# 1 глава Предатель

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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

Return now

Renews automatically with continued use.

CHAPTER 1

It was a little past ten when I pushed my way into the

crowded Club Salah, a smoke-filled bar in Beirut's na-

tive quarter.

tmere was no room up front, but after glancing

around, I spotted an empty booth in the rear alongside

the dime-sized dance floor. When I eased myself in and

settled back against the stained leather seat, a waiter

scooted my way. He was about as tall as a barstool,

with bright eyes and a matching smile.

He gave me a quick up-and-down look and nodded

approvingly. "Kayf halik,'j he whispered confidentially.

I shook my head. 0Amricanee."'

"Aha, Angricanee. You see, I speak the English

good. I have many cousin in America. One is name of

Ahmed. Hc live Detroit. You know Ahmcd, maybe?"

When I told him I wasn't from Detroit, and there

was no way I'd know his cousin, he shrugged it off and

flicked his soggy napkin toward the three girls at the

7

00

Page 6 (8/180)

00


8

MCK CARTER: KILLMASTER

THE TURNCOAT

9

end of the bar. Two were typical Lebanese—-dark

haired and plumpish-—but the third girl was a stunning

redhead, shapely, and in her early twenties. When she

noticed us looking ber way, she smiled brightly and

raised her glass.

The little waiter's elboy nudged my arm. 'CHer name

Hananna. Very friendly girl. She speak the English,

too. You like, I bring."

I was tempted, but I shook my head. %ook," I said.

"ltd appreciate it if you'd do me a favor. I'm here to see

a man named Rafai. Do you know him?"

gRafai?" waiter's eyes popped slightly and his

smile vanished. "I know Rafai. But why you want to

"Just tell him the A mricanee is here."

He thought it over briefly, nodded, and took Off like

a flushed rabbit. In about three minutes he was back,

carrying a shot glass on a small, battered stray.

"I speak to someone," he whispered as he set the

glass down. "He say Rafai not here now. But you Wait,

bave drink. V€hen Rafai come, I bring. Ho-kayp

He was smiling again, so I smiled back an4 slipped a

folded pound note into his hand. Wthen he scampered

off, I sniffed at the drink. It was brandy, but by no

means first rate; and I make it a rule never to drink

anything in places like the Club Salah unless I see it

poured. pushed the glass aside, got out a cigarette

and lit up. Suddenly I felt pretty bushed.

My day had begun in an unexpected rush a few

minutes before eight that morning when the phone in

my Washington hotel room jolted me awake. It was

Dena Stokes, Hawk's very efficient secretary.

"Sorry to break in on you, Nick," she said, "but he

wants to see you."

S'But rm supposed to te on vacation," I muttered

sleepily.

"Not anymore," she replied crisply. "See you soon."

The one thing you don't do with Hawk is play it

cute. When the old man gives an order, you jump. It

took less than ten minutes to pull on some clothes,

brush my teeth and shave. When I hit the street a light

rain was falling, but the doorman's whistle brought a

cab to a fishtail halt. The drizzle had made D.C.'s morn-

ing traffc worse than usual, and by the time the cab*

bie dropped me on the west side of Dupont Circle,

another twenty-five minutes had dragged by.

I lost another three minutes taking the elevator up,

and when I strode through AXE's outer office Della

glanced up from her chattering IBM.

I nodded toward Hawk's closed door. "How's the

climate?"

She smiled sweetly and gave me the thumbs-down

gesture. Bracing my shoulders, I turned the knob and

went in.

"About time," Hawk growled.

T started to say something about the weather and the

traffc, but he shook his head impatiently: "Never

mind," he interrupted. E'How's your Arabic, Nick?"

That was vintage Hawk. Always to the point Never

wasting words in small talk if he could help it.

'It's been a while, sir," I replied. "I suppose I could

use some brushing up."

He grunted, reached inside his desk's top drawer and

came up with one of his foul cigars. Clamping it be-

tween his lips, he lit up and slowly exhaled a cloud of

eye-smarting grey smoke. "Does the name Gregor

Salobin ring a bell?"

It rang quite a few;

"He's Russian, of course," I replied promptly.

"Probably one of their best missile authorities. I be-

lieve he perfected the Soviet's Fractional Orbital Bom-

bardment System, and it's talked around that he's had

a hand in planning the Tallinn Defense network. I also

think he served as a combat engineer in World War II,

received the Lenin medal for bravery and lost his left

00

Page 8 (10/180)

00


10

CARTER: KILLMASTER

THE TURNCOAT

11

eye during the battle of Stalingrad. I guess he'd be in

his late fifties' or early sixties now—wouldn't he?"

