# Spykiller

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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Felipe Zapato, his body all in black, was only a shadow

in the grove of olive trees. Across the cypress-lined road,

behind high wrought-iron gates and an equally high stone

wall, loomed a huge, tile-roofed house. On a small plaque

beside the gate, one word gleamed in brass script: BALARIA.

It was almost four in the morning. The last light in the

huge villa had been extinguished an hour before. The sky

above the wealthy resort area of Marbella in southern Spain

was cloudy, obscuring the moon completely.

All was right.

It was time for Zapato to go to work.

He dropped from his perch in an olive tree and, like a

cat, moved across the road. Every movement was precise,

timed, as he uncoiled the rope from his shoulder. At the

wall, the rope whistled upward and slipped silently over an

iron spike. In seconds he was up the rope and moving along

the wall. A leap of eight feet and he was in the first tree.

Then, like a monkey, he was through the trees and directly

beneath a balcony.

Again the rope whistled through the air, and the little

thief hoisted himself up and over the balcony railing.

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NICK CARTER

He had watched the villa of the Contessa Beatriz Balaria


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He had watched the villa of the Contessa Beatriz Balaria

for nearly two weeks. All the windows on the first and

second floors were securely locked at night, and on an alarm

system. But the countess liked fresh air. She always slept

with the doors to her third-floor balcony bedroom slightly

open.

Zapato crouched, staring into the bedroom. At the side •

of a four-poster beds a shaded light bumed. A white silk

coverlet obscured only the bottom half of a beautiful woman.

She was nude and her bare breasts rose and fell evenly in

the dim light.

Without making a sound, Zapato moved around the bed,

pausing just long enough to tug the coverlet up to her chin:

a cold person woke more readily than a warm one. This done.

he tiptoed silently into the corridor and down the wide marble

staircase.

The double doors to the first-floor study were locked.

Now into the action. Zapato's stomach had lost its knot of/

fear and his gloved hands worked surely. Gentle fingers

fitted the nose of a many-pronged master key into a pair of

forceps. Exerting pressure with both hands, he turned the I

forceps against the lock until the tumblers clicked.

Completing the circle, he stood back, wetting his mouth.

As always, sweat had started to drench the back of his shirt.

He rotated the door handle. pushing gently. The oak door

stood ajar, and Zapato waited in the warm rush of air, heavy

with a scent no longer fresh. Silently he prayed that the

whores Varga. had been correct with her information.

The velvet drapes were drawn. Zapato closed the door

behind him and took a nash from his pocket. Quickly he

played it over the walls, recalling Maria Varga's words:

"My sister says the panel is between two paintings of the

countryside. and the release catch is in the baseboard."

Zapato found the catch, and his heart pounded wiken the

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panel slid aside to reveal the safe.

It was a Swiss Zorlcxh with a four-tumbler system. Not

difficult for a man of Zapato's talents, but time-consuming.

From a belt around his middle he took two magnets. a

and a tiny rubber mallet similar to those used

by piano tuners.

The first tumbler fell into place and locked at once. It

took him nearly a half hour for the other three. Once the

safe was open, it Zapato far less time to discover that

the velvet boxes inside it contained only glass and paste.

"Daughter of a whore! Ignorant bitch!" he hissed, opening

case after case, only to find more of the same.

He was about to throw them across the room in disgust,

when the light held in his teeth fell across a barely discernible

seam across the safe's inner lining.

Zapato recognized it at once: a safe within a safe. This

one was a different brand and had a different kind of opening

method: electrical impulses.

He searched the room thoroughly for some kind of send

device, but he could find nothing. He was about to give up.

when his eye fell on the television remote control. A quick

investigation told him that the device had been altered.

The combinations of numbers could have been endless,

but Zapato was a student of the human mind as well as a

master thief.

He tried the license on the countess's Rolls-Royce. He

ran her telephone number forward and backward. This went

on for several minutes. as he tried to reproduce the numbered

sequences she would most logically use.

Nothing.

Cautiously. he slipped from the room and back up the

stairs. Her purse was in the bath adjoining the bedroom.

Armed with every conceivable number that had anything to

do with the countess. he returned to the study.

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The number on her passport, backward, was the key. It

opened a deep, pull-out drawer.

Again Zapato cursed.

A thick black book. A smaller blue book. A packet of

officia12100king papers.

That was all.

But the seal of the United States of America on the packet

of papers caught Zapato's interest. He read, and got much

more interested. He looked through the two books, and his

hands began to shake.

Contessa Beatriz Balaria was an agent of the United States

government, and what he held in his hands was worth fat

more than the jewels he had hoped to get.

But what to do?

Leave them, he decided; it might take a great deal of time

to get a bid. In that time, if they were discovered missing

the countess might have time to water down their worth.

Zapato reopened the black book. From it he copied dowr

a name, Joanna Dubshek, an address, a telephone number.

a profile and a job description, as well as a list of what thc

woman had access to in her job.

This done. Felipe Zapato replaced everything exactly a:

he had found it and exited the villa the same way he hac

entered.

It was an amber-lit little bar called the Moonglow, in tru

old quarter of Seville near the cathedral. Inside, the atmos

phere was heavy with the scent of perfume and cigars anc

strong Spanish cigarettes.

The place was run by an old harridan called Mother Moon

Being an enterprising woman, she also ran a small hotel it

the upper rooms that rented by the hour.

There was a long. dark-wood bar, and there were small

dark-wood tables. Mother Moon's whores always sat at th

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tables, never at the bar. Strictly sl*aking, they were not

quite Mother Moon's whores. They were discreet young

women—some not so young—who, for the privilege of

working out of the Moonglow, paid Mother Moon a nightly

advance whether they scored or not,

Maria Varga was one of the not-so-young ones, She spot-

ted Felipe Zapato the moment he entered, waited a few

minutes until he settled at a table, and then sauntered over.

"Paste . . . paste and glass, you bitch."

"No, impossible!" the startled woman replied. "My sister

told me—

"I don't care what your sister told you," Zapato growled,

"all the stones were phony."

"Shit." She started to rise, but Zapato grabbed her wrist

and pulled her back into the chair.

"But the evening might not have been a total loss."

Maria Varga 's darting black eyes stopped moving and cen-

tered on his. "How so?"

found some papers, some information your friend in

Algeciras might pay a great deal to obtain."

Her olive complexion lightened a shade or two and her

I don't work for them

hands began to tremble. "No .

anymore."

"But you have in the past, Maria. You have helped the

Communists with blackmail, you have made films . . ."

"But no more. I am afraid of them!"

"Maria, listen to me. Give me the man's name and ad-

dress. Call him and make an appointment for me. If you

do, you may never have to work on your back again."

She got even more nervous, but as Zapato talked of the

fortune he would make—and her share of it—her greed

overcame her fear.

Eventually she rose and left the club. Twenty minutes

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later she was back, slipping a piece of paper across the table.

"He will see you at nine tomorrow morning."

'*Si, Maria. You will not regret it."

The red carpet was faded, and the sign near the elevator

advertised the same services in three languages:

DOMINGO BOLIVAR

IMPORTS AND EXPORTS

MEZZANINE FLOOR

An arrow pointed up the stairway to the mezzanine.

Zapato's nerves were strung tight as he walked up the

stairs. But he did not hesitate. He had as much confidence •

in his powers of persuasion as he did in his ability as a thief.

He had no political leanings either way, and he had never

worked with or for the Communists. But he knew that for •

what he had. they would be the best customer.

Zapato entered without knocking. Domingo Bolivar was

reading the Paris edition of the International Herald Tribune

in a cluttered cubbyhole that served as his office. He barely

looked up when the door opened.

"Sorry . . . I thought there would be an outer office."

"l don't trust secretaries. You are Zapato?"

• 'l am Domingo Bolivar. Shut the door and sit down."

Zapato did, not feeling quite as sure of himself as he had

coming up the stairs. Bolivar took off his glasses and peered

at him under the lampshade on the desk. His smile was oily.

"Since you come from Maria Varga, I assume you are a

pimp."

"No. I am a thief."

"At), an honorable profession," Bolivar said, nodding, his

oily smile growing wider. "What can I do for you?"

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Zapato hesitated. eyeing Bolivar with growing unease.

Bolivar was a heavy man, dressed in cotton trousers, a loose

shirt, and slippers. Even though the morning was still cool,

he oozed sweat.

"l have some information I am sure you would like to ob-

tain. "

"Such as?"

"There is a woman .

rich. influential, Spanish. She

has business connections in countries all over the world.

She is also an agent of the American government."

Bolivar's dark eyes narrowed. "Who is this woman?"

Zapato smiled and ignored the question. "She has some

kind of a master code book, and another, larger book. In

the larger book are names of men and women located all

over Europe. In reading the details, I think these people are

spies for America. I think this woman runs some kind of

spy network."

Domingo Bolivar's only visible reaction was a lifting of

his heavy black eyebrows. But in his chest his heart had

begun to beat like a triphammer. He knew there was a huge

network controlled in Europe from Spain. Could this insig-

nificant little thief have discovered the control?

"What makes you think, Sehor Zapato, that I would have

use for this information?"

"Because you are an agent of the Communists."

Suddenly the tension was thick in the room. The silence

was oppressive. Bolivar opened a humidor on his desk with

stubby fingers, withdrew a cigar. and took his time lighting

it.

"Seöor, that is a very dangerous accusation. Very danger-

ous indeed."

Zapato shrugged. "But true. I have told you that I am a

thief. I will also tell you that I am wanted by the police."

The fat man leaned forward on his elbows, staring in-

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tently, a wreath of blue smoke floating around his head.

"Let us suppose that I might have a client for the information

What would you require in return?"

you speak of . .

SSA half million American, and your experts fixing this

so I can take up residency in another country . . . say,

somewhere in South America."

Here, Zapato took a passport from his pocket and flipped

it across the desk. Bolivar looked briefly at the passport,

then up at him again, still smiling.

'*What do you want done to it?"

"Change the number and name, set my birthday back ten

years. and alter the date on the entry stamp so it won't be

more than three months old when I leave. I'll dye my hair,

pad myself around the middle, and have a new photograph

taken. The only pictures they have of me are newspaper

prints, and those date back years. ney won't have any rea-

son to look twice at a middle-aged tourist. Once J am out

of the country, I'm safe."

"You are not afraid of extradition?"

"l don't think they will bother. I'm not that important."

The fat man leaned back and puffed heavily on the cigar.

"The passport, of course, poses no problem. A half million,

however, is a great deal of money, even for—

"I have a sample." Zapato took the notebook from his

pocket, tore out a page, and handed it to the other man. "I

think the woman is a Pole or a Hungarian working in the

Russian embassy in Rome."

Bolivar studied the slip of paper, and for the first time

since Zapato had entered the office the smile faded from

his lips.

"This will take some time, perhaps weeks, to check out.

You said you were wanted. Do you have a safe house?"

"I do. I rent a small villa near Estepona under another

name. I have an old woman who cooks and cleans for me.

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She lives in a separate apartment. I rarely go out in the area,

and most of my work was done previously in the north,

around Madrid."

"And your only connection with me is this Maria Varga?"

Zapato nodded.

think it would be best that no one know about this meet-

ing. Do you have any objections?"

Zapato shrugged. "None."

"l will be in touch. Gc»d day, Sefior Zapato."

Domingo Bolivar waited until the thief's footsteps had

faded before he picked up the phone and dialed a number

in Madrid.

"Tony. I have work. I think you will enjoy it

woman. "

a

"Can you still make the afternoon flight to Seville?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"Good. And when that is done. I might be sending you

back home for a few days."

