doors to the balcony off my room. There was a

panorama of sea and sky and in the foreground an

unobstructed view of the Monacan bay. From this van-

tage point I could see the comings and goings of

every boat in the harbor.

I laid my suitcase on the bed and unpacked, then I

showered, shaved, and dressed in a cashmere jacket

suitable for an evening on the Riviera. When I was

ready, my three weapons in their familiar places, I took

the elevator to the lobby. Mattingly wasn't due for a

while yet, and I wanted to find out what I could about

St. Germaine as a kind of double-check of whatever he

told me.

The crowd in the lobby seemed to be in the transition

state between late afternoon and early evening. Many

perople were still in swimsuits, while others were

dressed for dinner. The two restaurants and the dis-

cotheque, all of which were off the large main room,


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dressed r t w o s—

cotheque, all of which were off the large main room,

40

NICK CARTER

were full. Lines formed at the doors as people waited to

get in. But it was still too early for action in the casino,

so this is where I headed.

The room was virtually empty. Banks of slot

machines stood silent along the outer wall, except for

one kept busy by a young French couple, spending what

was probably the last of their honeymoon cash.

Croupiers and blackjack dealers lolled behind the ta-

bles, waiting for the after-dinner crowd.

It was dead except for a peculiar scene going on at the

far end of the room. An area in front ofa blackjack table

had been cordoned off with velvet rope and around it

had gathered a small group of onlookers. When I got

closer, I saw what they were all staring at.

Hunched over the table, his back to the crowd, sat a

well-dressed, compact little man furtively peeking

under the corners of his cards. To one side was an

enormous stack of ten thousand franc chips. Ihe dealer

was apparently waiting for him to decide whether he

wanted another card, and from the look on the dealer •s

face, the game had been going on all afternoon.

Finally, the little man nodded. The dealer dealt face

up. A four, The crowd stirred. It was his fourth card

and they were sure he'd broken twenty-one and lost.

But the man tapped the cards with his finger to indicate

he was going to stand pat.

Then it was the dealer's turn. He rolled his cards face

up. A queen and a five. Without hesitating he threw

down another card. Another five. That made twenty.

The little man didn 't seem in the least perturbed. He

turned his hand over acard at a time. He had a four and a

jack already showing. The next card was a three and the

another four. The crowd stirred again and

next .

broke out in muted applause.

I'd been watching all this from the rear of the crowd

THE LAST SAMURAI

41

in a mirror that hung over the table, and what I saw was

the reflection of the table top with the cards and hands

of the players. As yet, I hadn't seen the face of the little

gambler.


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turne his hand overacardatatime. He had a four anda

jack already showing. The next card was a three and the

another four. The crowd stirred again and

next .

broke out in muted applause.

I'd been watching all this from the rear of the crowd

THE LAST SAMURAI

41

42

in a mirror that hung over the table, and what I saw was

the reflection of the table top with the cards and hands

of the players. As yet, I hadn't seen the face of the little

gambler.

It wasn •t until three security personnel showed up to

help him carry his winnings over to the cashier's

window that he finally turned around, but when he did I

froze.

He was wearing a wig now to camouflage the scars

on the side of his head, but those slitty little eyes were

unmistakable. Here, halfway around the world, was the

same man who'd beaten me to a near-pulp two days

earlier!

In order to get through the crowd he had to pass right

by me. I looked at him carefully to make sure I wasn't

wrong. I wasn't. The wig didn't even fit right.

I stood only a few yards from the window while he

cashed in, hating even the greedy little twitch about his

mouth as the girl counted out his money. My first

inclination was to wait for him outside and finish what

we'd started back in Ann Arbor. But as I stood there

plugging the slot machine and üying to look incon-

spicuous, it occurred to me that wouldn 't be very smart.

As much as I wanted to pay him back for the pain

he'd caused me, I had no idea if he even knew who I

was. It was black as pitch in that basement. If I followed

him, he might tell me more about who he was and who

he was connected to than if I leaned on him—although I

had to admit the prospect Of leaning on him appealed to

me. I don't mind taking a beating in the line of duty, but

when there doesn 't seem to be any reason for it, it does

have a way of angering me.

The guards escorted him as far as the casino door,

Then he slipped out into the crowded lobby, with me

right behind him. He moved up the center of the room,

NICK CARTER


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42

NICK CARTER

across the strip of red carpeting that acted as a divider,

and into the glut of people standing around the lobby

J took care to act as nonchalantly as possible, my

eyes darting here and there, trying to catch a glimpse of

him. He was a hard man to tail because he was so small.

He kept disappearing behind people and things, so I had

to stay fairly close or lose him. Fortunately, he wore

steel taps on his shoes. Out in the lobby the clicking

sound gave him away. but here in the bar the carpet

deadened my advantage.

There was some sort of uproar going on between the

piano player and a group of drunken American tourists

over a German song the piano player either didn 't know

or didn't want to play. It distracted me long enough to

lose sight of him and I had to use a coralling technique

to find him again. There was no door to the lobby bar

and the room opened on one end into the main lobby

area. I walked back and forth across this wide opening

repeatedly until I spotted him out making his way out

into the lobby again.

I caught up to him and for the next hundred yards we

played cat and mouse. He stopped to gaze in the flower

shop window; I bent down to pick a paper off the

newsstand. He bought a pack ofcigarettes; I was behind

him in line waiting to pay for my paper. I couldn 't tell if

he knew I was following him or not. He seemed calm

and unruffled, but sometimes that's a sure sign.

He stopped at the door of another shop and went in. It

was a jewelry store having a sale in Italian gold. I

started to follow him in, but then hesitated. The place

was packed. I could easily lose him in the press of

people. or worse yet, become separated by the dozens

of shoppers between me and the door.

So instead I sat down on a convenient couch, opened

THE LAST SAMURAI

43

my paper, and resigned myself to wait. It was highly

unlikely that there was any other than the one door,

which meant sooner or later he 'd have to come out the

way he went in.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. I was beginning to

wonder if he hadn't given me the slip.


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peop e, or worse yet, ome separated by the dozens

of shoppers between me and the door.

So instead I sat down on a convenient couch, opened

THE LAST SAMURAI

43

44

my paper, and resigned myself to wait. It was highly

unlikely that there was any other than the one door,

which meant sooner or later he 'd have to come out the

way he went in.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. I was beginning to

wonder if he hadn't given me the slip.

A commotion erupted at the entrance to the hotel. I

looked up and saw three large tour buses parked in the

circular drive, each painted white, green, and red, the

colors of the Italian flag. On the sidewalk in front of the

buses stood a number of brawny young men, all carry-

ing kit bags with the names of tennis shoe companies

printed on them. Around the young men mobbed a

multitude of newsmen and curiosity-seekers, mostly

young women, so many in fact the huge open-air doors

of the hotel were completely choked with people. It

could only the Italian soccer team in town for the

tournament hosted every year by Prince Rainier's son.

What had drawn my attention to all this activity was a

shout that had gone up when two of the teammates had

hoisted a third boy on their shoulders. Now they were

parading him around the parking area, accompanied by

more shouts of good fellowship and comraderie and

squeals from the young women, all to the delight of the

people from the press.

I was watching this, taking it all in, when I noticed a

familiar compact figure making its way along the mar-

ble wall in front of thejewelry store. It was the Oriental ,

drawn to the noise like a rat to a piece of cheese,

knowing this was just the diversion he needed to elude

me.