If Hawk was impressed he didn't show it.

"Gocd to see that you keep up with our files, N3,"

he responded dryly. 'VBut there are some facts about

Salobin you don't know." Dipping back inside the desk

drawer, he produced a thick folder and tossed it my

way. "Find a quiet comer and read this through. When

you've finished, come back and wem talk about it."

The material took more than an hour to digest, but

it made fascinating reading. I was right about Salobin's

missile expertise, but the real kicker came when I read

that Salobin had been passing on vital missile data to

U.S. Intelligence for close to three years.

According to the ITG-4 fact sheets, prepared by

Salobin's American controller in Moscow, the Russian

wasn't in it for the money. It was an ideological thing,

brought on by Salobin's growing disenchantment with

his Kremlin bosses. Repeatedly, the fact sheets kept

pointing out how Sa!obin expressed harsh criticism of

his government's harassment policy toward scientists or

any other Russian citizen who disagreed even slightly

wilh their leaders.

I had finished reading the material r took an-

Other look at the small snapshot of Salobin that was

part of the dossier. It showed him standing in front ot

a small country house, probably his dacha in a Moscow

suburb. I checked his features through a magnifying

lens. Grey-haired and sixtyish, there was a slight dip to

the right side of his mouth, which could have indicated

a recent stroke. I checked the left eye. By the way the

lid drooped, the eye was obviously false. No doubt

about it.

Shortly afterward, when I reentered Hawk's office,

he leaned back in his creaky chair, a couple of inches

ot dead cigar screwed into a comer of his mouth.

"All right." he rasped. "What're your views on

Salobin now?"

#lncredible," I replied. "Salobin's got to be our best

pipeline inside Russia to date."

"Not anymore," Hawk shot back. "Whatever value

Salobin•s been to us is gone. Finished! At least that's

where things stand at this moment. The man has van-

ished. Disappeared without a trace. Now listen care-

fully while fill you in."

Briefly, Hawk ticked off the points.

Only two weeks before, according to Salobin'g

American controller, the aging missile expert had

shown increasing signs of restlessness. Fed up with his

country's stranglehold on the minds and lives of its cit-

izens, Salobin told his US. controller that he had de-

cided to make his defection complete and leave Russia

for good and come over to the West. An important

scientific conference was scheduled to bc held in Tißig,

a southeastern Russian city not far from the Turkish

border, and Salobin's plan was to attend the conference

and, at an opportune moment, stip over into Turkey.

"And be actually pulled it off," Hawk concluded.

"He used some kind of disguise, and he had a set of

forged traveling papers on him when his train stopped

at the for the usual inspection. Once on the

other side, Salobin boarded a Turkish train headed for

Istanbul. But he never arrived."

"Maybe he never did get on the train."

Hawk shook his head. GHe got on it all rightf be-

cause the people handling things on our side, at least,

had the good sense to put a spotter aboard the Turkish

train. Salobin was seen getting on, and again when the

train stopped at Ordu along the Turkish coast. But

there were two other.stops during the night, and this is

where our spotter becomes vague. Although be's con-

vinced that Salobin remained in his compartment, he

wasn't in it when the train pulled into Istanbul the

following morning."

"It could have been the Russians," r suggested.

"Maybe they had caught on to Salobia's plan to defect

00

Page 10 (12/180)


13

12

CARTER: KILL MASTER

and came after him. Since the train made two stops

during the night, they could've managed to get him off

and then beat it back to their own border."

"Exactly my own thoughts at first," Hawk said. "But

I had to change my mind when I received this last

night."

Sifting through some papers on his cluttered desk, he

came up with a teletype transmitted in AXE's 4-1

code. It bore a Lebanon dispatch point and it was rub-

ber stamped CRITICALLY URGENT. Hawk had al-

ready run it through the decoder, and he filled me in.

The message bad been dispatched by Salobin's for=

mer American controller and it was a blunt cry for

help. Through a reliable underground informant, the

American intelligence agent had received a tip that

Salobin's whereabouts might be learned if a person in a

position of authority would contact a man by the name

of Rafai at the Club Salah in Beirut.

"It could be something, or maybe nothing," Hawk

pointed out. "I've already checked the Interpol file

and they list this Rafai as a lower level international hit

man who deals in drugs, stolen gotxls, prostitution—

anything that can be turned into a quick buck, But con-

sidering Salobin's importance, Rafai will have to be

checked out."