"Yes ...

another woman."

The rotund man hung up the phone and checked his watch.

It was nearly eleven, time to vacate the office.

Quickly, he gathered up his papers from the desk and

placed them in a briefcase. This done, he checked the office

to make sure everything was as he had left it, and moved

to the door. Just above the door ne flipped a small button

that would kill the relay phone.

Then he moved into the hall and locked the door behind

him. He huffed his huge bulk up one flight and opened an-

other door, this one marked ALEXANDER CZARKIS. AC.

COUNTANT.

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TWO

Rome, Tony Lucchi thought; that would be nice. He had

grown to love Spain, and the work was constant, but it

would be nice to visit his homeland again, even for a short

visit.

But first there was Seville.

He showered and shaved. In the bedroom, he dressed in a

white shirt and a conservative tie and a nondescript suit.

He put money in his wallet, plenty of money, and an alternate

set of identification.

He looked in the mirror and grinned. He had big, fine

white teeth. He had a pleasant, engagingly boyish grin. He

was extremely handsome and he knew it. It was his looks

and charm that often gave him the extra edge in his work.

One more look in the mirror, and he left the apartment.

Halfway to the elevator. he remembered and returned. He

rummaged through a small, hidden drawer in the rear of a

dresser until he found it: long and slim and graceful, a

six-inch switchblade.

He placed it and some underclothes in a small overnight

bag, then went out into the warm night to hail a cab.

Tony Lucchi, tall and handsome and loaded with money.

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A combination few women could resist.

In Seville, Tony Lucchi bought a newspaper. a city map,

and rented a car. Using the map and the newspaper. it took

him an hour to find what he wanted. a small house in a se-

eluded, not heavily populated area. The house was for lease,

fully furnished, and had a private garage with a door directly

into the kitchen.

He killed time until dark, then found a store where he

purchased several bottles of liquor and wine.

The neighborhood was quiet when he returned to the

house. It took ten seconds to jimmy the lock on the garage.

Seconds after that. he had the car and the To Let sign in

the garage. He carried his packages into the house and, after

closing all the drapes. snapped on a few very dim lights.

When he had managed to give the house a rumpled, lived-in

look, he returned to the garage and headed for the Moon-

glow.

The bar was crowded with men. None of them gave Luc-

chi a second look. Not so with the women. They all looked.

and liked what they saw. They all bedded down for money,

but it was a lot easier if the bed partner looked like Tony

Lucchi.

He didn't see a woman who fit the description he had of

Maria Varga. Most of them were either older or younger,

shorter or fatter. Nevertheless, he chatted up three of the

women just in case.

Then he saw her enter. tall, good figure, long, glossy

black hair, a worn, tired face. He even heard one of the

other girls call out to her by name.

She took a corner table and Lucchi made his move before

anyone else could get to her.

"May l?" he said.

She looked up with narrow dark eyes that, for the briefest

of seconds. were fearful. Then they took in his boyish good

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looks and softened. "Beg pardon?"

"May 1 .

buy you a drink?"

A little grin began at the corner of her mouth. "Are you

sure .

"I'm sure."

She nodded and Lucchi sat. It was a little table. His knees

touched hers, and hers touched back.

The waiter came.

"Wine," she said.

"Wine," he echoed.

The waiter moved away, and Maria leaned forward. Her

grin was full now. "You are quick, aren't you?"

"Me?" he asked innocently.

hardly just came in."

"You're very pretty."

She was not pretty. She had a long nose and thin lips and

a sallow complexion. and she was at least thirty-five, maybe

more. But her teeth were good, and her affable smile made

dimples in her cheeks. and her bare arms were smooth and

firm. Inside that short black skirt was a crazy, wonderful

figure; on top she was wearing a flimsy, see-through blouse

trimmed strategically with lace, "Very pretty indeed," he

said.

"Don't kid an old lady."

"But you are," he insisted.

"In the eye of the beholder," she said.

"And you've got a wild figure."

"That, yes. That, in all modesty, have to admit. Once

upon a time I was a dancer. But my hips got too damn big. "

"Not at all."

"Look, any woman, if she knows how, can hang on to

her figure. I would say my figure's just the same as when

I was a girl. But the backside—excuse the expression—that,

you can't do much about. When it starts bulging out on

you, it's like, well, a despair."

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The waiter brought the wine and Tony Lucchi paid.

"What's your narne?"

"Anthony. You?"

"Maria. You're not Spanish."

"American, but I live here, in Seville."

She lit a cigarette. "You've never been here before."

"I'm not like the other girls," she said, dragging deeply

and sipping the wine.

"Oh0" Lucchi said, glancing around.

"I only go out with a man who excites me."

"Do I excite you?"

"Maybe," she said, and smiled. "Are you liberal?"

It was Lucchi's tum to smile. don't suppose you mean

my politics."

"No." Now the heavily mascaraed dark eyes appraised

him carefully. The suit was plain but exl*nsive, the tie was

expensive, the shirt was expensive. He was too pretty for

the neighborhood, but he wasn't police. Police didn't dress

like that. They couldn't afford it. "Tony , you want to party?"

"l want to party," he said, adding, "all night."

"That's expensive."

"How expensive?"

"Twelve," she replied with a straight face.

Lucchi suppressed a grin. Twelve thousand pesetas,

nearly a hundred dollars. She had never made that in her life.

"I think we've got a party," he said. "My place? My

wife's out of town."

"Fine," she said with a shrug.

"And would you mind if we left separately? My wife ...

it's a green, two-door Torino. I'll watch for you."

"You're paying," Maria said, shrugging again.

He dropped a tip on the table and left. She waited five

minutes, then left herself, pausing at a pay phone 'in the

foyer.

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"Carla, it's me. Has that bastard Felipe called?"

"No, Maria," her sister replied in a slurred voice, "nobody

calls."

"Carla, for God's sake, you're drunk. I told you—

s 'I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I'm son-y."

"Yes, I know. Go to bed, Carla. I'll be out all night."

Maria hung up and walked out into the street. The Torino

was about a half block away. He was smiling at her through

the open door.

God, he was handsome, and young. Just what she needed

tonight.

She got in and snuggled close to him. "You may not

believe this, Anthony, but you're going to good for me

tonight."

Tony Lucchi was smiling broadly as he pulled away from

the curb.

"Si, sii " he said. ' 'Very good for you."

"Nice house."

"Glad you like it. Get comfortable. Wine?"

she said, 'Slots of it,"

"Si, wine,"

She found the radio and turned the dial. Soft flamenco

guitar music filled the room. He poured and handed her a

glass. She swayed as she drank, dancing to the music.

"I think I'm a little drunk," she giggled.

He took her in his arms and danced with her. As she

molded against him with a sigh. he kissed her. his tongue

in her mouth.

When she could talk she said, "Know something?"

"l don't kiss. I mean on the mouth. I don't kiss custom-

ers."

"You kissed me."

"l don't feel you're like a customer. But business is busi-

ness. Know what nran?"

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He broke from her, and she danced alone.

He took money from his wallet and gave it to her.

"I'll treat it like a gift."

He took out more and gave it to her.

"Why?" she said, and danced around him, waving the

money.

'SIRCs just say you're a good investment."

Had Maria Varga been more alert, she would have noticed

the new, flat tone that had crept into his voice. As it was,

she only danced to her purse and deposited the money.

Lucchi watched her and removed his clothes, then he

took her in his arms and danced her into the bedroom. The

overnight bag was open, by the bed.

Her left arm was around him. Her right hand moved be-

tween them and found him. "Hmmm, all man." she purred.

"A warrior!"

"I told you I'd kill you."

"Like that I'm willing to die," she sighed.

"Get naked," he said.

"I'm going to do that."

"Do it," he said.

"Like slow?"

"Like any way you want," he said.

'SLike a striptease?" She smiled coyly.

"Just do it."

To the rhythm of the music. she opened her blouse and

flung it off. To the rhythm of the music, she unzipped her

skirt. let it drop, and kicked it away. And kicked out of her

shoes. No stockings. A pink bra and pink panties around

the big, broad, round. marvelous body, and the musky odor

of her encompassed him.

"Nice." he said.

She unhooked the bra and, still dancing, tossed it to him.

He tossed it away as she wriggled out of the pantiesl• Then

she was dancing wildly, arms upraised, breasts bobbing,

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stomach heaving, pubis churning.

"Come here."

She did, and he flipped her to the side. She landed on

the bed on her back, her legs high and wide, and he was

over her.

He grabbed and seized. He kissed up over her belly, her

breasts, then entered her savagely.

"Oh yes .

my God . . . oh, my Gcxl"'

Her legs scissored around him and she thrashed beneath

him, no longer a whore but a woman caught in the throes

of rampant desire.

Above her, he became a machine. Her eyes were closed,

so she didn't see the way his eyes glazed as he pummeled.

She babbled, urging him to continue, to never stop.

And he didn't stop. On and on, turning her, twisting her

in positions she had never been in before. God, he was

wild, a lunatic, a lunatic lover.

He had her at the top of the mountain and wouldn't let

her come down.

God, I should pay him!

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was out

of this world.

My God, she thought, look at his eyes .... Black, shiny,

crazy black, shiny eyes. And the face .

. innocent, youthful,

no lines, no cares, a boy's face. Only the eyes gave him

away, told her what a madman he was.

Maria Varga closed her eyes again and a flood of release

swept over her.

She never noticed the odd way he stretched over the side

of the bed. She didn't hear the faint click as the razor-sharp

blade snapped out of the hilt.

She screamed once, and then felt nothing.

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THREE

The villa was small, just off Via della Lungara, overlook-

ing the Tiber. It had only been in use for about six months.

That was the usual routine for AXE safe houses; short-term

leases, then moving to another area. When its current in-

habitant left, it would probably be closed down, the keys

handed back to the estate agent, and another house set up

within a week.

The current resident had been in place for three days. His

name was Carter, Nick Carter, top gun for supersecret AXE.

Right now. Carter, dressed to the nines in a white dinner

jacket, dark razor-creased trousers, and black patent leather

shoes, paced the second-floor study of the villa.

Two hours earlier he had made the contact, playing a well-

dressed security guard at the American embassy. It was one

of those affairs where dinner was set-ved to about thirty

guests assembled from all the embassies in Rome. They

were supposed to sit around, eat, talk, and make believe

that just over the horizon there would be mutual understand-

ing.

Five days earlier, Carter had been in Nice, France, taking

the sun and a well-deserved rest. Word had come from AXE


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chief of operations in Washington, David Hawk.

. could be a delicate

"Balaria has a pickup in Rome .

blackmail. Assess and handle."

situation

The agents in Beatriz Balaria's black book were top-notch

people. When they wanted a pickup. the information was

usually hot and needed immediate attention. The job Ofte

fell to an AXE operative.

In this case, the provider was an intelligence researc

analyst in the Russian embassy, a woman of Polish descen

named Joanna Dubshek.

The contact was made through notes passed by two wait

ers, and the meeting was set.

Her needs were odd: a screen and a Russian-type ALM

8mm projector with sound capabilities. Carter had been

forced to hustle, but the proper equipment had been found

and was now set up.

But where was Joanna Dubshek?

At the window he sipped his scotch and peered through

the night at the winding road that led down to the big

boulevard and the Tiber beyond.

He pictured Joanna Dubshek in the brief moment he had

seen her earlier, cocktail in hand, at the dinner party. She

was young, much younger than Carter had expected, and

the figure-hugging green satiny dress she had been wearing

didn't give her age.