I stood up. He was almost out of the hotel. He took

the marble steps in quick, choppy strides and headed

out the door just as the soccer team, newsmen, entour-

age, and all, headed in.

NICK CARTER

I was right behind him, up the steps, across the large

door mats with the hotel insignia set into them. That


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me.

I stood up. He was almost out of the hotel. He took

the marble steps in quick, choppy strides and headed

out the door just as the soccer team, newsmen, entour-

age, and all, headed in.

NICK CARTER

I was right behind him, up the steps, across the large

door mats with the hotel insignia set into them. That

was when I got caught in a tide of people. I kept pushing

forward, and the flood kept pushing me back. I'd lost

sight of him.

I grew frantic. ne thought of him getting away was

almost more than I could bear. I started pushing people

from me, trying to swim above them so I could see.

Finally, I squeezed out the door, but he was gone. I

looked around desperately. He'd disappeared, He

wasn't on the sidewalk, nor was he in any of the cars

parked nearby, and there hadn't been time for him to

drive away.

That was a neat trick, I thought disgustedly. I turned

and headed back into the lobby. Then I heard a familiar

clicking sound on the concrete stairway to my right.

ne stairwell ran down to the sea in front of the hotel.

It was six steps, then a landing, then six more steps and

another landing and on in that way for six or seven

landings until it reached the road below. I came down

these stairs as fast as I could, my feet barely touching

each one. the clicking echoing on the concrete just

ahead of me.

Two teenage boys didn't see me coming and had to

press themselves against the wall to keep from being

knocked down. One of them shouted after me as I

hurried dowm

J was getting closer now: I could hear him just one

landing below me. I put on an extra burst of speed,

rounded the last corner, and stopped short.

A middle-aged woman in a floppy Panama and sun-

dress carrying a folding beach chair stared up at me in

wide-eyed amazement. On her feet were a pair of

high-heeled shoes,

"They're just old ones," she said English

THE LAST SAMURAI

45


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umnman En

THE LAST SAMURAI

45

accent, noticing my obvious interest in her footware, ' 'I

use them for knocking about."

I looked out over the stair railing in time to see a cab

make the long curve from the front of the hotel and pull

up at a stoplight before turning into the main road. The

light changed and the cab sped by. In the backseat was

the Oriental. He didn •t bother to look up.


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48

Five

I watched until the car disappeared around the har-

"Miss somebody, did you?" asked the woman.

"Not to worry, " she said, patting my hand asl gripped

the railing. "She'll come back to the likes of you. "

Then she secured her beach chair serenely under her

arm and began uudging up the stairs again.

I waited a minute, then followed her, stopping every

few stairs to lean against the wall. My side felt like it

was splitting open.

finally, she came back down to have a closer look at

me. "You all right?" she asked.

'S Yes. I'm fine. "

"Hurt yourself?" She looked down at my hand

pressed against my rib cage.

"Long time ago. I shouldn't try to run. "

"You don't look well. May I offer you an arm?"

"No, thank you. I can make it.

47

NICK CARTER


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48

NICK CARTER

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She mk up her beach chair again and began her

ascent. I followed, this time making a concerted effort

not to look as though were about to pass out.

I made it into the hotel, across the lobby, to the bank

of elevators against one wall. My face was flGshed I

was sure, but other than that, I must have appeared

fairly normal. Moving slowly, but normal nonetheless.

When the elevator came, it was empty. I got on and

when the doors closed, I stood there ståring down at

the elevator carpeting. I began to turn the situation over

in my mind. Something in all this was missing: some

logical consequence of seeing that man twice in two

days in localities ten thousand miles apart. But it hadn •t

hit me yet.

I got out on my floor and walked slowly down the

hall. John Mattingly was knocking at the door to my

room.

' 'Andy! " he called when he saw me. He came run-

ning, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

' 'John, it's good to see you, " I said. He pumped my

hand like a Shriner at a convention. It was an act. Part of

the reason Hawk had chosen the Caldwell cover for me

was the fact that Caldwell and Mattingly had attended

M.I.T. together and had been brothers in the same

fraternity. This way a legitimate relationship had al-

ready been established, so there was no need for us to

slip around trying to meet in secret. It was meant as a

convenience, but I wasn't holding up my end of the

charade very well.

When he came close, Mattingly leaned over and said

in a low whisper, "You look like hell."

"I'm okay. I just need to sit down.

He helped me to the door and I fumbled for the key,

THE LAST SAMURAI

49

opened the door, and let us in. Unable to stand by this

time, I opted for the tEd. "l got banged up a couple of

days ago," I told him. s 'I would've been all right, if I

hadn't tried to run a four-minute mile just now. "

"A four-minute mile? Whatever for?"

"I 'II tell you later. There 's a strip of elastic bandage


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nenneeameetoseVMatting1Y1eane&Overandßai

in a low whisper, "You look like hell."

"I'm okay. I just need to sit down.

He helped me to the door and I fumbled for the key,

THE LAST SAMURAI

49

opened the door, and let us in. Unable to stand by this

time, I opted for the tEd. "l got banged up a couple of

days ago," I told him. s 'I would've been all right, if I

hadn't tried to run a four-minute mile just now. "

"A four-minute mile? Whatever for?"

"I 'II tell you later. There 's a strip of elastic bandage

in my case, " I said, motioning toward the closet. "Get

it for me. "

He went over and opened my suitcase while I undid

the bandage I'd put on in Washington. When he came

back, my side was uncovered.

"Jesus! That's a bruise," he said. ' That must hurt

like hell. Have you seen a doctor?"

' 'There's nothing a doctor can do. Let me have

that. " I took the wad of bandage from him and put it

next to me on the Then I gingerly undid Wilhel-

mina's holster and laid it on the nightstand. Next I took

the bandage and began unrolling it around my middle.

e 'I can 't believe they 'd send you on an assignment in

your condition. What's Hawk thinking anyway?"

' 'He thinks I can take care of myself. Here, help me

with this."

Mattingly took the bandage and tægan unraveling it,

pussy-footing around the big splotch of black and yel-

low under my arm.

"No, tighter. Cinch me up good and tight."

Mattingly pulled on the bandage and the pain made

me wince.

' 'Don't stop," I told him.

"You won't be able to breathe. "

"Let me worry about breathing. Just make it tight as

you can. "

He pulled again and the flesh around the elastic

turned white. He made several laps around my chest,

then pinned it. ' 'I think you're crazy."

50

NICK CARTER

"Just give me my shirt. " I put it on and leaned back

against the head of the bed. lhen I lit a cigarette and for


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"You won't be able to breathe. "

"Let me worry about breathing. Just make it tight as

you can. "

He pulled again and the flesh around the elastic

turned white. He made several laps around my chest,

then pinned it. ' 'I think you're crazy."

50

NICK CARTER

"Just give me my shirt. " I put it on and leaned back

against the head of the bed. lhen I lit a cigarette and for

several minutes neither of us said anything while I

smoked.

Finally, I stuffed the butt in the bottom of the ashtray.

"So," I said.

"So tell me about St. Germaine. "

Who?"

"St. Germaine, the man whose ship is carrying the

stuff. "

"What stuff? What are you talking about?"

"You mean you don't know?"

'Am I supposed to? I just assumedyou were going to

brief me."

'And you haven 't the foggiest idea what I'm talking

about. "

He shrugged.