Hawk paused to relight his cigar. After blowing out

the match he shook his head wearily. "It may not be

fair to criticize some of the other services who share

our kind of work, but you know how it is, Nick. After

they foul things up, they usually come knocking on

AXE's dtX3r to bail them out. And when that happens

generally end up calling on you. Right?"

This was about as far as the old man had ever gone

in paying me a compliment, and there was only one

way to thank him.

"How soon do you want me to leave for Beirut?" I

asked.

For a moment I thought be wag going to smile, but

he made a point of clearing his throat suddenly and

scowled at his watch. "You're booked to fly out of

Dulles in about two hours. That'll give you just about

enough time to pack a few things,"

When I reached the door, he called out. His pale,

blue eyes were deadly serious. "There are people high

up in our government watching this one, Nick. They

want Salobin. They place the highest value on his spe-

cialized knowledge. If Salobin's still among the living

I want you to bring him in alive. I don't care how

you do it, or how many you may have to kill to get the

job done. But just do it. And the faster the better."

The first leg of my flight took me to Rome, and after

an hour layover . I continued directly to Lebanon

aboard a Middle East Airline flight. After arriving at

Beirut's International Airport, had the baggage clerk

send my luggage on to the Hotel Saint Georges and

then I grabbed a cab for the ride into town.

Beirut is a cosmopolitan city, and though Arabic is

the official language French and English are widely

spoken. My cabbie spoke all three. Sometimes almost

simultaneously, By the time he dropped me in front of

the Club Solnh I knew he was married, had four kids

and that he moonlighted as a pastry chef when he

wasn€t pushing his cab.

And that's how I happened to find myself seated in

the rear booth of a grimy Beirut bar, tired, and in no

way knowing what to expect.

Frankly, I had no game plan in mind. Hawk had

said it right The Rafai lead could easily turn out to be

nothing, a time-consuming false alarm. Meanwhile, ag

the minutes dragged by, the redhead at the bar kept

swiveling ground on her barstool to flash me one Of her

come-on smiles. I didn't encourage her but a bit later

she got up, walked right past my booth and disap-

peared behind beaded curtain at the tar end of the

room. I snuffed out my cigarette, lit up 'a fresh one,

and then the beaded curtain parted and three musicians

00

Page 12 (14/180)

00


THE TVRNCOAT

15

NICK CARTER: KTT-LMASTER

filed out, a drummer and two men carrying stringed in-

struments. They got a mild round of applause from the

crowd as they took their places on thc small band-

stand.

They spent a few minutes tuning up, white the cus-

tomers showed signs of growing impatience. The clap-

ping grew louder and some foot stomping joined in.

Moments later the hand drummer started the beat. and

when the strings joined in, the beaded curtain parted a

second time. The applause was deafening when the red-

head glided into view.

Barefoot, she wore a pair of hip-hugging harem

pants that revealed warm tints of pink flesh beneath

the wispy fabric. A rainbow colored sash covered with

flashing spangles draped her arching breasts, and as

she picked up the throbbing rhythm her rotating stom-

ach became the focal point for every male eye in the

room. As the tempo quickened, so did the redhead's

movements.

Over and over she kept circling the room, and the

hand clapping. cheering customers roared approvaL

About the eighth or ninth time around she stopped be-

fore my booth, her hips flashing wildly as the music

soared to crescendo level. Seconds later the music and

the girl came to an explosive halt.

After acknowledging the cheers and applause, she

turned to me and smiled. "You American." she said a

bit breathlessly. know just hy looking. When smile,

you do nothing. But when I dance," and her eyes

sparkled wickedly, "you watch very careful So now

maybe you buy Hananna drink—yes?"

Flipping an arm around my neck she squirmed onto

my lap, and that's when the big guy in the booth on

the opposite side of the dance floor let out a howl.

This was one kind of trouble I didn't need. "Look,"

told her. "You're getting your boyfriend nervous.

You talk nice to him and I'll have the waiter bring

both Of you a drink. Anything you like."

Glaring at the big guy over her shoulder, she stuck

her tongue out at him and then turned back to me.

"He no boyfriend. He fat pig. But I like tall American

like you. You be Hananna's boyfriend, yes?"

Giggling, she leaned closer, pressed her lips to mine

and gave me a quick taste of her tongue.