Moving through the crowd, chatting like the good little

information-gathering machine she was supposed to be for

the Soviet Union at these affairs, she had looked more like

a Hollywood starlet than a spy,

Her skin glowed with a tawny hue, as if her veins were

full of honey. She was tall and lithe with high, full breasts

and long. supple legs. A veil of silver-gold hair

lightly by the Italian sun framed a remarkable face. Unlike

most Poles it was narrow, with high cheekbones and'a petitc

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mouth. Even her nose was delicate, patrician, with an in-

souciant tilt.

It was a pity, Carter thought, that they would only be

together for a short time.

But business was business. Maybe, when this was over,

he could sneak back up to Nice for a few more days.

Then he saw the lights, yellow, on dim. She was being

cautious. Just off the main boulevard they went out com-

pletely. Carter saw her park two blocks away. He measured

the time and opened the door the moment she knocked.

"Come in."

She moved quick ly by him and Carter closed the door. She

was carrying a small canvas airline bag. She had changed

from the green gown into a dark blue, short-skirted suit,

pinched in at the waist. It accented her already incendiary

figure, and Carter silently moaned that the night would be

all business.

"Something to drink?"

"l could use a brandy."

Carter talked while he poured. "Any trouble?"

"I don't think so. I returned to the compound after the

party, changed, and left by the servants' gate. i have a car

parked by the Palazzo Barberini for nights like this. It's

leased under another name. They don't know about it. I

took two cabs to the car and drove here a very roundabout

way."

He brought her a snifter. She set down the valise and

took the brandy gratefully.

"What have we got?" Carter asked.

Joanna sipped, set the glass aside, and crossed the room

to the equipment. She glanced at the set-up screen, moved

to the projector, examined it, and nodded.

"Can you handle this?"

"In a pinch." Carter replied.

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"No matter, I can. Did you set up the transfer lab?"

He nodded. "Ready to go at a moment's notice."

"Good," she said. bending to the bag. "This has to be

back in the vault by morning."

She extracted a small can of film from the bag and re-

moved the film from the can. Quite expertly, she threaded

the film into the projector.

"Would you please dim the lights?"

Carter moved to kill all the lights except a small lamp.

"There are five full rolls. I think you'll only need to see

one. I'm sure you'll want to have all five transferred to

video tape."

"Okay, roll it," Carter said, settling back in the sofa.

Joanna hit a button on the projector and the screen came

fuzzily alive. A few adjustments and the picture cleared.

Carter saw a beautiful living room. the color scheme a

subtle blend of gold, green, and rose. A door opened and

a tall. dark-haired woman entered.

Right behind her came a stocky man in an expensively

tailored sports coat. He had the rough-and-ready look of a

mechanic, strongly built, firm-jawed. steady. with energetic

eyes. Between the gray hair and the seamed face, Carter

guessed him to be in his late fifties.

"The man is Sydney Lockwood. When this film was

taken, about a year ago, he was in Seville as head of a new

radar project for MacPherson Aviation. He was there for

two months to test the system."

"The apartment?"

"Rented by a local businessman, paid for by the KGB.

It's used almost exclusively for what you're seeing."

What Carter was seeing was Sydney Lockwood kissing

and pawing the woman. Eventually the woman managed to

come up for air.

"Isn't this nice? Didn't I tell you it would be?" she gÄsped.

22


"No matter, I can. Did you set up the transfer lab?"

He nodded. "Ready to go at a moment's notice."

"Good," she said. bending to the bag. "This has to be

back in the vault by morning."

She extracted a small can of film from the bag and re-

moved the film from the can. Quite expertly, she threaded

the film into the projector.

"Would you please dim the lights?"

Carter moved to kill all the lights except a small lamp.

"There are five full rolls. I think you'll only need to see

one. I'm sure you'll want to have all five transferred to

video tape."

"Okay, roll it," Carter said, settling back in the sofa.

Joanna hit a button on the projector and the screen came

fuzzily alive. A few adjustments and the picture cleared.

Carter saw a beautiful living room. the color scheme a

subtle blend of gold, green, and rose. A door opened and

a tall. dark-haired woman entered.

Right behind her came a stocky man in an expensively

tailored sports coat. He had the rough-and-ready look of a

mechanic, strongly built, firm-jawed. steady. with energetic

eyes. Between the gray hair and the seamed face, Carter

guessed him to be in his late fifties.

"The man is Sydney Lockwood. When this film was

taken, about a year ago, he was in Seville as head of a new

radar project for MacPherson Aviation. He was there for

two months to test the system."

"The apartment?"

"Rented by a local businessman, paid for by the KGB.

It's used almost exclusively for what you're seeing."

What Carter was seeing was Sydney Lockwood kissing

and pawing the woman. Eventually the woman managed to

come up for air.

"Isn't this nice? Didn't I tell you it would be?" she gÄsped.

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"And my boyfriend is away on vacation. Better than a hotel !"

' 'Ycah, yeah," Lockwood growled. and went after her

again.

It wasn't long before he had ripped off his clothes and

started working on the woman's. She was well over thirty

and far from beautiful, but she had a mouth-watering figure.

"Who's the woman?"

"We don't know," Joanna replied. "She has been used

quite often by the control in the area, one Domingo Bolivar."

The couple was on the floor by now, Lockwood in the

saddle and riding for home. The look on his face made

Carter feel that the man was on the way to heaven.

The woman's expression was bland and somewhat impa-

tient, the pained but sympathetic look of a schoolteacher

reciting poetry by rote to a roomful of bored teen-agers.

Lockwood got the job done and rolled away. The woman

fixed drinks and they smoked and talked.

Three minutes into the conversation, it got interesting.

Ten minutes later, Carter was on the edge of his chair,

"Jesus Christ, he's reciting the findings of all the radar

tests since he's been there!"

thought that would interest you," Joanna Dubshek said.

"As you can see, she's hardly paying attention. I figure he's

just talking shop to himself, thinking she wouldn't under-

stand a word of it, and doesn't have the brains to remember

much of it anyway."

Carter agreed. "She's no trained swallow. Probably a

local hooker."

guess the same. Lockwood wouldn't talk like that to

a pro. He would spot her."

After fifteen minutes of blatant breaches of security, Syd-

ney Lockwood was ready again.

This time the woman took over with a lascivious smite

on her face. It was fairly obvious that she could tear the

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man up if she were in the mood. This second time around,

she was definitely in the mood.

"Does it go on like this?" Carter asked.

"Clear to the end of the film. Mr. Lockwood is a vigorous

man."

"Shut it off."

Joanna did, and Carter upped the lights before freshening

their drinks.

are they the same?"

"The other four films . .

"Substantially, only more so. A second woman, younger,

prettier, makes up a kinky threesome on two of them. On

all of them, Lockwood talks a lot."

"You say these were taken about a year ago?"

Joanna nodded. "Over a period of two months. Until now

they were used only for the information on the tapes. That's

changed. We're to make copies and get them to a KGB con-

trol in Washington. Blackmail."

"Because Sydney Lockwood has been made head of pro-

curement for MacPherson Aviation."

Caner whistled. MacPherson had their hands in over half

of the Pentagon pie. As head of procurement, every plan

for bids would go through LockwoodSs hands, as well as

every nut and bolt if a bid were accepted. He would also

know the status of progress on every project.

"Other than the obvious, what else would make Lockwood

knuckle under?"

"Old family. money, his father was a general, and he's

happily married with three children."

"Jesus," Carter growled, "and he can't keep his pants on

or his mouth shut."

"He's a typical man?' Joanna Dubshek replied, and shifted

to light a cigarette.

The shift lifted her skirt three-quarters of the way up a

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beautifully curved thigh. Carter looked, thought about the

film, shivered. and turned away to the bar.

"Rewind that one and put it back in the can." He poured

and heard her working away behind him. "Got anything

else, not on the tape?"

"Lots," she replied. "Memorized memos, routing orders

to Washington, a little on this Domingo Bolivar, and some

odds and ends."

Carter put the solo tape in the bag with the other four

and took her by the hand. He opened the bedroom door,

flipped on the light, and tugged her through.

"What are you .

Before she finished the question, he had pulled her past

the unmade bed and seated her at a small desk. On top of

the desk was an uncovered typewriter.

"Put it all down, everything. I'll run the films to the lab

and have them transferred to video cassettes."

Joanna checked her watch. "Can you be back in less than

three hours? It's tricky if I don't slip back into the compound

before dawn."

"I'll make sure."

Carter left her at the typewriter. He climbed into a shoulder

rig and tucked his 9mm Luger, Wilhelmina, into the holster

under his left armpit. He adjusted the spring sheath of his

stiletto, Hugo, under his right sleeve, and pulled on a jacket.

The night was dark and quiet as he backed a small red

Fiat out of the garage and rolled down the hill. At the gates

he dropped the clutch and the engine came to life. He hit

the Via della Lungara moving and turned left. A mile on,

he turned right over the Tiber and then left again. He kept

to the major streets to make time and drove like a maniac.

No one paid any attention. Everyone in Rome drove like

a maniac.

He crossed the open expanse of Saint Peter's Square and

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turned east into Trastevere. the ancient, densely populated

section of Rome where streets twist and turn in every direc-

lion.

Twice he thought he spotted the same car and driver

behind him, but couldn't be sure. Just in case. he cut north,

then south. then north again, crisscrossing streets and turning

haphazardly.

Satisfied, he found the tiny Via Colona and parked. A

half block farther on, he turned through a gate into a small

courtyard. There were three shops. Carter went to the center

door and rang the bell. A tiny sign under the bell said

EDUARDO PARMO. VIDEO TRADUZIONE.

The door was opened by a slender man in his late twenties,

with dark blond hair and features that were just too delicate

for a male face.

"You're early." Parmo said.

"I didn't have to take much time looking," Carter said,

moving past him through the main area of the shop and into

the rear equipment room. "Are you set up?"

"Of course," Parmo replied, walking around Caner and

perching on a high stool in front of his equipment. "How

many?"

"Five," Carter said, handing him the bag. "How long?"

"Two hours?" he asked, already threading one of the

films. It flickered on a nearby monitor. "Oh, God, how

"To each his own sin," Caner growled. "Can you make it

an hour and a half?"

'*For you, of course."

"Thanks," Carter said dryly. "Anyplace close by where

I can get a drink? I saw a bar on the corner."

"That would be Allesandro's. Don't go there."

"Why not?"

"Because that's where I go. The other way, middle bf

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the block. Turn into the alley, you'll see the sign, Taverna

Neilo. More your style."

Carter hit the street, turned right, found the alley then

the sign. On the other side of the door was a hostess. She

was a tall. red-haired Dolly Parton in not enough green se-

quins to cover it all.

Parmo had been right.

The Taverna Nello was more his style.

Tony Lucchi slid from the roof on the thin. black nylon

line and dropped soundlessly to the deck of the balcony.

The line barely made a whisper as it slipped around the

chimney,.off the roof, and into his hands. He coiled it and

checked the door.

It slid open without a sound, and Lucchi slipped into the

room. To his left he heard the steady pecking of a typewriter,

and moved toward it.

The bedroom door was ajar. She was seated, intent at the

typewriter, her profile to him. Her blond hair was pulled

back and pinned. She had small ears. Her feet under the

desk were shoeless. Her face. beautiful, gleamed with a

thin sheen of perspiration.

It was hot in the villa.

Beside her chair lay a suit jacket and a thin white blouse.

Obviously she had discarded them because of the heat, and

now she sat, typing, in her bra. She was big, the soft flesh

of her breasts filling the bra and bulging up over the cups

to tantalize him.

He had been watching her every move, even observed her

in her own bed. sleeping, for two weeks, and never had she

looked so beautiful and appealing.

Trembling, Lucchi backed off to ram the door.