I should have known. Here was the logical conse-

quence I couldn 't put my finger on in the elevator. Two

appearances by my little friend, two assignments fiz-

zled, I was tEing set up again, like a sucker on the

wrong end of a one-two combination.

"So obviously somebody screwed up," Mattingly

was saying. ' 'Ihey forgot to send me my end of it. That

doesn 't mean I don 't want to be part of it. I •m ready for

a little action. You wouldn't believe how boring this

place can be at times. 's

S' You don't understand, John. 19m here because of

reports you sent in."

"Reports? I didn't send in any reports. i'

"l know. Ihat's the problem. "

"Somebody must have forged them."

"That's not possible. They came in verbally by

scrambler. "

THE LAST SAMURAI

51


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THE LAST SAMURAI

51

He shook his head and I could see he was genuinely

stumped.

"About a week ago, we received a communication

with your voice print stating that an influx of technical

were coming here from various Arab countries,

principally Jordan and Syria. You speculated it might

be some kind of secret summit, a sharing of

technologies between the two countries.

"Two days later another report, also in your voice,

stated that rumors you 'd heard led you to suspect that an

auction was going to be conducted in secret, in which

high-grade plutonium cores would be offered for sale.

You said you would seek to confirm.

'Three days passed and we heard nothing from you.

Then in comes this last report in which you said an

underwater search of the harbor had revealed a high

reading of radioactivity aboard a ship owned by a Swiss

millionaire named Roman St. Germaine. You said

chances were good this was where the plutonium was

being kept, but you would wait for help before inves-

tigating further. "

' 'These reports you're talking about are complete

fabrications," Mattingly said firmly. ' 'l never sent

them. "

"Somebody did. "

"It wasn't me. "

"John, we both know it's virtually impossible to

forge one of these reports. Your voice print is as distinc-

tive as your thumb print. There's no way someone

could duplicate it. "

"Nonetheless, someone did, because I'm telling

you, I never sent in any such reports. I don't know

anything about any plutonium and I never heard of

Romaine St. Germaine, or whatever his name is. "

"No need to get yourself worked up," I said. "I

52

NICK CARTER

believe you. Here. "l took a cigarette out of the pack on

the bed, then threw the pack to him. He caught it and

took one out. I watched as he lit it. His hands were

steady; he seemed calm, but resolute. Either he was a

better azent than


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you, I never sent n any suc reports.

on

now

anything about any plutonium and I never heard of

Romaine St. Germaine, or whatever his name is. "

"No need to get yourself worked up," I said. "I

52

NICK CARTER

believe you. Here. "l took a cigarette out of the pack on

the bed, then threw the pack to him. He caught it and

took one out. I watched as he lit it. His hands were

steady; he seemed calm, but resolute. Either he was a

better agent than I'd been led to believe, or he wasn 't in

on setting me up. g 'So tell me, " I said, after the smoke

had cleared somewhat, "how's it possible to forge a

report?"

"Maybe bits of tape all spliced together?"

I shook my head. "No, that's the very thing the voice

analyzer on the Washington end is designed to pick up.

1 don't think it can be done with a t4E. And I don't

think it's possible for someone to imitate your voice,

either, no matter how good he is. "

"How then?"

' can think of one way, although it's not very likely.

One might be able to reproduce your speech apparatus

bionically and program in your speech pattern. "

"That's outrageous. No one can do that.

"Not without extensive X-rays of your mouth and

larynx." Mattingly's expression suddenly changed.

"What's the matter?"

had root canal work done about a month ago.

They X-rays then."

"Of your throat, too?"

"Yest I asked them at the time if all the X-rays were

really necessary and they asured me they were. They

said the doctor liked to be thorough and there was no

extra charge. "

"I 'II bet there wasn't. And you weren't the least bit

suspicious?

"Not at the time. I had no reason .

He didn 't

finish whatever he was going to say. For several min-

utes we sat in silence, I on the IEd and Mattingly in an

armchair across from me. Ihe sun had set and the red

LAST SAMURAI

53

sky tinted the room a dim pink. I couldn't see much of


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gnana

extra charge. "

"I 'II bet there wasn't. And you weren't the least bit

suspicious?

"Not at the time. I had no reason .

He didn 't

finish whatever he was going to say. For several min-

utes we sat in silence, I on the IEd and Mattingly in an

armchair across from me. Ihe sun had set and the red

LAST SAMURAI

53

sky tinted the room a dim pink. I couldn't see much of

his face anymore, just the red tip of his cigarette,

glowing brightly now and then in the darkness.

Finally, he asked, ' 'Where does that leave us?

Shouldn't we tr 'doing something? Rushing to tell

someone?"

"This isn •t the first time this has happened, " I said

candidly, "my being sent on a wild goose chase. Ear-

lier this week I had an assignment in Ann Arbor,

Michigan, and it turned out to a mirage just like this

one. Only somebody engineered it. I was set up. I

followed a lead, a simple, inevitable lead from the

information I 'd been given, and walked headlong into a

trap. Now it's happening again. This time I'm going to

be more careful. But I don't want anyone interfering

with it until I find out who's doing this tome and why. "

Mattingly cleared his throat significantly. "Excuse

me, old boy," he said, "but isn 't that a trifle egocentric

of you? I mean if I understand all this correctly, dup-

licating my voice is only part of it. In order to file a false

report, one would also have to break the code by which

the scrambler transmits my voice. Isn't that uue?"

' 'Right."'

S 'Which means if they know the code well enough to

put data in, they can probably get data out. "

"Most likely. "

s 'And if that's true, then the potential exposure of

sensitive information is incredible. Weapons systems,

troop sü•engths, missile emplacements, the where-

abouts of every nuclear submarine—it staggers the

imagination. In other words, the entire balance of world

power is in danger, and you think all this has been

accomplished merely to lead you into a trap? I hate to

say it, old man, but that doesn't sound altogether

reasonable. "


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reasonable. "'

54

NICK CARTER

"Maybe not, but you're forgetting something. "

"What's that?"

"The key to a code is valuable only so long as no

one knows you have it. Otherwise, the code is changed

and you 're right back where you started. Now, in this

situation, no one has made any attempt to disguise the

fact of the matter. As soon as you and I got together and

compared notes, the truth became obvious. Therefore,

there must be more going on here than mere code-

breaking. Somebody 's up to something even bigger, or

they wouldn't be so unconcerned about letting every-

body know. "

'Everybody' meaning you and me, as far

as you're concerned, we're not going to tell anybody

else. "

I nodded. "Not for the time being, anyway."

' 'All right, I'll go along with this," he sighed, to

a point. But if you don 't get some results pretty fast, I 'm

going to have to let the home office in on it.'

"Agreed. " I put my cigarette out carefully in the

ashtray. He bent over and snuffed his cigarette too, and

dropped the butt in next to mine. The room by now was

completely dark. The only light came from the reflec-

tion in the open balcony doors.

g 'Meanwhile," Mattingly went on after a minute,

breaking the tension, "I'm at your disposal. Where

shall we start?"

'Roman St. Germaine. Is there any way you can find

out which boat down there, if any, is his?"

' 'Nothing could simpler. That •s what I do around

here. I'm the harbor engineer. "

"Good. Then you'll probably have access to a wet

suit and diving gear. "

a matter of fact, I can get you completely outfit-

ted in about fifteen minutes, "

THE LAST SAMURAI

55

"Do it. And I 'II meet you under the bridge in front of

the hotel. "

He got up to go. Then he stopped at the door and

turned around. He started to say something, then


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n meer.