That did it. Suddenly the big guy was on his feet,

lunging our way. I pushed her off me and managed to

get out of the booth as he closed in, his curved fingers

going for my eyes. I caught his hand and pressed back

on the thumb all the way. nere was a dry, snapping

sound and he let out a cry of pain. Tossing his hand

aside, backhanded him across the mouth and blotxi

spurted from his torn lip. He let out another howl and

charged. I side-stepped. hit him with the flat edge of my

right hand alongside his neck. He grunted, bis head

flopping forward as his eyes glazed over. He hit the

floor. knees first and slid forward on his face.

Some chairs scraped. For while it looked like the

beginning of a free-for-all, but the whole thing came to

an abrupt halt as three men barged into the crowd,

slapping at anyone who got in their way;

When the big guy on the floor struggled to a sitting

position, one of the newcomers shouted at him in Ara-

bic and then turned to me.

He was medium height, had a pockmarked complex-

ion, and with his dark suit and lemon yellow tie he

looked as if he had stepped straight out of a 1940 *'Bo-

gey" movie.

"My name Rafai," he snapped. He nodded toward

the beaded doorway. "You come. We talk."

00

Page 14 (16/180)

00


TEE TURNCOAT

17

CHAPTER 2

"The eye is bigger than the belly," says an old Arab

proverb, and Rafai's eyes had a very hungry look.

We sat facing each other across a small tkble in the

rear room, with Rafai's two men posted at the

doorway. There was a bottle of scotch and two glasses

on the table, but when he offered to pour me a drink I

shook my head. I wanted to keep it strictly business.

The Lebanese are shrewd traders. They come by it

through centuries of tradition, and figured Rafai to be

a first class pro.

By way of openers, I bluntly told him that I held a

position of some authority in my government, and that

word had come to us that he may be able to supply us

with information about an individual my people were

interested in locating.

"Am I correct so far?" asked.

Rafai grinned, showing a lot Of gold teeth. Reaching

inside his jacket pocket he took out a small photograph

and placed it in front of mc. It looked as if it had been

16

taken with a Polaroid camen. and the man in the pic-

ture certainly looked like Salobin. When I examined it

close up I was even more positive. There was the same

dip to the right side of the mouth, and there was no

mistaking the false left eye.

I casually t6ssed the picture back and poker-faced it

as best I could. "It could be the right man," I ad-

mitted, "but a picture is still a picture. It's the man I'm

interested in."

Rafai's grin broadened. "But of course. And tbe

man, he is close by."

"How close?"

Rafai shrugged. "Later, later. What matter now is if

you have interest."

was interested of course, but r was trying to pry

loose whatever in(ormation T could. "You say he's

close by," I repeated, "but we know for a fact that he

disappeared in Turkey, and now you're saying he's

here in Lebanon. How do you explain that?"

"I explain nothing," he shot back. "I not have to; So

I repeat. Have you interest?"

It was back to me. "Interested. Now if you have any

information, I'm prepared to-—"

"What J have better than information," he interrupt-

ed. "I have man."

The surprise must have shown in my eyes. Grinning

smugly, Rafai leaned forward, picked up the bottle of

scotch and poured himself a drink. He took his time.

After swishing it around, he tossed it down in a single

gulp and then carefully put the empty glass down. The

room had become very silent. I let it stay that way. I

wanted him to come to me, The seconds slipped by.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and

leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight.

"So now," he finally smirked. "Like I tell you. I

have man. And you have interest. Good. so now we tatk

price, yes?"

"How much?"

00

Page 16 (18/180)

00


18

NICK CARTER: XitLMASTER

THE TURNCOAT

19

He chuckled and held up one hand. "Five hundred

thousand A merican dollars."

"You've got to be joking," I chuckled back.

"Rafai no joke," he snapped, and the smile van-

ished. "That is price. If too much. I find others. Maybe

speak to Russians. Maybe even Chinese?'

He unbuttoned his jacket, hooked his thumbs in his

belt and waited.

I knew that Rafai was speaking from a position Of

strength and I wag nther certain that he knew that I

knew it, too. It reasoned out that if he really did have

Salobin—and T was beginning to think he did—then

he'd have no trouble selling him to the Russians who

would be only too glad to have Salohin back.

And he could be right about the Chinese, too. y."tth

Peking straining to develop a missile delivery system

for their growing nuclear arsenal, Salobin's knowledge

could readily provide the know-how they might still

lack. The fact that Salobin might not volunteer the in-

formation wouldn't count for much once Mao's boys

got to work on him. One way or another they'd man-

age to wring what they needed from the Jddnapped

Russian.