' 'However you do it, Tony Bolivar had said, "make sure

that we are not suspected. Make them think it was a thief,

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NICK CARTER

anyone but us. That is

a rapist, or even the Americans .

important."

Dobrini and his brothers would take care of the big black-

haired American. They would put him away for hours. There

would be time.

Tony Lucchi carefully removed all his clothing as the typ-

ing continued. When he was completely naked, he strapped

the sheath containing the switchblade to his right calf and

moved back to the open bedroom door.

He was convinced he could take her without any trouble.

He had read her file. She was in computers, trained only

for that. She was big. inches taller than he, but he was an

athlete, trained, a killer.

On silent feet he moved into the room behind her. Rapt

in work, she gave him no heed. Rapt in work, she didn't

sense his presence until she felt the cold steel of the knife

at her throat.

"Get up slowly .

turn around."

She did. "Who are you? What do you want?"

8' Take off your clothes."

This can't be happening. Joanna thought. With all she

had been through. with all the risks she had taken, she was

about to be raped in an American safe house?

"Look .

"Take off your clothes!"

She saw his eyes . .

. shiny. black. cruel, wild. She felt

the knife. She sensed his involuntary twitchings, saw the

uncontrollable contractions in his small but well-muscled

arms.

His face was that of a boy. His eyes were those of a

maniac.

Then she began to remove her clothes,

Tony Lucchi's eyes followed every move,

God, he thought, she was beautiful. Tall, curved... skin

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glistening, proud breasts rising and falling as she breathed

fear.

"I have money in my purse."

He couldn't resist the impulse to laugh. "Money? Money

is nothing compared to your body. Get on the bed!"

She hesitated.

He knew how to convince her. The knife was a blur as

it shot forward and retreated. A thin line of red appeared

on her arm from her shoulder to her elbow.

Joanna jumped. She was really frightened now. She had

led a dangerous life, but until now she had never been in a

life-threatening situation.

And this was life-threatening, obvious from the way he

handled the lethal blade and the lunatic lust in his glazed

eyes.

Give it to him. Get it over with. Perhaps Carter would

return early .

'The bed," he said. his voice rising.

She made no further resistance. She lay on the bed, on

her back, supine, quiet.

"Smart," he hissed. his lips splitting in a lewd grin. "I'm

going to tie you, but loose. so you can have room to move. "

He removed cords from the venetian blinds and tied her

tight but loose. The knots were tight but there was sufficient

play so she could move. He tied her wrists to either corner

of the top of the bed, and her ankles to either corner of the

bottom of the bed, and only then did he fully relinquish the

knife. He laid it on the bedside table.

"See?" he said. "Did I hurt you? I didn't hurt you,"

"Get it over with, bastard," Joanna spat.

The knife was inches from her head. She could almost

touch it with her fingertips. The knots were loose.

The question was. were they loose enough?

He flung himself on her and kissed her, forcing her mouth

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open by the pressure of his teeth on her lips. Revulsion

filled Joanna, making her gag slightly, but she was able to

move, to stretch her left arm.

The whole of his concentration was on her body now. He

moved down. He gripped her breasts in his powerful hands.

hurting her. His lips found her nipples and her body strained

away from him. toward the knife.

And then he was on hers over her, and she had the knife.

She flipped it around and began sawing.

She could feel the blade cut deeply into her wrist as she

missed the rope and tried again. She could feel the blood

spurting from her wrists and the pain. But it was nothing

compared to the pain of his sudden penetration.

She screamed.

Just as her wrist came free, he rose up, a leer on his lips,

his shiny black eyes glazed, the pupils dancing as if the

rape were like dope. making him high.

She struck in an arching slash. The blade ripped across

his cheek, opening it from his ear to his mouth.

But before she could come back across his throat, he had

her wrist in both his powerful hands.

It was futile.

He was growling like a wounded animal.

The blade was turning, being propelled downward toward

her throat by his weight.

She felt nothing as the world went dark.

30


FOUR

It had been an hour, on the nose. Carter had consumed

three of the watered whiskies. In between, he had rung up

AXE Central in Rome, and gotten through to Joe Crifasi at

once.

"Guiseppe, Carter."

"What's up?"

• 'It looks like a blackmail scam. Put a rush through to

Washington. Have them put a surveillance team on one

Sydney Lockwood. He's procurement and Pentagon liaison

for MacPherson Aviation."

"He's the pigeon?"

"Right, and they've got enough to nail him to the cross.

Parmo is copying five films on him now. Also, get me what

you can on a Spaniard named Domingo Bolivar."

"What's his locale?"

"I'll know in a hour or so. Joanna Dubshek is typing me

up a report with details right now."

"Check. Stay in touch."

"Will do."

Carter hung up and returned to the bar. He dropped some

bills and headed for the door. Dolly watched him come with

a smile.

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"Must you leave so early""

"Business."

She did a little shrug, and the earth shook. "We all have

to work. I get off at four."

"In the morning?"

"l come from Spain," she said and grinned.

Carter slipped her a bill. "I'll be back."

In the alley, he lit a cigarette and checked his watch again

by the glare of his lighter.

Eduardo Parmo should be just finishing. He headed for the

dim light on Via Colona.

They jumped him just at the mouth of the alleys where it

was still in darkness. Two of them at first, one from his

right, another from his left. lhey came over the walls, and

before he could go for the Luger, each of them had an arm.

A third, half the size of the other two, came up from

behind a pile of garbage cans like a midget dynamo. He

was in front of the Killmaster a split second after the other

two had his arms. and the little man was swinging.

He landed a four-punch combination in the middle of Car-

ter•s gut so fast that his hands were only a blur. The Killmas-

ter had no time to tense his stomach muscles. and before

he knew it, he was gasping for air.

They were pros. All three of them knew exactly what they

were doing and how to go about it.

When the little man moved his fists up to Carter's face

and throat. the two monsters at his sides bent his arms nearly

double and used their fists on his kidneys.

The Killmaster•s body was used to punishment. At the

training ground in Virginia, he was known as the Iron Man

because of the mental and physical punishment he could

absorb.

But not even iron could withstand for long the bruising

blows these three were dishing out.

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"Gun .

. shoulder rig," one of them barked in Italian.

"Get it!" answered the little man, and went back to Car-

ter's gut.

He felt Wilhelmina's weight leave him and then he was

slammed, face first, up against one of the brick walls and

held there by the monsters.

Now the little boxer was at his kidneys, each punch driving

his pelvis into the hard bricks.

The little guy was bound to get tired eventually, Carter

hoped.

He did. taking a five-second, panting break.

Carter gathered up what strength he had left. Using the

two big ones as a fulcrum, he kicked backward and con-

nected. It was solid. He heard a grunt of surprise from the

little man, and then a crash as he collided with the garbage

cans.

Still in the air. Carter twisted and smashed his head into

the one on his right. But he was a beat too late turning back

to his left when he came down.

A freight train hit him in the jaw. A freight train of

knuckles. His legs buckled under him, and he flew back.

He couldn't stop moving. What was wrong? He tried to

clear his head. He lifted his face, and his eyes began to

focus. It was . . . .

The wall smashed into the back of his head. He felt

himself falling, falling down onto the cobblestones.

His breath shot out of him as a foot smashed his ribs, He

couldn't breathe. The air was like tongues of name. Sud-

denly he felt blows everywhere. Sensations of pain rang out

over his body, like sharp bells ringing too close.

In the midst of this, Carter heard his own voice, "At-

fight, man. fight!"

tack .

Suddenly he could see. His mind was' cleared. He was

on his back and .

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A foot was flying at him. a big black boot. He grabbed

the foot and twisted it hard. thromng the person attached

to it over him. Then he quickly rolled to the side and jumped

to his feet.

All three of them were up again and circling silently

around him. Carter flexed the muscle of his right forearm.

his hand itching for the stilettoes hilt.

It never came. The spring-sheath had gotten twisted on

his arm. It released the blade. but the knife Fecame tangled

in his cuff. Before he could free it. they were on him again.

Carter caught the punch in midair. He slipped under the

man's arm and lifted a knee into his gut. He spun his whole

body into it so that the knee '*hipped up. around. and

smashed into the big stomach like a hammer.

The man•s mouth flew ovx»n as the air shot out of him

like a popped balloon. He fell. clutching his middle.

Carter heard sotnething coming at him from behind. He

leaped to the side. An eight-inch blackjack missed his head

by inches.

The Kilimaster jumped back before the second giant could

aim his headcrusher once again. Quick as a cat. Carter

slamtned his elbow into the big manis face directly 1k*Iow

the nose.

Something in the face cracked. and blood shot every-

where. The man growled in fury and went down. his hands

over his mouth as if he had just eaten something raw he

shouldn't have.

Carter whirled. still dizzy. his own blood flowing into

his eyes.

The third one. the little one. Yvhere the hell was he?

He heard the scrape but didn•t get ready in time. He saw

the two boots coming off the top of the wall directly at him.

His hands came up.

Too late.

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The boots hit him. full force, center chest. He went back

and down.

He felt, rather than heard, the back of his head hit the

cobblestones.

And then he felt nothing.

He came to slowly, his face against something soft, a

pillow, no, two pillows.

He opened his eyes. They hurt but he could see.

"Hello, Dolly."

"Dolly? I am Carmella. You are hurt. I will call an am-

bulance."

"No," he croaked. "Just a little argument between old

friends. "

He tried to rise, couldn•t, and she hoisted him to his feet

like a feather.

"You are hurt."

"Hurting." he replied with a groan. and checked. Sore,

very sore, and bloody. But other than maybe a cracked rib

or two. a split lip and busted hand, he was mobile.

"Come inside. J will clean you up."

He patted her cheek. "Any other time I'd take you up on

that."

"One of them dropped this."

It was his Luger. The magazine had been ejected. "No,

they didn't," he said, and slipped it into his shoulder rig.

"Come," she said.

"Rain check," he replied.

Leaving her shaking her head, he staggered to the street

and, holding his sides. made it back to Eduardo Parmo"s

shop.

'*Eduardo . . . Eduardo .

Carter heard a groan and stumbled through the connecting

door. Parmo was on the floor, moving like a crab. His left

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arm was useless and the back of his head was a mess.

Carter grabbed him and gently lowered him to his side.

tenderly, he applied fingertips to pressure points to stem

the bleeding. It looked useless.

Parmo coughed. His eyes were closed, but his lips were

moving, trying to make words.

"Nick

"Take it easy, Eduardo. I'll get help .

"Nick, got three of them run off .

"Yeah?"

Parmo coughed again and bloody foam spilled over his

lips. 'They got the films, all five .

and two of the cas-

but, Nick

settes .

He stopped. His head flopped to one side and his lips

worked but no sound came out. Carter got his ear down,

close to the man's mouth.

"Third tape

still in the machine .

wind .

hit the re-

His voice was so faint Carter could barely hear it.

"Rewind

Nick

. cassette will load automati-

cally .

eject . . . Nick . .

No sound. He didn't move. His lips had gone slack.

Carter laid the lifeless, crushed head gently on the floor

and walked to the machine. He hit the rewind button and

the thing came to life.

While he waited, he lit a cigarette and unfuzzed his brain.

He remembered feeling guns in shoulder rigs on both of

the big men. Besides the blackjacks, they probably also had

knives. A crew like that would come prepared.

But they hadn't used anything but the blackjacks. Either

they hadn't wanted to kill, or they wanted to make it look

like a robbery.

Why?

And then it hit him. Time. They were buying time.

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The cassette ejected. Carter grabbed and pocketed it and

ran for the door. He sprinted down the street to his car.