"Good. Then you'll probably have access to a wet

suit and diving gear. "

a matter of fact, I can get you completely outfit-

ted in about fifteen minutes, "

THE LAST SAMURAI

55

"Do it. And I 'II meet you under the bridge in front of

the hotel. "

He got up to go. Then he stopped at the door and

turned around. He started to say something, then

didn't, and opened the door and left.

Once he was gone, I got up slowly from the bed and

walked to the balcony. Down below, the harbor lights

shimmered on the water. Maybe Mattingly was right, I

thought. If not codes, then what? How big could this

thing be?


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Six

I was under the bridge staring out at the darkening sea

when I saw Mattingly's silhouette come loping down

over the large rcxks in my direction, dragging a sea bag

tEhind him.

s 'I got everything you 'II need," he said, swinging

the bag so it came to rest at my feet. He opened it and

began pulling things out and setting them on the rocks.

' 'Did you get a Geiger counter? " I asked hopefully.

He shook his head. He pulled out several more pieces

of equipment, •flippers, mask, snorkel, small water-

proof flashlight. I crouched down beside him and began

looking the stuff over.

' 'What about tanks?"

"No tanks. I figured without a Geiger counter there

isn't much sense making an inspection of the hull.

Besides, tanks are complicated. That means I •ve got to

start the compressor and that means noise. "

"So I guess I'm boarding the ship. "

s 'I guess so. " He took a length of nylon line with a

grappling hook at one end out of the sack and handed it

to me. "For boarding," he said.

I tossed it up and down in my hand a couple of times,

58

57

NICK CARTER

getting the feel of it. It was big, but lightweight enough

to throw and swim with. "This is going to have to be

padded," I said.

' 'Way ahead of you. " He Dulled two ar


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grappling hook at one end out of the sack and handed it

to me. "For boarding," he said.

I tossed it up and down in my hand a couple of times,

58

57

NICK CARTER

getting the feel of it. It was big, but lightweight enough

to throw and swim with. "This is going to have to be

padded," I said.

' 'Way ahead of you. " He pulled two argyle socks

out of his pocket and fitted them over the tines of the

hook. Then out of his other pocket he produced two

short strands of wire and proceeded to fasten the socks

securely. "I had to make do in a hurry," he said.

"You did a good job, " I said, happy with the outfit-

ting he'd done. I sat down on a rock and took off my

shoes, socks and shirt. Then I stood and unzipped by

trousers. Underneath I had on a brief nylon swimming

suit. Mattingly watched all this sober-faced.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Your bandage. "

"J can swim with it. Don't worry. I'll be all right.

The freedom of movement in the water will do me

good. "

He nodded, but the look of concern didn •t leave his

face.

"You think I •m walking into another trap. "

"This is the most logical, inevitable lead, isn't it?

Isn't that where you'd lay a trap?"

"I suppose. " last two things he'd pulled out of

the bag were the two pieces of a wet suit. I coated the

inside of the bottoms of these with some talcum powder

he'd also brought and began to struggle my way into

them.

'There are only two of us who know about the

information leak in the AXE system. If anything hap-

pens to you. "

'l ill be carefuL " I stood up and powdered the inside

of the rubtrrjacket, then gingerly put it on and zipped

it.

TIE LAST SAMURAI

59


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them.

'There are only two of us who know about the

information leak in the AXE system. If anything hap-

pens to you. "

'l ill be carefuL " I stood up and powdered the inside

of the rubtrrjacket, then gingerly put it on and zipped

it.

TIE LAST SAMURAI

59

He came over to straighten the tails. ' 'How's the

elastic?" he •eked, giving my ribs a pat.

"Fine. Nice and tight. The wet suit 'II keep it dry. "

He looked me over and nodded. "Then I guess I

better tell you something about this boat. She•s a big

one, a hundred feet or more. In a yacht that size the

crew sleeps forward. the owner aft. ne engines are

amidship and if she's hauling anything as heavy as the

lead shielding needed to handle that much plutonium,

she'd have to carry it under the engines or you Sd notice

it. She's in the fourth slip, second pier. Her name's

Astoria."

"So he's definitely here."

"Been in port about a week. "

I stcxved down and fitted my feet into the flippers.

S 'Good luck," he said.

I thanked him and jumped from a rock feet first into

the water. When I surfaced, I saw him watching me, his

form a dim outline in the reflected light of the street

lamps of the road above. "I'll be waiting in your

room," he called after me.

I turned and began swimming. The water was sleek

and black and I fell into a mechanical stroke that put a

fair amount of distance quickly between me and the

shore. For the first half of the swim the tide was weak

and I cut through the water easily. Then I came around

the point in front of the hotel and the surf picked up.

About this time my ribs began to ache and I was reduced

to a side-stroke.

Luckily, the harbor wasn •t far. When I made my way

between the breakwaters, the surface of the water flat-

tened out, and sounds came to me from the city: traffic

noises, then voices and music, and the clinking of ice in

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glasses.

60

NICK CARTER

I swam up the row of bobbing hulls between the

second and third piers, stroking as silently as I could

through the slicks of diesel oil and gasoline. I counted

the slips. Fourth from the end and there she was, a

gleaming white pleasure boat that, from the waterline,

looked to be about the size of the Queen Mary. The

name Astoria was printed in gold letters under the pilot

house.

I swam gingerly until I was below the tx»w. All the

activity seemed to be confined to the rear. The lights

were on in the aft cabins, and in the large windows I

could see figures moving.

I took the coil of thin nylon line off its hook on my

suit and unwound it. Then I attached the grappling hook

to one end and threw the hook the fifteen feet or so up to

the forward bulwark. It landed with a soggy thud and

caught under the railing. I tested it. It felt secure, so I

started to climb. I pulled myself up hand over hand,

knowing this was going to be the worst part of it. I

kicked my flippers off and gripped with my feet, every

time I inched up. but a dull pain shot through my side.

Finally, I pulled myself over the railing and slipped

down onto the deck. There was no one in sight. For a

moment I just lay there, breathing heavily and holding

my rib cage; then I picked myself up and scurried in a

low crouch for the anchor housing. From there I could

see into the pilot house, where the light was off and it

looked deserted.

I waited a few seconds, then stood up and crept

silently down the gangway on the starboard side of the

pilot house, looking for the stairwell that led to the

crew 's quarters, hoping to gain access from there to the

engine room.

I found the stairs on the far side of the gangway (by

practically stumbling into them in the dark) and began

THE LAST SAMURAI

61

to climb down, listening to every movement. There was

some sort of entertainment going on in the aft section. I

could hear voices, mostly male.


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wn e gangway on e star d side of the

pilot house, looking for the stairwell that led to the

crew 's quarters, hoping to gain access from there to the

engine room.

I found the stairs on the far side of the gangway (by

practically stumbling into them in the dark) and began

THE LAST SAMURAI

61

to climb down, listening to every movement. There was

some sort of entertainment going on in the aft section. I

could hear voices, mostly male.

At the bottom of the stairs was a short gangway with

two of the crew's bunks on either side. At the end of it, a

hatch, which I opened. led to another gangway with

two more bunks and a common bath.