While T continued to mull these thoughts around,

Rafai became impatient. "Well?" he demanded. "We

talk price? Yes or no?"

I refused to be rushed. "Look," I said. "so far an

I've seen is a picture. I'll need morc than that to con-

vince my people before they'd pay that kind of

money."

For the first time Rafai's eyes showed some oncer-

tainty. "Maybe I make mistake," he rasped. "Maybe

we forget whole thing."

I was sure he was bluffng, so I decided to tough it

through. "If you have the right man. and if he's alive,

there's a good chance the money could bc raised. But

that means I'll have to see the man first. It's a condi-

tion T know my people will insist upon. Either we agree

on this, or we're wasting each other's time."

Indieision Bickered in his eyest and swinging to his

feet he went into a close huddle with his two men.

They spoke in low whispers, and it wag impossible to

foYw them, After a while they began to raise their

voices. Shouting back, Rafai bellowed them into

sflence.

"Okay," he said, turning back to me. "We take you

to see man. But not now."

'*How soon?"

"One day. Maybe two. We see."

I would have liked a definite time, but I didn't press.

Getting out my pocket pad I wrote down the name of

my hotel. and undcrncath it. Lee Perrin, the cover

name AXE had assigned me before leaving. Tearing

Off the sheet, I gave it to Rafai.

When we left the room spotted Hananna seated at

the end of the bar. She had changcd back to her IOW-

necklined dress, She saw me, started forward, but

Rafai let out a grow! and she hopped back on the bar-

stool like a circus seal. Rafai offered me a ride, but

refused.

Moments later r pushed my way through the crowd

and out into the humid, noisy street.

00

Page 18 (20/180)

00


THE TURNCOAT

21

CHAPTER 3

I didn't slccp wett that night. For one thing, I dreamed

I was back in Hawk's Washington Offce and he was

chewing me out for having fouled up the mission.

Wthile this was going on, Hannnna suddenry material-

ized in her harem pants costume and when Hawk

spluttered and came close to swallowing his cigar, the

girl broke out in a wild, hip-flinging dance that drove

the old man right up the wall. »/hile he yelled and

threatened to throw us both out. the phone started to

ring. Only this wasn't in the dream.

Forcing myself awake, I slipped the phone Off the

cradle. It was the hotel desk clerk calling to tell me

that my baggage had arrived from the airport. Did I

want it sent up right away? I told him yes, and then

had him switch me to room service.

A moment later the girl's husky, sensum voice

hummed in my ear. "Sahbah kheyr„"

I returned the greeting and plunged right on. "Aseer

bur tuam, beyd masslook."

20

It WAS a simple rcqucst for orange juice and eggs,

but she spotted my American accent instantly.

"Orange juice and eggs." she repeated in what sound-

ed like British English. "Very good, sir. And how would

you like your eggs?"

"Medium boiled." I felt vaguely disappointed.

would have liked continuing with Arabic, but decided to

go with the tide. "And I'll want some toast and lots of

coffee. And make sure the coffee's hot. Very hot."

"Of course, sir," she said in what sounded like a

miffed tone, and clicked off.

The baggage came up while I was brushing my

teeth. The bellhop was bilingual and all smiles. After

be put the luggage on the rack at the foot of the bed,

he immediately told me that he could provide me with

any number of interesting female companions if I were

in the mood. declined, tipped him and sent him pack-

ing.

Ten minutes latcr breakfast arrived. The waiter, also

bilingual, briskly transferred the food from his wheeled

cart to the table in front of the large window that faced

the sea. When he finished, he offered the same pitch

the bellhop had given me. I refused, tipped him, but he

hung in there, peddling his wares like a door-to-door

salesman. Taking him firmly by the arm I led him out.

Grinning, I sat down to breakfast. I'm a reasonable

man, but when it comes to clothes and women do my

own selecting. It's a rule. Another rule is that don't

pay hard cash for the intimate pleasures of female

companionship. Handing over money would simply

destroy it for me. Maybe that makes me old-fashioned,

but I in!end to stay this way until I'm ninety-five. After

that, I •II play it strictly by ear.

The eggs were perfect, the coffee scalding hot.

I ate I went over my meeting with Rafai. For a while I

thought I'd give Hawk a call and fill him in. He had

given me two "clean" phones I could use in Beirut, in-

cluding the one in the U.S. Consulate, but while I

00

Page 20 (22/180)

00