The Killmaster knew it would take him close to twenty

minutes to reach the villa. He started the Fiat's engine and

yanked the wheel around in a U-turn. He thought about

calling Crifasi, but there wasn't time now.

He made it in seventeen minutes, leaving a lot of cussing

cabdrivers in his wake.

Veering the Fiat off the lane, he parked in the driveway

under a tree. Joanna Dubshek's car was still where she had

parked it.

His stomach turned into an aching knot when he hit the

front door. It was ajar and one of the glass panels had been

kicked out in the series of windows beside it.

Wilhelmina was empty. He palmed the stiletto and moved

toward the bedroom. Carefully, he eased open the door.

Carter had seen death many times in many for'ms all over

the world. He never remembered gagging.

Now he gagged and retched all the way back through the

living room to the phone.

"Crifasi, Caner. I need you."

"Now?"

"Right now. I'm at the house. And bring a laundry crew

. and a doctor. And send a pair to Parmo's. They'll need

a body bag there as well."

"Oh, shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

Carter hung up and stumbled to the bar. He grabbed a

glass and a bottle. He threw the glass against the wall and

drank directly from the bottle.

Carter noticed the bottle was empty, and he dropped it to

the carpet. He looked up as Joe Crifasi's chunky, fullback-

type body moved through the bedroom door.

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S' You look damn near as bad as she does," Crifasi said,

lighting two cigarettes and passing one to the Killmaster.

"At least I've still got feelings" Carter growled, accepting

the long Italian cigarette and dragging deeply. "What's the

verdict?"

"Knife got her jugular, first try. Whoever he was, he

she was raped,"

knew what he was doing. And

"Jesus." Carter crushed the butt.

"He took whatever report she was typing, but we might

get a break."

"How so?"

'*The typewriter was new. just issued. My boys think they

can get something off the platen."

Carter nodded. At this point. anything would help. "They

put people on Lockwood?"

Crifasi nodded. "Yeah, but I imagine they'll just faze

him out. If the KGB knows we know, Lockwood would

never be good bait now."

That clicked in Carter's brain. "Then it was a bad time

for them to kill her."

Crifasi shrugged. "Could be a contract deal. The killer

on the fringe not knowing what she was handling. just told

to nail her and take anything pertaining."

"What about Bolivar?"

"Got people working. Without a specific area. it could

take time. Can you remember any more about the three who

worked you over?"

Carter closed his eyes and concentrated. "Not much. The

little one was a boxer, very fast. The two big ones were

just gorillas, but they were good."

"I'll put out feelers."

'Ihe doctor entered the room and Crifasi stepped aside.

"l can do more for you than for her," he said grimly.

"Where does it hun?"

"All over," Carter muttered.

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"Take your shirt off"

Carter did, painfully. and gritted his teeth while the gray-

haired man poked. probed, and prodded. "One broken fin-

gery a couple of cracked and that gash above your eye

needs stitches. Want a local?"

Caner shook his head. "Just hand me another bottle of

scotch."

Taping, splinting, and stitching took nearly an hour. Dur-

ing that time they removed the body. Carter tried not to

think what they would do with it. It would be dumped some-

where far out of the city. When it was found, it would look

like a mugging and would be relegated to the hands of the

local police.

A lousy end for a beautiful woman and a good agent.

But pawns fall when the kings. queens, and knights make

their moves.

At last the doctor finished. He packed up his bag and

departed, leaving only Crifasi and Caner in the villa.

"That's about it. Nick. Not much more for you here. At

least they won't get to use Lockwood."

"Yeah, but I lost her. Leaves a sour taste. Anybody inform

the countess yet?"

"No. Thought you might like to do it yourself."

The Killmaster moved across the room on shaky knees

and picked up the scrambler phone. The Contessa Beatriz

Balaria picked up on the third ring.

"Bea, Nick Carter in Rome. Sorry about the hour."

The familiar voice came back with an edge to it. 'That's

all right. What is it, Nick? You wouldn't call at this hour

if it could wait."

"Joanna Dubshek. We lost her."

A long silence. "She was good. It's too bad. Another six

months and I would have brought her out. Did you salvage

anything?"

Carter told her about Lockwood and what else Joanna

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Dubshek told him before he left for Parmo's shop.

"At least that's something," the woman replied.

"Maybe, but a lopsided trade. Listen, Bea, they had her

tagged. It was a contract hit, but they tried to make it look

like rape and common murder. She was blown. Any hints?"

He could almost hear the woman's mind working on the

other end of the line. "None," she said at last. "She was

deep. I used her sparingly, and usually with at least two

cutouts." Another long pause. "Hard to understand, Nick.

I've got four, maybe five other people working in her area

and a lot closer to the edge than Joanna Dubshek. It had to

be some kind of a fluke."

'iWe might have something. a name ... Domingo Bolivar.

Ring any bells?"

"None, but I can make inquiries."

"Do that, Bea. I'll ring you back."

"I'm flying to Paris in the morning, and then on to New

York. You have those numbers?"

"Yeah, I'll catch you."

Carter hung up. Crifasi was on the other line. He finished

about the same time as Carter, and turned.

"The woman at the bar, Carmella .

"One of my people asked her. real nice. She saw nothing,

heard nothing, remembers nothing. According to her, she

didn't even see you."

Carter nodded. "Figures. Don't blame her. She gets in-

volved, she may get dead." He checked his watch. It was

past four. "She would be gone by now."

Crifasi passed him a slip of paper. "I figured you'd like

to ask her a few questions yourself. Want a driver?"

"l can manage."

Carter parked on the street. It was new, an enornfous,

sprawling complex of several buildings. He found the right


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building and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Carmella

Perez lived in apartment D. He rang the bell, When that

got no response, he knocked.

"Yes, who is it?"

"An old scotch drinker . . . "

. come to cash in a rain check."

The door opened a couple of inches and her face appeared

in the crack. "It is you."

"In the flesh

what's left of it."

"At least you 100k a little better," she said. and smiled.

"You look every bit as good

what I can see." he

said grinning painfully.

She laughed and closed the door. The chain was dropped

and it opened again, wide. "Come in."

He dids and kicked the door shut behind him.

Only a thin, togalike robe of sheer material stood between

Carmella Perez and the world. Her skin was the color of

coffee mixed with cream, her burnished auburn hair shined,

framing her face and cascading below her shoulders. The

light gleamed off her long, strong legs. the wide-curved

hips and flat belly. Her body was proportioned except for

her breasts. Braless now, they blew the hell out of the theory

of gravity.

"Your face looks sore."

"My whole body is sore."

That was all it took. She took his good hand and led him

into the bathroom and set him on the closed commode. Then

she turned the water on full force in the tub.

"Nice place," Carter said.

"l get your meaning," she chuckled. "You're wrong. I

own the club."

Carter nodded. "One of my people came around and asked

you some questions."

' That's right. I told him nothing."

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"I'm going to ask you the same questions."

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. "You,

I will probably answer. But later . . . after."

He sat where she had put him, listening to the water

splash in the tub. Suddenly he didn•t care about the three

men. He was in her hands.

Gently she peeled him naked. She whispered several

curses in Spanish when she saw his body. "Mother of God,

what did they do to you?"

"In good old American English, they beat the shit out of

me."

"lill keep the water level below your bandage. Get in."

The warm water felt like heaven. The instant he hit its

Carter felt a gentle. seeping comfort, and sighed.

He wasn't surprised when Carmella cast aside the wispy

robe and slid into the tub with him.

"The water," she murmured, "does it hurt you?"

"Some," he whispered back. "No matter. Heat draws out

pain."

He was so big in the tub, large though it was, that it was

a tight fit. They put their arms around each other and scooted

closer. That was better, much better.

Carter couldn't resist. He snaked his hands down from

her shoulders and gently hefted her breasts.

"You think I am a freak?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"No," he replied, "I am."

"You? What do you mean?"

"I've lasted this long without molesting you."

She laughed. It was a hearty, earth-mother laugh that

echoed off the walls and made her whole body shake. "You

think you're up to molesting?"

"I'm recuperating fast."

For the next hour they played, dawdled, and played some

more. Then she helped him out and dried them both •with

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several oversize, velvety towels. By the time she had

finished them both, the floor was covered with damp towels.

"Bed?" She smiled.

thought you'd never ask."

The sheets were cool. Her body was warm and soft and

yielding. All but the major aches and pains faded as desire

took over.

They kissed, tentatively at first, then with quickened ur-

gency and desire. She urged him to lie back on the bed.

"Let me," she crooned.

She came over him. Flesh met flesh. He caressed her

slowly, firmly kneading and relaxing her shoulders, then

let his hands slide down her throat to encompass her lush

breasts, softly slipping the nipples between his fingers before

bringing the pressure of his lips to bear upon them.

He couldn't seem to get enough of her earthy voluptuous-

ness as he moved his powerful but gentle arms around her

waist and clasped his hands to the small of her back. pulling

her tightly against him.

For long moments they pressed their bodies together,

breathing heavily under the impact of the fierce emotions

that gripped them both. Carter's mouth opened hers, took

hers, his kisses so tender and yet so demanding that she

grew dizzy. She arched herself close to him, slid her arms

under his shoulders, and molded her body to his, feeling as

if they were sealed together. It was an excitement so intense

that he could barely breathe, barely think.

A frenzy came over them. They tangled in a fierce em-

brace. arms and legs tight around each other, their demands

almost violent now, totally beyond control. Carter's questing

mouth, the feel of her satiny skin. the fragrance of her body,

were like wild aphrodisiacs for him, driving him to passion.

Finally she guided him inside her, almost crying out as

he took his first long, deep thrust. He drove deep within

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her, and her whole body quivered under the impact of this

possession. He began the rhythmic movements of love,

slowly at first, then with greater urgency, until at last they

pounded together, each taking from the other, each giving,

moisture running from their bodies. their breath coming in

ragged gasps.

Before they were both ready, they both exploded together,

Slowly, they came down. still gripping one another in

the aftermath. After several minutes Carmella rose and pad-

ded softly into the other room. She came back with cigarettes

and scotch.

Sitting comfortably side by side in the big bed, they

smoked and drank in silence. At last she rolled to her side

and came up on one elbow.

"You are not police."

"No," Carter said.

"But you have power, friends."

"Yes,"

"The little one took pictures. flash pictures. of you when

you were unconscious."

Carter smoked in silence, mulling that over. They would

be able to spot him now, but he didn't care.

"I know who they were," Carmella said.

He nodded. "I figured you did."

"What will you do with them?"

"Ask them some questions."

"And if they don't give you answers?"

Carter rolled his head to the side, letting his eyes meet

hers. This was no ingenue. This was a woman who knew the

score, had probably lived most of it.

"If they don't give me what I want," he murmured, "I'll

kill them."

Carmella rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling for

some time. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and

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her hand moved over to rest on his thigh.

"They are the Dobrini brothers . .

Guido, Carlo, and

Daniele."

"Where can I find

"I knew you would come. so I asked around. They have

left Rome, but I know where."

"Will you take me with you .

for a little while?"

"If you want to go."

'€1 do. They are in Naples. Are your bruises better?"

"Much," Carter said.

Gently, Carmella moved her big body over his, dropped

her lips to his belly, and moved downward.

45


FIVE

Felipe Zapato fingered the telegram and read the text one

last time:

SAMPLE EXCELLENT. MY PEOPLE BE-

LIEVE REMAINING MATERIAL WILL BE OF

SAME SUPERIOR QUALITY. YOUR REQUEST

AGREEABLE. PLEASE ACQUIRE WITHIN

NEXT FORTY-EIGHT HOURS. WILL HAVE

EVER YTHING WAITING WHEN YOU ARRIVE

ALGECIRAS.