Another hatch led me into the galley. Everything

here was scrubbed and battened down, the counter

surfaces all gleaming in the florescent light that had

been left on over the stove. As I stood there for a

minute, with the feeling something had changed. It

didn't hit me for several seconds, then I realized that I

wasn't hearing the voices any more.

I pushed the swinging door into the dark next room,

which was the dining area. I stepped in carefully, but I

hadn't any more than cleared the doorway when some-

thing hit me in the back of the head and I went down.

Although the blow stunned me, it didn't knock me

out. I lay on the floor in a state of limbo, a foot planted

firmly in either of two worlds, one of dreams, the other

reality. I was still conscious, but I couldn't move.

A light went on and there was a scuffling of shoes and

voices. Two, three, I couldn 't count them. Then some-

body said, ' 'Sit him in the chair," and two pairs of

hands grabbed me and hoisted me to my feet. I was

dazed, shaking my head to throw off the stupor, when

the hands grabbed me again and shoved me into a chair.

s 'Let him come around," said another voice with a

heavy French accent, which I gradually came to realize

belonged to the stocky, red-haired man with the heavily

lined face sitting in front of me. "Who are you?" he

asked.

"Andy Caldwell. "

"What are you doing aboard this ship?"

62

NICK CARTER


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NICK CARTER

"Just looking it over. I'm thinking of buying one. '

He cracked me a good one with his open hand along

the side of my face. "Don't be wise with me, Mon-

sieur. It is not healthy. I ask you again. What are you

doing aboard this ship?"

'Some friends told me you had something for sale. I

was just checking. I wanted to see it for myself.

"What friends, Monsieur? What did they tell you?"

' 'They told me you have something on tx)ard that's

so hot not everyone knows how to handle it. I thought

maybe I could help. I know something about these

things. "

"What things? Achy" he said disgustedly, "I don't

know what you are saying. t'

"He's lying, " said one man, stepping forward. "He

knows. ' '

"The hell he does," argued another.

The red-haired man held up his hand to quiet every-

body. s 'It matters nothing whether he knows or not,

Take him below. We'll head out to sea and dump him. ' '

The two meaty ones on either side each grabbed an

arm before I could do anything about it. I s&uggled for a

minute, but it was hopeless. With two arms for one of

mine, they were more than a match for me.

"Search him," the red-haired man said.

The two gnpped me tighter and a third man stepped

up and unzipped the jacket of my wet suit. He looked

like a typical member of French low-life, the kind one

finds hanging around waterfront bars in seaports like

Marseilles and Le Havre, men who've sunk about as

low as they can, and really have no compunction about

slitting a throat for small change.

"Qu'est que c'est?" snorted Low-life when he dis-

covered my bandage. "Has somebody winged my little

chicken?" He slapped it roughly and a bolt of pain

THE LAST SAMURAI

63

made me wince. "Does it hurt, chicken?" He jabbed it

again. I spat in his face.

"Sacre bleu!" he roared, and reared back with a

punch designed to take my head off. But the red-haired

man caught his arm.

"Jacques! "he shouted. "Later you can have him for


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u est que c'est?" snorted Low-life when he dis-

covered my bandage. "Has somebody winged my little

chicken?" He slapped it roughly and a bolt of pain

THE LAST SAMURAI

63

made me wince. "Does it hurt, chicken?" He jabbed it

again. I spat in his face.

"Sacre bleu!" he roared, and reared back with a

punch designed to take my head off. But the red-haired

man caught his arm.

"Jacques! "he shouted. "Later you can have him for

a little fun, no? Right now we search him and be done

with it."

Low-life looked at the red-haired man with obvious

distaste, then turned to me and glowered. But he did

what he was told. He pulled off my jacket and found

Hugo, my stiletto, strapped to my arm. The discovery

made him grunt with satisfaction.

"The chicken has teeth," he said.

Then he pulled down the tx»ttoms. It was everything I

could do to keep from kneeing him in the face when he

pushed the wetsuit down around my ankles, but I 'd

already decided on a plan that was going to require all

my strength.

The two holding my arms lifted me off the floor so

their friend could finish stripping the bottoms off.

"Rien, " he told the red-haired man, and the red-haired

man motioned with a jerk of his head for the others to

take me out.

They moved me toward the door, which was much

too narrow to allow us to pass three abreast. lhey had to

turn me, one of the men going through ahead of me and

one I waited until I was a little more than

halfway through, then made my move.

With a strong jerk of my arm I broke the grip of the

man behind me. nen I flung the first man forward and

pushed the door shut after us. It was the old idea of

divide and conquer. The second man, the red-haired

man, Low-life, and the rest of them were all contained

back in the room, while the first man and I battled it out

64

NICK CARTER

in the narow passage way on the other side of the door.

lhe trick now was to take care of the one, while


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man behind me. nen I flung the first man forward and

pushed the door shut after us. It was the old idea of

divide and conquer. The second man, the red-haired

man, Low-life, and the rest of them were all contained

back in the room, while the first man and I battled it out

64

NICK CARTER

in the narow passage way on the other side of the door.

lhe trick now was to take care of the one, while

holding the door on the others. I managed to switch

positions with him in the space and use his

back as a doorstop while I pounded on him for all I was

worth. I 'd caught him by surprise and I wasn 't going to

give him a chance to recover. I wanted to knock him

cold and leave his big frame lying there so the others

would have to push it out of the way.

I peppered him as hard as I could, but he wouldn •t go

down. He crouched against the door, taking my blows

in the back and shoulders, but no place vulnerable.

Time was running out. In a few seconds they were

going to force the dcx)r. Finally, I kicked him in the

kidneys. That straightened him up long enough for me

to clip him on the jaw. He still wasn't out, but was

dazed enough, and the others had already managed to

push the door open a few inches. It was time to make a

run for it.

I took off down the passageway with no idea of

where I was going. At the end I found a short spiral

staircase and charged up it. Behind me the door had

opened and I could hear footsteps in pursuit.

At the top of the stairs was the main salon, about the

size of a large living room, with glass windows on three

sides looking out over the harbor. There was a door in

the far wall and I raced for it, but half-way across a shot

rang out that kicked up stuffing in the lounge chair just

in front of me. I stopped short and turned to see where it

had come from.

Two men were sitting casually in large armchairs.

One wore a yachting cap and a blue blazer. Stuck in his

eye was a monacle and beneath his nose hung a Kaiser

Wilhelm mustache. This, I gathered, was Roman St.

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Germaine. Next to him sat a small dark man with a

smoking .32 in his hand.

"HaIten Sie!" St. Germaine said, then added in

English, "or the next one won't miss.

I looked at the door on the other side of the room, a

good twenty-five feet away. He could squeeze off one,

maybe two, shots before I could get there. Then I had to

gamble it wasn't locked and pull it open

While I was figuring all this, the men from

downstairs poured up the steps and into the salon. In the

lead was Low-life. Without a moment's hesitation, he

rushed up to me and hit me as hard as he could in the

ribs. I folded up like a Christmas drunk.

As I lay on the flcx»r squirming in pain, they stood

around me in a circle and stared. They were talking, but

I didn't catch much of what they said.

Then they pulled me erect, tied my hands and feet,

and dragged me back down the passageway I'd just

come up. They opened the door of the fiddley and took

me in. Here was the engine room I'd tren trying to

locate. Two mammoth diesel engines were mounted

side by side on steel cross bars. Between them was a

trap door. The red-haired man opened the trap and

Low-life and another man threw me in. Then they

replaced the and I could hear something heavy

being dragged over it.


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Seven

lay in the darkness for several minutes, shaking

from the pain welling up in waves from my side. Above

me the two big diesel engines roared into action, and I

knew there wasn 't going to be much time. They wanted

to kill me, but they wanted to do their dirty work

someplace safely removed from Monte Carlo.

I began worming my way along the bottom of the

hold, looking for something, anything sharp enough to

cut the rope they'd used to tie me. But movement, I

found. wasn 't easy. With my feet bound and my hands

u•ussed up behind my back, about all I could do was

push myself along on my one shoulder and the side of

my face while a couple of inches of bilge water sloshed

over me every time the boat took a wave.

I made enough progress, though, to find a broad

shelf, set about six inches off the bottom that extended

across the breadth of the hull. I pulled myself up and

rolled onto it. It was a relief to out of the fetid stench

of the bilge, but much hotter. lhe engines above were

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NICK CARTER

just warming up and already the air was searing and

thick with diesel exhaust.

J inched my way around and found casks, boxes, and

crates on the shelf, the stores of the engine room. In one

crate was a spare manifold cover with its edges ex-

posed. I rolled over, sat up (which put my head flush

against the hot engine decking), and maneuvered my-

self backward until I feltüe sharp edge of metal with

my hands. Then I sawed furiously.

I kept it up for two minutes, maybe three, before I

slumped down on my side to take a rest. I felt the rope

with my fingers. *Ihe fitrrs hadn't tEen cut.

I gave up on the manifold cover and started moving

again, still looking. The next several crates were sealed

tight against water damage and had no metal on them

ragged enough to do the job. But beyond these and to

the rear there 'd teen a little shipboard accident. A large

crate of engine parts had fallen on another crate and

split it open. I wasn't sure what the second crate con-

tained. Some kind of shoes. Ihey smelled like horse

manure and had an eely feel. But the banding used to

close the box had burst on impact and a large coil of it

was laying out on the floor.

I rolled onto my back and picked the banding up

between my fingers, holding it edge-wise. Then I

pressed the knot against it between the small of my back

and an adjacent crate, and worked it up and down until

the banding came through and started to chafe my skin.

Then I pulled apart the few strands that remained and

untied my feet.

I was free, but I still needed a weapon. I began

rummaging in the dark through the boxes and crates

nearest to me, I found a set of wrenches, but they

wouldn 't be much good unless I wanted to throw them.

There were cage lights with drop cords, cans of some

THE LAST SAMURAI

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kind of paint, various tools, a keg of assorted nuts and

bolts, but no weapon, nothing €1 could use against a

knife or gun.

I was about to give up, thinking that even if there

were one to be found, I 'd never locate it in the dark; but


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Wihe xes an crates

e

nearest to me, I found a set of wrenches, but they

wouldn 't be much good unless I wanted to throw them.

There were cage lights with drop cords, cans of some

THE LAST SAMURAI

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kind of paint, various tools, a keg of assorted nuts and

bolts, but no weapon, nothing €1 could use against a

knife or gun.

I was about to give up, thinking that even if there

were one to be found, I 'd never locate it in the dark; but

then I got lucky. In the back, behind a stack of six or

seven cases of what felt like motor oil I found an ancient

tin box, covered with bilge debris. I crawled back to the

other crates with it and opened it with the help of one of

the wrenches. Inside was a flare gun with two flares;

one of them had propellant crystalized on its casing, but

the other looked usable.

I held the empty pistol in my hand to get the feel of it,

then loaded the good flare in trhind the barrel. On my

hands and eltx»ws I crawled to the end of the shelf and

let myself down. Then I made my way in a crouch to the

thin line of light coming through the trap door of the

engine room.

I hadn 't gone more than a step or two when I encoun-

tered a number of foul-smelling slippers floating in the

bilge water. I had no idea what they were or what they

were doing in the engine room supplies.

It was definitely a slipper rather than a shoe, and

from the feel of it, the uppers were beaded in a Turkish

design like those I 'd seen for sale to tourists in a bazaar

at Ankara.

Turkish. I turned that idea over and my suspicion

began to grow. I took the slipper, scrambled back onto

the shelf, and crawled to where the crate had burst

open.

It was a big crate, close to a thousand pairs of slip-

pers. I estimated. And as I examined them, I noticed

something that they were all the same size.

I found the end of the banding and used it to cut the

seam stitching of the upper sole. Nothing. I cut open the

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NICK CARTER

lower, which was made of soft, padded leather. Inside


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the shelf, and crawled to where the crate a urst

open.

It was a big crate, close to a thousand pairs of slip-

pers. I estimated. And as I examined them, I noticed

something that they were all the same size.

I found the end of the banding and used it to cut the

seam stitching of the upper sole. Nothing. I cut open the

70

NICK CARTER

lower, which was made of soft, padded leather. Inside

was a tin foil packet of rx)wder. I touched a fingertip of

it to my tongue. Heroin, very pure and, from the lumps

in it, in a very raw state. So this was St. Germaine's

game. Not plutonium at all, but drus smuggling.

I threw the slipper back in with the others and made

my way with the flare gun back to the trap door. I'd

heard them weight it down with something heavy when

they'd closed it. Now I could only hope whatever that

something was, it wasn't so big it couldn 't dislodged

a little. I lay face up in the bottom, with my back on the

center beam and both feet planted on the trap door.

*Ihen I began to buck with everything I had.

The door moved slightly. Whatever was on top gave

way a bit, then fell back with ajolt. I tried it again. Then

again.

I didn't really think I could move it, but I knew

someone would be on duty up above to keep an eye on

me. They wouldn 't leave me unattended. And I thought

my chances were good that the guard would be my old

friend, Low-life. He'd jump at the opportunity to do

more damage to me, and I sure when the assignment

was passed out, he took it. And if it was him up there

and he saw me bouncing whatever it was up and down,

he'd open the door himself like a fool, instead of run-

ning for help.

I heard some activity on the metal floor above me,

even over the enormous din of the engines. I kicked all

the harder. I heard scraping. The object over the door

was being dragged aside.

"Don't fret, chicken," Low-life snickered, "I'm

coming. ' '

J gripped the flare gun resting on my chest and pulled

back the hammer, aiming right about where his head

would be when he opened the door.

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would be when he opened the door.

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He fumbled with the metal ring on the door then

pulled it OIRn. I fired.

The flare caught him full in the mouth, gagging him.

He fell back to pull it out, but he couldn't. The

propellant forced it in, lodging it in his throat. As I

watched from the trap door, he writhed back and forth

on the deck vomiting flame.

Then the propellant ran out and for an awful second

there was nothing. He redoubled his effort to get the

cardboard tubing out of his mouth, but it was jammed in

far. The more he tried, the more of it he swallowed.

Finally, he realized it was hopeless and he looked over

at me, his hands shaking. Then the main charge went

off and his face exploded in a burst of light.

I hoisted myself from my make-shift prison and

dashed across the floor of the engine room. lhere

wasn't much time. Low-life lay against one wall, his

face a blackened hole, a tongue of phosphorescent

flame still spurting from his mouth.

I grabbed a fire axe off the wall and broke the main

fuel line in the left-hand engine. Diesel oil began pump-

ing over the engine and onto the floor in rivulets to

where Low-life was lying. In a few seconds, a blaze

erupted and billows of black smoke filled the room.