Fine, just fine, Zapato thought. Bolivar had taken three

precious weeks to confirm the sample and give him the

go-ahead for the job.

Now it might be too late.

The telegram had arrived at four that afternoon. He had

picked it up and returned to the villa. The telephone call

from the only man in the world he trusted, Alberto Ferare.

the man who for years had fenced the jewels that Zapato

stole. had come two hours before, at seven.

"Felipe, the word is on the street in Malaga and Seville.

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The Guardia Special Force has your alias. It's only a matter

of time before they narrow you down to the villa."

Immediately, Zapato had started a small fire in the fire-

place. Papers, letters. notes—everything went into the fire-

place. He dropped the telegram into the flames and sighed.

He would have to go into hiding now. It would be a

week, two weeks, perhaps a month before he could return

to Seville and the villa of Beatriz Balaria.

Damn the man Bolivar for his caution!

Outside, it was a hot August night. Crickets were alive

in the garden and birds chirped in the trees. Now and then

a bullfrog would croak from the pond near the walk.

Suddenly, all sound ceased. Nearby. his housekeeper's

dog—a mongrel named Chico—lifted his head, cocked his

ears, and emitted a growl from low in his throat.

"Mother of God." Zapato hissed under his breath, "they

are here already!"

He had already changed his clothes and filled his pockets

and a small bag with what he would need. He was ready to

leave the house. He crumbled the ashes in the fireplace with

his foot and went into the kitchen. His cook stirred a stew,

staring into the pot now and then.

"An hour, sefior, no more."

"l think I'll lie down for a moment. Wake me when it is

ready. "

"S(, senor. "

The dog was on alert. growling again, as Zapato moved

through the living room and up the stairs. In the bedroom,

he lifted a disguised section of the ceiling and crawled into

the attic. It was hot, stifling, and he crawled to a rear window

and peered out.

It was early evening. not yet full night. A shadow• was

out of place against the wall at the back of the garden, just

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inside the gate. He could not be mistaken. He knew every

shrub in the garden.

The dog began to bark. There was still no sound at the

front door. He turned to a side window, saw another mis-

placed shadow, and moved quickly to another window at

the front of the house. They had it watched from all sides.

The dog was barking steadily by the time the doorbell

rang.

Zapato had one path of escape open to him. It was not

the easiest, but it would do. When he heard the cook's loose

slippers slap across the floor as she went to answer the

doorbell, he stepped out onto the roof where he often slept

on hot nights, climbed the low railing, balanced himself for

a moment, and jumped.

The man in the garden below heard feet scrape on the

railing. Zapato, in midair, saw the white blur of an upturned

face, and the dark blotch in it that was the man's open

mouth. The man was too startled to shout, at first.

Zapato had never made the jump before. even in daylight.

But he had thought about it many times, mentally measuring

the distance, estimating the knee-spring that would be neces-

sary and the swing to follow after he caught the branch of

the olive tree. He had it all timed and precalculated in his

arm and leg muscles. He could not see the branch against

the dark background of the tree foliage, but it was there

when he reached for it, flat out on his face in the air and

stretching.

As his feet went down, he bent at the hips, kicked hard

on the upswing, let go of the branch while he was still

rising, and kicked.

Both his boots caught the Guardia agent full in the face.

The man went down and a solid fist put him out.

Again Zapato went up the tree. At the very tip ofa limb,

he dropped silently to the ground and started off at a trot.

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He ran through a vineyard that became a heavy grove of

olive trees at the top of the hill.

Once, near the top, he paused and looked back. He could

see lights going on in the villa. They were preparing to

charge the bedroom. It would be several minutes before

they broke down the door and discovered him gone.

It was a six-mile run to the coast. To be safe, Zapato

stepped off the road into the trees when cars approached.

He had guessed right. Several fishing boats were just

preparing to go out. He found one who. for the right price,

was willing to put him ashore near Tangier, Morocco.

Zapato waited until land had passed from view before he

crawled up on the wheelhouse roof and went to sleep.

It was about two hours before dawn when the old man

shook him.

"Senor, my son will row you ashore here."

A half hour later. Felipe Zapato tipped the boy and jogged

inland until he found a road. A passing truck gave him a

lift into the city center. He waited in the market, eating

breakfast and killing time until the sun was high, and then

made his way into the Medina. It had been three years since

he had been there, but it all came back within minutes. He

found the number, opened a rear gate, and walked into a

small courtyard.

In the alcove. a cat hissed at him and skittered out of his

way. The door was slightly ajar. Zapato knocked.

is it?" a raspy voice shouted.

"An old friend."

"I have no friends."

"Then an old enemy who needs lodging and will pay."

"Then come in."

Zapato pulled at the grimy handle of the door and walked

inside. It was dark in (he place, particularly after the bright-

ness of the outside. Through the murk, he saw a dim figure

sitting at a table.

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"Felipe, what a pleasure! What brings you to Tangier?"


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"Felipe, what a pleasure! What brings you to Tangier?"

' 'Hello. Jean-Pierre. I am hot."

The old man shrugged his wasted shoulders. "Tangier is

a good cooling-off place. How long will it take?"

"Two, perhaps three weeks."

Felipe Zapato felt his flesh begin to crawl as the stench

of the room hit his nostrils and the small. shriveled figure

rose to shake his hand.

"Twenty-five hundred francs a week and I'll throw in a

bottle of wine a day."

"You are a thief, Jean-Pierre."

The sagging shoulders sagged even more. "Aren't we all?

Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it."

"Good. good. Josette

Josette. you old whore, we

have a guest! Coffee!"

A few seconds later a door opened and Josette Lamont

entered. She was disheveled and wore a chenille robe that

was in desperate need of washing. Her face was small and

round, her features tiny. Atop a sharp nose perched a pair

of thick glasses that magnified her watery eyes. Her hair—

dull brown flecked with gray—was a mass of untidy curls.

Her small hands were constantly in motion, fluttering like

caught birds. She stared intently at Zapato, then asked

brightly, 'SWho is it?"

"It's me, Josette, Felipe Zapato."

"Ugh," she grunted, and turned to her husband. "What

•s he selling this time?"

"Nothing," Jean-Pierre snapped. "He's buying ... safety.

offee."

She grunted again and filled two dirty cups. While the

o men talked of nothing, she went to an upper floor and

adied a room. A half hour later she was back.

"Room is ready. Top floor, on the right."

Zapato stood and stretched. He started to leave the room,

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but was halted by one of Jean-Pierre's claws on his wrist.

"Forgive me, Felipe, but aren't you forgetting some-

Zapato counted out the equivalent of twenty-five hundred

francs in Spanish pesetas onto the table, and left the room.

It was several minutes—not until they heard the upstairs door

slam shut—before either of the couple spoke.

"Josette .

"Go over to the New Town and get me the latest papers

from Malaga, Seville. and Madrid."

The old lady mumbled something about her swollen an-

kles, but she shuffled out into the sunlight.

Behind her at the table, Jean-Pierre Lamont slowly

counted out the money. his lips spread in a grin over his

brown, broken teeth.

Felipe, he thought. must have the hounds of hell on his

ass. Either them, or the whole damn Guardia Civil!

Carter awoke alert but hurting. He could hear sounds in

another part of the apartment and knew that Carmella was

already up.

He groaned his way to the bathroom and splashed some

water on his face. The man who looked back at him fro

the mirror was unrecognizable. He wrapped a big bath towel

around his middle and re-entered the bedroom. Five minut

of slow, very careful, exercise gave him the courage to

move farther than the confines of the bedroom.

The kitchen was huge. lhe floor was imitation flagstone

and a diverse selection of copper utensils hung from th

ceiling and gleamed like a display of treasured spoils of war.

Carmella was standing next to the kitchen sink preparin

grapefruit. She hadn't heard him enter. He leaned againy

the counter and observed her. She was dressed in ohly her

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street. The Dobrinis are in Naples, but no one knows where.

They are. how you say, in the underground. But there is a

cousin, Francesco Dobrini. He will know where they are. "

Carter stood. wish you wouldn't come along."

"No, I have decided. I will go."

Carmella moved to him and crushed her breasts across

his chest. "Because you may not come back, and I want to

know you again, in bed. before you die."

An hour later they left Rome in her car, a sleek Mercedes,

with Caner doing the driving.

Carmella knew Naples. She directed him to the Hotel

Foria and the street of the same name. It was a good choice,

a sprawling. many-pathed complex, fairly new, and a half-

hour's drive from the congested center of the city. Carter

guessed most of the clientele didn•t stay more than an hour

or two. There was a discreet and convenient outside entrance

to all the halls leading to the rooms.

The concierge behind the desk was skinny, sleepy. pale,

baggy-eyed, and bored.

"One night," Caner said.

"Eighty thousand .

in advance."

Carter paid, signed the register as signore and signora.

and took the key. The baggy-eyed man checked Carmella'

chest, blinked, and jerked his thumb to the right.

"You go out, turn to the right, it's the second entrance.

All the keys open the downstairs door, but it's individua

keys for the rooms, and every room has an inside twist-lock.

You're two-oh-two. ICs a nice room, the best in the house,"

They went out, turned to the right, found the secon

entrance. unlocked the door, trotted up a flight of stairs

opened 202, and it was a nice room. Air conditioning

wall-to-wall carpeting, a radio, television, a big bed

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and a tile-floored bathroom with a big tub and a stall shower.

Carmella hit the phone while Caner put on a dry shirt

and changed the bandages on his face. She was hanging up

just as he came out of the bath.

"He has an office in a building on the Tribunali behind

the San Domenico basilica, fourth

"What does he do?"

"He's a lawyer."

'That figures." Carter checked his watch. "Timing should

be perfect. Let's go."

They cabbed to the Tribunali. It was nearly six o'clock,

but the heat was still blistering when Carter guided her into

the building. It had a false fagade of marble, with a news-

stand beside the lobby doors, a bar to the left with red neon

signs, and beside its door was a business directory.

Carter consulted it. "Four-ten. Let's go."

They took the elevator up. The corridor was lined with

frosted-glass office doors. A fire escape door open at

the end of the hall. Caner checked it and returned.

The door opened into an outer office. Two desks were

placed end to end. both sporting typewriters, telephones,

and secretary paraphernalia. Carter pointed to one of them.

"Sit and play secretary ," he whispered. "Somebody comes

in, tell 'em the big man is gone for the day."

An inner door opened into a stylish office with leather

and chrome furniture and a desk that dwarfed the young-old

man standing behind it. He had a young face that contrasted

wildly with a head of gray hair, and he was crawling into

an Italian silk suit jacket that couldn't be touched for five

hundred bucks.

"I'm sorry, the office is—

"Francesco Dobrini?"

"Yes. Who are—

"Never mind who I am." Carter was already at the desk

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when the other man's hand dived into a side drawer. Carter's

foot came up, slamming over the hand.

The howl of pain was ear-shattering. but it ended quickly

when Carter's fist met spine through belly. Dobrini sailed

across the room, spewing the linguini he'd had for lunch.

Carter picked up the five-hundred-dollar jacket and fol-

lowed. He picked Dobrini up by the front of the shirt and

cleaned him with the jacket.

"We're gonna talk, lawyer."

"My hand! Mamma mia, you broke my hand!"

Carter bounced his head from side to side until the bones

in his neck were popping like champagne corks. When the

man tried to kick him, Carter avoided it and stomped his

other foot. Dobrini went down to the floor in a whining heap.

What the hell do you want? . .

"Basta! Enough!

Who are you?"