I moved toward the door, keeping low where the air

was reasonably breathable. It wouldn 't take long for the

fire to set off the alarm up on the bridge, and I wanted to

be in position when they broke down the door to get to

it.

Flames licked the walls. Both engines suddenly

stopped. They'd cut off the ignitions from above. The

diesel fuel would stop pumping, but it didn't matter.

The fire was big enough to burn the bulkhead and the

wood decking.

ne lights suddenly went out. Except for the fire the

72

NICK CARTER

room was dark. I reached up and secured the latch on

the door, effectively I(Xking myself in. If they didn't

come down and force an entry in the next two minutes, I

would die in the inferno alongside Low-life.


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diesel fuel would stop pumping, but it didn't matter.

The fire was big enough to burn the bulkhead and the

wood decking.

ne lights suddenly went out. Except for the fire the

72

NICK CARTER

room was dark. I reached up and secured the latch on

the door, effectively I(Xking myself in. If they didn't

come down and force an entry in the next two minutes, I

would die in the inferno alongside Low-life.

I waited. nen I heard them outside shouting at one

another in French. lhey rattled the knob, then threw

their shoulders against the door. I crouched to one side.

They rammed the door again. nis time the wood

around the latch strained but didrCt give way. More

shouting, then after what seemed an intolerably long

time, someone fetched an axe. They chopped until

there was a hole in the door large enough to poke an arm

through. Another few seconds, and the door sprung

open.

They came piling in. several confused silhouettes,

batting at the smoke with their hands.

"Pierre, run tell the captain. Jacques? Where's

Jacques?"

I stood up, my back to the wall beside the door,

holding my breath. When I thought they were all in, 1

slipped around the jamb of the door and took off run-

ning.

I'd miscalculated by one Frenchman. As I came

careening down the passageway, a big brute of a man

rounded the partition just in front of me. He walked

right into a left hand that had all the force in my arm plus

all the weight of my moving body trhind it. It caught

him square in the Adam's apple, and he went down

choking.

I was running down the same passage again, just as I

had earlier, only this time I knew exactly where I was

going. On the upper deck, behind the pilot house there

was a small launch I'd seen when I'd swum out to the

t:mt. I had to make it at least that far.

The ship was in mortal danger, that much I knew.

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Although the fuel tanks themselves wouldn't explode


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am s apple, an e went wn

choking.

I was running down the same passage again, just as I

had earlier, only this time I knew exactly where I was

going. On the upper deck, behind the pilot house there

was a small launch I'd seen when I'd swum out to the

t:mt. I had to make it at least that far.

The ship was in mortal danger, that much I knew.

THE LAST SAMURAI

73

Although the fuel tanks themselves wouldn't explode

unless the fire in the engine room got a good deal hotter,

the engine room was only a short distance from the

galley, and the stoves in the galley would have to

operate on propane gas. Once the fire got to those tanks,

she'd explode.

As I ran up the stairs to the main salon, I heard the

siren for general alarm begin to whine. Very soon

they 'd realize the direness of the situation and the t*ll to

abandon ship would sound. At that point the launch

would become the most valuable piece of equipment on

board.

I raced across the room, St. Germaine and his little

gun-toting friend no longer anywhere in sight. I made it

through the door to the deck on the other side, then

grabbed the edge of the upper deck, that formed a roof

for the salon, and pulled myself up.

I was in luck. The launch was still where lid seen her,

covered with a tarp. I rushed over, unfastened the tarp,

and flung it into the dark sea. lhen I turned the little

boat around nose-first and was about to push it in the

water when St. Germaine popped out of the pilot house

He saw what I was up to, but was too far away to do

anything about it. Then it must have dawned on him all

at once, the urgent condition of his vessel and the fact

that I was taking the only means of escape, leaving him

to either swim for it or go down with the ship. It

crcurred to me, as I looked at him, that perhaps he

didn 't know about the heroin, or that he'd never really

given himself up to the role Of a drug smuggler if he did.

He was still a yachtsman, temporarily tolerating the

presence of some undesirables on board, for the sake of

money.

It was a strange confrontation. We must have stood


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It was a strange confrontation. We must have stood

NICK CARTER

looking at one another for a full twenty seconds without

moving. nen an explosion below caused the ship to

lurch , jolting both of us back to reality and the business

at hand.

I pushed the launch off into the blackness of space

and waited for the splash as she hit the water. Then I

jumped after it. Above me somewhere St. Germaine

was yelling something unintelligible in German.

I swam up to the boat and pulled myself on board.

Then I pull-started the tiny on the back. She

revved to life on the first try and in a few minutes I was

skimming across the crests of the waves in the direction

I hoped was shore.

I hadn 't gone more than a quarter mile when the

Astoria exploded. The force of the blast lifted her

several feet out of the water and split her hull in two.

She must have sunk very quickly—the last of the visible

fires was out in a matter of minutes.


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Eight


I set the outboard for half-throttle, then lay back

against the stern for a rest. It was a beautiful night,

temperate and clear. I spotted the North Star and used it

to set my course, knowing that as long as I headed in a

northerly direction, I'd hit land.

In a few minutes I was sound asleep. When I awoke,

I was out of gas and the boat was drifting south. I had no

idea how long I 'd been out or how far I 'd traveled in the

wrong direction.

What was more, the sea was becoming rougher. My

small boat was being tossed up and down like flotsam. I

found a pair of oars lacquered white to match the boat.

They weren 't intended as much more than ornamenta-

tion, but there were locks for them and I laid to.

I rowed for an hour or more, always with the North

Star to my back, then my side began giving me trouble.

I stayed with it another half hour, then quit. I was

played out. If I didn 't get some sleep soon, I'd collapse

and wouldn 't have to worry about making it to shore at

all.

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I rowed for an hour or more, always with the North

Star to my back, then my side began giving me trouble.

I stayed with it another half hour, then quit. I was

played out. If I didn 't get some sleep soon, I'd collapse

and wouldn 't have to worry about making it to shore at

all.

76

75

NICK CARTER

I wrapped myself in one of the two life jackets and

curled up in the bow, using the other as a pillow. The

sea rolled and the little boat rose and fell with each

wave. I did my best to forget where I was and let sleep,

that ancient healer, overtake me.

When I woke up for the second time, the sun was

high overhead. At first all I saw was the expanse of the

blue sea. But when I turned my head, I saw the cliffs of

Monte Carlo all pink in the afternoon sun. It was a

welcome sight.

I decided to swim the rest of the way to the beach

inlet that led up to the hotel. I jumped into the warm

water and left the launch to drift out to sea. When I

reached shore and stood up for the first time, I realized

how shaky I was—that my ordeal of the past few days

was taking its toll. I stood there a few minutes trying to

restore my balance and decided the best place for me

would be my hotel room.

I climbed the rocks, then walked up the stairs and

into the lobby. No one thought anything of me. I was

just another swimmer among hundreds of swimmers.

Up in my room Mattingly was waiting with some in-

teresting news.

When I entered my room I found one of the easy

chairs in front of the double glass doors and Mattingly

sound asleep in it. His unshaven face was turned to one

side, his mouth gaping, a pair of binoculars resting on

his chest.

I nudged him on the shoulder and he sat bolt upright

and stared at me.

"Nick! Where the hell have you been?"