"You've got three cousins. They're here in Naples now.

"You crazy? You want to die?"

could ask you the same question, Dobrini. Guido,

Carlo, Daniele . . . where are they?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you!"

Carter thought of the silenced Luger and then a peeling

job with the stiletto. But it would be messy. And he didn't

think it would take that much to break this one.

Other than the door Carter had come through, there were

two others. One was a walk-in closet with more expensive

suits. The other was a rajah's bath, complete with a huge

sunken tub and lots of marble.

The Killmaster grabbed Francesco Dobrini by his Gucci

belt and the back of the neck. and dragged him into the

bathroom. He lifted the lid on the commode,

"Where. Dobrini?"

"You son of—

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rest was drowned out as his face hit the water. Carter

counted and brought him up, gasping and choking for air.

"Memory better, Francesco?"

Sputter. sputter.

Down he went again, this time for a longer count. Instead

of bringing his head back up, Carter flushed the commode.

The water level went down low enough for Dobrini to

breathe. He gasped, sputtered, and gasped some more. Then

he saw the water level rising toward his face and screamed

again.

Two replays of this, and he was begging. Carter pulled

him out and dumped him on the floor. He lowered the seat

and sat down, lighting a cigarette and putting his foot on

Dobrini's neck.

Finally the man got enough air into his lungs to talk.

don't know! I swear it, I don't know where they are holed

"Hard to believe," Carter hissed, pressing a little harder

with his foot.

"ltis the truth! On my mother's grave, it's the truth! If

they need anything, they call me here. If I need them. I

page Signore Georgio Franconi at the Celebrite. It's a club

in Capodimonte, just off the Corso di Savoia."

"Who's Georgio Franconi?" Carter asked, flicking his

ash.

"It's the name Guido uses when he's traveling."

'Or hiding out."

"Yeah. Guido goes out to the Celebrite every night. He

gets there around ten and stays until closing."

"Just to get your phone calls, Francesco?"

"No. no. it's the women. Guido's a freak. Hess got to

have it every night and he hates whores. Lot of factory girls

go into the Celebrite. ney work in the mills out there."

Carter leaned forward and blew smoke in the other man's

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face. "Francesco, I'm going out there tonight and check this

out. If I don't find Guido, I'm coming back here. And you

know what I'm going to do?"

"Jesus, I told you .. g"

"I'm going to cut your balls off, lawyer."

The face went white and the lack of biood to the brain

got him in seconds. Francesco Dobrini passed out.

Carter had him gagged and tied securely around the com-

mode when he looked up and saw Carmella in the doorway.

"Is he dead?"

"Not so you'd notice," Carter said

"How did he get all wet?"

"He took a swim . .

in the johm You got a short skirt

and a tight sweater with you?"

"C'mon. we're going shopping."

58


SIX

Guido Dobrini was whistling as he pulled off the highway

and dipped down into the little village. The main body of

the village was made up of little stucco shacks and old stone

houses, Beyond the village was the tire factory, and beyond

that the row of little cafés and clubs.

Between the point where the old village left off and the

row of clubs began, there was an American-style motel that

did a brisk two-hour business starting at midnight every

night.

Guido guided the car past the motel and noticed the gas

gauge: low. Right next to the Celebrite parking lot was a

gas station.

Guido headed for it, shifting his little body in the driver's

seat. It was still warm enough, even close to ten o'clock at

night, to have sweated through his shirt so it stuck to the

upholstery on the drive out from Naples.

. a real

Then he saw the woman. No, not a woman .

live Amazon, standing on the edge of the parking lot when

he pulled up to the pumps. He came to a sudden stop in

amazement. He was looking at what Italian women were fa-

mous for and still he couldn't believe it.


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His eyes might be gritty and strained from lack of sleep.

but he caught the impact with more than mere eyesight.

"Complero, signore?"

What is that?"

"That, signore. is incredible. She has been standing out

there for nearly half an hour. Who knows?"

Guido Dobrini was spellbound. She wasn•t young. but

then she wasn•t old either. The way she looked. it didn•t

make any difference. Her brusts were huge and perfect.

outlined perfectly under the lightweight cotton sweater.

which came down snugly over full hips.

Guido got only a glimpse of her face as she turned away.

but he thought he had seen a look of pleading. possibly a

look of fear, on the features. The mouth was a

shade too large for beauty. with its full red lips. but with

her straight nose. big dark eyes under thick brows. and

frame of auburn hair around her oval face. she was enough

to stir him.

Her legs were. to his thinking. absolutely perfect. Not

the slender legs of a mckiel. but the lushly padded. gor-

geously curved legs of a man's dream. the kind of legs a

man yearns to press gently apart so that he can crawl between

them.

Guido smiled. Wthy does a man. even a man who knows

better. assume that lush outward beauty seetns to promise

sexual experience of unsurpassing perfection?

Nevertheless. seeing that picture of perfection move

away. seeing the living bounce of those generous breasts.

the achingly suggestive play Of those untklievable legs and

the softly rounded buttocks above them. made him glad that

he was alive.

He paid for the gas and crossed the area to the Celebrite

parking lot. As he got out of the car he saw her againt She

was by the canopied entrance to the club. and seerued to

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be asking a question with her eyes. She had the same look

Of appeal he had seen earlier and. with a barely perceptible

movement of her head, was looking down the road. If she

was asking for a lift. she was making certain that no one

but he could know, and Guido, his hearttkat picking up

sharply, mxjded.

She was into the front seat in a wcond, and in the pale

glow of the donr light, he could see the look of appeal

now loosening into a smile. She pushed against him, the

warm fJrmness of her thigh urgent against his.

don't pay," growled. never pay."

just want v»rne fun

a nde in your fancy car. Okay?"

"Okay," he said t smiling.

' 'Let's get out Of here." she t*gged. "Right now!"

Elated. Guido started the car along the road. The adren-

aline was churning silently through him from her touch.

The Incredible luck of having this lush creature wait for him

made his muscles lurch with anticipation.

The shade of her legs. almost the same as the short brown

skirt, looked like panty hose. but he tentatively laid a hand

on the thigh next to him and got a happy surprise. She wore

no hose, and flesh was smooth and firm and very faintly

damp. The skin was as soft as a baby's.

He flicked the overhead light on again so he could

her more closely. He expected to find sorne naw . .

more

age than aprEared at a casual glance. sorne marks of coarse-

ness and cornrrw»nness. a dullness of expression. Not

that was that particular. In his present state, her gorgeous

build and her readiness to get in a stranger's car were enough

for him. A cinch lay, that was the matn thing.

But she was every bit as tkautiful as she had seerned.

with srnc»th. flawless skin. lusciously formed lips, slightly

tremulous now under his gaze

She dropFd her eyes and laced her fingers in her lap,

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and he saw that her hands were small and delicate. He

flicked off the light and replaced his palm on her thigh. and

she laid her own hand on it in gentle welcome.

"I'm Guido." He slowed the car. "Where can we pull off

the road?" he asked quietly. "We ought to talk."

Oddly, she giggled. "Suits me." she said. "If I get picked

up, I figure I have to wrestle a little. Take that side road

up ahead."

The break in the brush and trees wouldn't have been seen

by anyone but a native. It led to a clearing fifty or sixty

feet across, thickly strewn with empty cans and litter.

"Good," she said. "Nobody's here. Probably won't be,

either. until after the bar lets out."

She turned to Guido with an unstudied willingness. and

put her face up to his for a kiss, her open mouth sweet and

rich, inviting his tongue, and either she was very warm by

nature or a complete little actress, for she moaned im-

mediately and wriggled closer against him.

Guido continued kissing her, but a slightly sour note

intruded his mind. Was she the village whore? Incredible,

with her youth and beauty—even a sort of innocence,

strangely enough—and yet he had known prostitutes this

young or younger.

To settle whether she merely meant to neck or was willing

to spread her legs for him, he slipped his left hand between

her thighs.

Her arms clutched even more fiercely around his neck,

and she not only moved her thighs apart but also lifted

slightly, so that his fingers slid immediately against the

crotch of her panties.

Guido Dobrini sighed and kissed her even more passion-

ately. This was definitely his lucky night!

Suddenly, the car door was opened and Guido was yanked

out. He felt himself being heaved through the air, and then

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grunted in agony as his body was slammed across the hood

of the car.

"We meet again, you little shit."

Guido Dobrini pushed the shcx•k and the pain from his

body and mind. He turned his head toward the voice and

snapped open his eyes.

"Me, bastard."

Dobnni's left arm was twisted up between his shoulder

blades. When he recognized Carter. his free right hand went

for the small of his back.

Carter smashed it, and pulled a silenced Beretta from

under the man's jacket.

"You're gonna die for this," Guido squeaked, flexing the

fingers of his right hand to restore some feeling.

Carter put the Beretta in his own belt. 'Talk to me,

Guido."

"Fuck you."

Carter's left hand was a vise around the little hood's neck.

He balled his right into a fist and jammed it between the

man's legs. The resulting howl of pain ended in a gasp.

"My guess is you and your brothers are free-lance. Who

hired you?"

Dobrini tried to get his right hand between his legs to

massage himself. Carter intercepted it and bent two of the

fingers back until one of them cracked.

Another scream. But no words. The little fighter was

tough and stubborn, but Carter had expected that.

"It doesn't make any difference to me, Guido, how long

it takes to kill you. Now, you and your brothers worked me

over after you beat the video man to death. Right?"

"That was an accident, I swear. Jesus. ease up, I can't

breathe!"

"Who hired you!"

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'€1 don't know. We get orders on the phone."

"Bullshit," Carter hissed. "Whoever killed the Polish

woman needed help tailing her. Who, Guido?"

The little man's face was stark white and covered with

sweat. But his jaw was set and he wasn't talking.

"You are scum. Guido, but I don't mind if you hold out.

The longer you do, the I like it."

Carter inexorably tightened the pressure on Dobrini's

windpipe as he spoke, cutting off any sound except a faint,

whimpering moan. At the same time, he moved the man's

arm upward between the shoulder blades, inch by inch. The

pain caused Dobrini's eyes to protrude while his face and

body writhed and contorted in Caner's merciless grasp.

"I've got another guess, Dobrini. Whoever hired you

killed the woman while you and your brothers were working

me over. Who, Dobrini?"

There was an abrupt splintering crack as the elbow liga-

ments gave way. Carter let go with both hands and stepped

back dispassionately to consider the groaning figure that

flopped on the ground beside the car.

On the other side of the car, Carter heard a gasp and

looked up. The woman was standing, white-faced, her arms

at her throat, her wide eyes staring at Carter, The combina-

tion of the cousin, Francesco, and now Guido was too much

for her.

"Move, back down the road," Carter murmured. "This

isn't pretty, but it's going to get nastier."

Carmella swallowed hard. nodded, and moved away a

good distance. Carter returned his attention to Guido, who

had crawled to his knees and was cradling his broken arm,

muttering curses under his breath.

"That's just one arm. Guido. I want a name and some

particulars. I want you to point a finger or I start breaking

them all, one by one. Then the other arm. Then I go to the

legs .

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"All right, all right. Jesus, you're crazy."

"Just mad, Guido. Believe me, you haven't seen my crazy

half yet." Carter stepped forward and cocked his leg for a

dropkick.

Dobrini cringed. "No. no! Don't hurt me no more! I'll

tell you! Mother of God, don't touch me again!"

He was huddled on the ground with his face in his hands.

He began sputtering out words intermingled with sobs. and

Carter had to lean close to hear more clearly.

"Lucchi. His name is Tony Lucchi. We know him from the

old days here in Naples."

' 'Where is Lucchi now?"

Again the words became mush. Carter dragged the cring-

ing man to his feet and flung him against the side of the car.

*'Stop your goddamned sniveling and talk so I can under-

stand you! Tony Lucchi. Where can I find him?"

"Spain. somewhere. I think Madrid. This is the first time

he's been back in Italy in two. three years. He did some

contract hits for one of them Red Brigade outfits and it got

too hot for him. He went to Spain."

Good, Carter thought. That meant there was a chance

that Interpol would have a line on him. Just in case, he

asked and got a physical description, and more.

"He's mean, man. He looks like a kid, an angel, but he's

weird. He especially digs cutting up women."

"l found that out," Carter growled. "Who pays him now?"

' 'I don't know, I swear—

The heel of Carter's hand flashed out and ruined the man•s

nose. Blood mixed with the tears now, coursing down his

face. His right arm was grotesquely twisted and he leaned

far forward to hold it pressed tightly against his body in the

angle between torso and limbs. He avoided Carter's gaze

and moaned in agony.

"Do we have to start this all over again?"

"The Bear! When Lucchi gets in touch with him in front

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of us, like on the phone, he always calls him the Black

Bear. fiat's it, I swear it!"

s 'You swear a lot, Guido," Carter hissed, pulling out the

Luger from his shoulder rig. "Now the jackpot question.

Carlo and Daniele."

"No way! No way, you son of a bitch! I don't give you

my brothers!"

"I'll find them anyway. Guido. You can make book on

it." He cocked the Luger and set it on the hood of the car.

"Just like the old Wild West, Guido, Go for it!"

"You're nuts."

"It's the only chance you've got, Guido."

The little man was sweating, his eyes darting from the

Luger to Carter and back to the gun.

Guido?"

• •It's a hunting lodge in the Vomero Forest called Silver

Pines, just off the Via Rosa."

"Thanks. Guido."

Carter turned away and started walking. When he heard

the scrape of the Luger across the hood, he pulled the Beretta

and turned. Guido's face was pure shock when he pulled

the Lugeös trigger and nothing happened.

Carter fired from the hip, emptying the Beretta into Dob-

rini's chest. He crossed to the body, and after wiping his

prints from the gun, dropped it on the man's belly. Then

he picked up the Luger and took a magazine out of his pocket.

"Same chance you gave Eduardo Parmo, Guido," he

growled, jamming the magazine into the Luger's butt and

jacking a shell into the chamber.

He climbed into Dobrinüs car, backed it around, and

headed down the lane. Carmella was sitting on a tree stump

near the main road. When Carter braked, she approached

the car.

"Get in."

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"Is he dead?" she asked, her voice hollow.

"Yes. Get in."

She did, and Carter drove the mile or so to the pullout

where he had left her car..

"Drive back to the hotel. I'll meet you there in a few

hours."

Her eyes were stricken when she turned to face him.

"You said he was dead."

"Guido is dead."

"Then why .

'There are two more. The brothers, Carlo and Daniele. "

"My God, you're no better than they are!"

"Yes, I am," Carter said, not meeting her eyes. "I'm

alive, they're dead. I'll meet you at the hotel."

Carmella crawled out of the car, crossed to her own car,

and got in. The engine came to life and, without looking

back, she drove away.

Carter waited until her taillights were completely out of

sight before he pulled Guido's car into gear and moved out

himself.

He made two stops.

The first, a construction site he had spotted off Corso di

Savoia on the drive out. He parked in a grove of trees near

the fence and used the limbs of one of them to get over the

chain link and barbed wire.

The door to the explosives shed was steel. but the lock

was a piece of cake. Ten minutes later he came out with

twelve sticks of dynamite and caps. A nearby ladder got

him back over the fence.

The second stop was at a bar near the city. He got change

and called the Contessa Beatriz Balaria•s number in Paris.

"Bea, Nick."

"God, you keep weird hours."

"And do weird things."

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He told her of the events of the past few hours, and the

probable events of the next few.

"The Black Bear," she replied. "Probably a code name.

That might help. So far, my people have nothing on a

Domingo Bolivar. I'll put out more feelers and ask some

questions about Tony Lucchi."

"When do you leave for New York?"

"Tomorrow. I'll be there for two days, and then the next

six weeks at the house in Monaco."

Carter chuckled. "You jet setters."

The countess laughed. "Have to keep up appearances, dar-

ling. Stay in touch."

"Will do."

Carter hung up, dived back into the car. and headed for

the Vomero Forest.

The cutoff was marked by a small sign denoting the lodge.

Carter took it and cut the lights. The road became rougher

and rougher, hardly more than ruts and rocks. Eventually

it widened, and Carter eased up behind two Fiat sedans.

He checked his pockets for spare magazines for the Luger,

grabbed the dynamite, and slipped from the car.

In the distance through the trees he saw a faint light. It

looked to be about a mile away. on high ground.

He stayed on the path until the building was less than a

hundred yards ahead. There he paused behind a tall spruce

and checked it out.

The lodge was really a two-story cabin with rough, half.

log siding. It looked bleak and lifeless other than the dim

glow of a single bulb through the shutters over a second-floor

window.

Beyond the cabin, moonlight glinted off a large pond. It

looked to Carter as if the water went right up under the rear

porch. So much for escape that way, he thought, unless

they went swimming. It was a hundred feet on botRsides

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of the cabin to the trees. Another break.

Carter dropped to his belly. He crawled through the grass,

wiggling and inching his way along. The cool dew ofthe night

coated his clothes and exposed skin. but he kept the dynamite

high to keep the fuses dry. He slipped around the side of

the house by crawling through the bushes and tall grass that

almost formed a kind of shield around the front of the lodge.

Somewhere an owl started to raise hell, and now he could

hear faint music from that upstairs room.

He continued to crawl through the maze of shrubbery. The

bright eye of the moon was partially covered by clouds, and

Carter would wait until it disappeared for a few precious

seconds before he inched ahead on his belly, commando

style, closer to the wood fortress.

At last he got within ten feet of the house. Now there

was just bare ground, without vegetation to cover his move-

ment. He jumped to his feet and ran until his back was

against the layered half-logs. Carefully. he edged along the

wall to a window. He peeked into the living room, which

had glass doors opening onto a deck overlooking the pond.

The room was empty. and the window was unlocked. He

slid it up a foot.

He moved around the house in the opposite direction to

a window at the other end—kitchen, pantry to the side, door

open leading to a small dining room. This window also

opened easily.

He broke the dynamite into three bundles and fused them.

Gently, he slid one bundle into the kitchen window and

then a second into the living room window. He scurried

around the house and placed the third in the strut' under

the decking.

Carefully. he moved back to the trees in front of the

lodge. playing out the fusing behind him. Then he twisted

them together.

His lighter flickered and then caught. He shielded the

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flame with his hand and lit the bound fuse. In seconds it

split into three and burned its merry way toward the lodge.

They would go in sequence. kitchen first, living room

second. deck third. about ten seconds apart. The initial fuse

to the kitchen would take about three minutes.

Carter stood at the edge of the trees bathed in moonlight.

"Carlo! Daniele!"

The light went out at once and the shutter cracked open.

'*Who's there? Who's out there?"

"That you, Carlo?" Carter said.

"Who wants to know?"

"You don't know my name, but you know my face. You

took a picture of it last night in Rome."

Just in time, Carter saw the barrel of a rifle poke through

the crack, and he dived into the trees. Ihe slugs hit tree

limbs and shrubs several feet behind him as he scrambled

in the darkness.

"Carlo. Daniele. whoever .

you're a lousy shot!"

Again the rifle cracked. There was a tinkle of glass from

the smaller window to the lefts probably the bathroom, and

three rapid pistol shots rang out in the still air.

Carter had already moved, He checked his watch: a minute

and a half.

"Listen, both of you. You've got about a minute to get

your butts out of there before I blow you up."

"Carlo!" came the voice from the shuttered window.

' 'There he is over to the right!"

Again the pistol shots and the high-powered whine of a

rifle. Bullets thumped against tree trunks or ricocheted and

screamed away. Pine cones fell. Pine needles wafted down.

But none on Carter. He was twenty feet away.

"Guido's dead. You hear me? Come on out while . . ."

They didn't hear the rest. The kitchen blew. Ten seconds

later, the living room went.

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*Ihe sky was lit with an orange fireball. Pieces of burning

wood, glowing red and yellow in the black night, floated

down from the sky.

Then the deck went. taking the whole rear wall of the

lodge with it.

Carter crouched low at the edge of the trees. He set the

Luger by his leg and pulled a cigarette from his jacket. He

lit up and watched the lodge burn.

The cigarette was half gone when the rear of the roof

crashed into the burning pyre.

Suddenly the front door opened and a man with a pistol

emerged, rubbing his eyes. "Where are you, you son of a

"Over here, Dobrini," Carter called, grabbing the Luger

and coming to his feet.

Ibe man moved out. letting the screen door slam behind

him. Carter raised the Luger.

got him, Carlo! I see him!" The man raised the pistol

and got off two wild rounds at Caner.

"You must be Daniele," Carter growled. "Good-bye,

Daniele."

The man took two of three shots in his chest. He fell,

rolled over, and lay still.

Then the last Dobrini, Carlo, appeared in the door behind

the screen. The rifle had been replaced with a machine

pistol, and he started spraying.

Carter moved to the side and forward, the Luger jumping

in his outstretched hands. Ten feet from the porch it went

dry and he jacked in a fresh magazine.

The porch screening shredded. Carlo dropped the machine

pistol. He hit the screen door. tore it away from its hinges,

and tumbled across the porch and down the steps to roll,

facedown, at Carter's feet.

Carter flipped the bCKiy over with his toe. Several of his

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slugs had been high. Carlo Dobrini wasn't recognizable

anymore. His face was beyond any semblance of humanity.

The Killmaster holstered the Luger and trotted back to

the car.

Carter eased the door open and slipped into the room. Im-

mediately he was on the alert. it was too quiet, not even

the sound of breathing.

Tensing. ready to spring, he flipped on the light.

One look told him everything. The bed had been slept in

but was now empty. Her bag was gone.

He found the note in the bathroom, stuck in the edge of

the medicine cabinet mirror:

Nick, or whoever you really are,

I know you will be reading this because I know that

the Dobrinis don't have a chance.

The one night with you was like no night I have ever

known. Now I know why: you're forbidden fruit. I

couldn't handle another night knowing what I know now.

I know this sounds silly. but it sounded like an adventure

when we left Rome, like something you read but don't

believe.

Well, when I saw you with Guido, I believed.

I thought I had seen everything, and if I hadn't seen it,

I'd heard about it. Or I thought so. until I met you.

Thanks for the first night. I think it will take me a

lifetime to forget the second.

Carmella

Carter rummaged through his bag until he found a pint

of Chivas. He took it to a table by the window and sat. He

drank, read the letter again, and then burned it.

Then he drank some mores and thoughts and stared down

at the lights of Naples.

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What had she expected? What had he expected she would

that was more like it.

expect .

He was used to it. But did he really have to do it . . .

all three of them?

An hour later the pint was finished.

"Yeah," he said aloud, moving to the phone, "I really

had to do it,"

It took three calls to find a sleepy Joe Crifasi.

"It's done. The three of them. I'll need some quiet trans-

portation out of Naples back to Rome."

"Where are you?"

"Hotel Foria, two-oh-two, on the Via Foria."

"I'll have a car there in twenty minutes. Are you staying

in Rome for a while?"

Carter hesitated.

"No, I've got to get back to my own kind."

"Nothing. Get me on a plane to Nice. I'm meeting the

countess in Monaco in a few days."

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