"All in good time, pal. " I wondered if I looked as

bad as I felt. Mattingly answered that question for me.


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"All in good time, pal. " I wondered if I looked as

bad as I felt. Mattingly answered that question for me.

THE LAST SAMURAI

77

"You don't look too good. You 'd sit down. "

He pulled the second easy chair up next to his. J sat

down and let my body go. I could have fallen asleep on

the spot.

'II call room service and have them send us up a

drink."

"Good idea. "

He went to the phone as I stared out at the sunlight

dancing on the waves breaking against the barriers of

the far side of the harbor. In a minute he was back.

"So let's have it. "

I gave him a blow-by-blow run down of everything

that happened. He listened carefully, interrupting only

when the drinks arrived. After that he sat in his chair

and nodded while he sipped his gin and tonic, He didn 't

stop me again until I got to the heroin in the ship 's hull.

"Then there wasn't any plutonium on board after

all.

"And it was another set-up. "

I nodded and took another drink from my glass. The

alcohol was beginning to do its job. I was coming

undone slowly, a bit at a time, like an overwound

spring.

"Why did they think you were there?' asked Mat-

tingly.

"I'm not really sure. It wasn't plutonium. I men-

tioned that and drew a blank. Someone must've told

them I was a narc. They knew I was coming. They were

waiting for me on the other side of that galley door, "

"So you don't think they were in on the set-up?"

•'No. My bet is that someone told them a story. " I

took another long drink from my glass, nearly draining

it. "l sure as hell would like to find out who. "

"As a matter of fact, you might not have long to

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NICK CARTER

wait. There was a woman here last night looking for

Nick Carter. Said she had a message for him. "

"What did you tell her?"


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"So you don't think they were in on the set-up?"

•'No. My bet is that someone told them a story. " I

took another long drink from my glass, nearly draining

it. "l sure as hell would like to find out who. "

"As a matter of fact, you might not have long to

78

NICK CARTER

wait. There was a woman here last night looking for

Nick Carter. Said she had a message for him. "

"What did you tell her?"

"What could I tell her? I told her I never heard Of

him. "

"What did she look like?"

"Small. Long black hair, very pretty. Japanese, I

think. "

"She leave a name or an address?"

He shook his head. "We haven 't seen the last of her,

though. "

"What do you mean by that?"

He went and got a fur stole that was hanging in the

closet and tossed it in my lap. "She left this."

It was silver fox with a designer's tag in it. Worth two

thousand, maytr more. But there was no name, noth-

ing to identify it.

"This is an expensive calling card, " I said. "Did she

look like she could afford to leave something like this

behind?"

"Hard to say. This is the Riviera, remember. Here

stoles like that are commonplace. She was well-

dressed, though. "

"Still, a woman doesn't just come with a wrap and

not leave with it. Not unless she's very upset, "

"She was. When I told her I'd never heard of Nick

Carter, she got very insistent. Told me to drop all the

cloak and dagger stuff and talk to her straight. "

"And what did you say?"

' 'I told her I didn 't know what she was talking about.

She invited herself in and took off the wrap. We talked

for a few minutes, then all of a sudden she just got up

and walked out. Nervous as a cat the whole time she

was here. "

I turned the stole over in my hand, trying to think.

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r, s e got very Insistent. o meto pall the

cloak and dagger stuff and talk to her straight. "

"And what did you say?"

' 'I told her I didn 't know what she was talking about.

She invited herself in and took off the wrap. We talked

for a few minutes, then all of a sudden she just got up

and walked out. Nervous as a cat the whole time she

was here. "

I turned the stole over in my hand, trying to think.

THE LAST SAMURAI

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"Obviously she knows something. Only three people

are aware I 'm here. You, Hawk, and the guy who's

engineered this wild goose chase."

"And she doesn't get her information from me or

from Hawk. "

' *Exactly. " It was a beautiful garment. The skins of

fox fur had been masterfully selected and carefully

stitched together. know a girl who fits the descrip-

tion, "I said, "but with her it's more likely a sweatsuit

than designer furs. "

'Never predict what a woman will wear, " Mattingly

said philosophically. "lt doesn't matter. She'll be

back. Mark my words. " He finished his drink and put

the empty glass down on the coffee table. "What's on

the agenda now?"

"R and R, at least for the next few hours," I said,

laying the stole on the arm of the chair and standing up.

"I 'm exhausted. I need a shower and some sleep. Come

back later and we'll hit the casinos. I'm going to find

that gambler if I have to turn this town inside out. "

Mattingly stood up, too. "All right," he said,

tr back around ten, "

Once he was gone, I off the bathing suit and

slipped into the shower. I took my time, savoring the

hot water as it cascaded over me. When I came out, I

was so tired, all I could think of was sleep. I put

Wilhelmina under the pillow and fell on the without

tx)thering to turn the covers down. I was out before the

man could say ten.


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Nine

I don 't remember what woke me, some movement or

sound, Ikrhaps nothing more than a premonition that I

wasn 't alone in the room. At any rate, as if by instinct,

my eyes shot open and my body, while still relaxed,

became alert, ready to spring if the need arose.

I examined my field of vision without turning my

head. Nothing. Then a silhouette moved stealthily

across the oblong of light created by the balcony doors.

My hand gripped Wilhelmina where she lay hidden

under the pillow.'

Something made of paper was placed on the coffre

table. Then the silhouette recrossed the doors on its way

to the exit.

I rolled over and turned on the light. '*Hello, Gigi, "I

said.

Gigi Minamoto stared at me from the other side of the

room. "I thought you were asleep. "

I got off the bed and pulled my bathrobe on, keeping

Wilhelmina trained on her. "Why? What have we got

to hide from one another?"

81

NICK CARTER


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NICK CARTER

I squinted at her while my eyes adjusted to the light.

She'd changed since I'd seen her in Phoenix. There

were worry-lines around her mouth I hadn 't seen before ,

She eyed Wilhelmina warily. "is that really neces-

sary?" she said, indicating the gun.

s 'I don't know. A man in my position can't be too

careful. Sit down. "

She placed herself in one of the easy chairs and

crossed her legs. She was dying to look composed, she

wasn't fooling me. Underneath that exterior she was

afraid of something,

' 'How'd you get in?" I asked.

' 'I bribed a housemaid for the key. "

"Very clever. Now you want to tell me what this is

all

Her eyes darted to the white envelope that lay

propped against one of the gin glasses on the coffee

table. I walked over and picked it up. being careful not

to turn my back.

"What is it?" I asked. It was just a plain white

envelope with no name or identifying mark on it.

She didn't answer me.

1 tore it open and inside was a small chunk of plastic,

not much bigger than the end of my index finger. In the

light it looked like some kind of computer chip, one of

those microprocessing circuits used in watches and

calculators, only more elaborate.

"I don't get it," I said.

"It 's a gift from my brother, Yoshitsune. He told me

to tell you it's only a rough copy. The real thing is

embedded in the skin of his chest. If you want it, you 'II

have to come fight him for it."

"I don't even know what it is. "

"He said it was the key to your scrambler code.

I looked at it more carefully. It was definitely a

THE LAST SAMURAI

83

circuit of some kind, although you'd need a lab to tell

you what it would be used for. According to her, this

little hunk of plastic was capable of analyzing a voice

print, assigning each point of it a numerical value, then

scrambling the values according to the AXE code. It

seemed like a tall order for something so small.


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