# Deathstrike2222

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NICK CARTER

"This way, please."

Carter followed him through the curtain and a larger

room that obviously served as a storage area.

Another

curtain led them into a tiny office.

"I can hear the bell easily from here, but there will be

few customers. You are prompt."

"We had good flight connections," Carter replied, tak-

ing a proffered chair and lighting a cigarette.

"I have fresh coffee brewing.

"Yes, I can smell it."

"Would you like coffee..

. or a drink?"

"Coffee, please."

"A moment."

Sabone wiped two tiny cups with a dust rag and poured

coffee that was more like molasses. When the amenities

were observed-as they always must be in any Arab

country, even if the business is clandestine-Sabone

spoke.

"Your man is preparing to come over tomorrow night

from Libya."

"Where?" Carter asked.

"Near Dehibat. It's about a hundred miles south of

here."

"In the desert?"

"Yes. The actual meeting will take place at an oasis

near Dehibat. There are three of them, all secluded. As

usual, El Adwan is very cautious. The actual hour of his

arrival, and which oasis, will be chosen at the last min-

ute."

"What do you suggest?" Carter asked, struggling with

the coffee and finally setting it aside.

"I have already arranged for your transportation, and

the contact in Dehibat is in place. He is a camel trader

T »

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named Bassam. You will meet him in the Café Sultan in

Dehibat tomorrow evening at the supper hour. By then

he will have the location."

"And my equipment?"

"NO. At noon tomorrow, a driver will pick you up at

your hotel. His name is Ami. He will also be your backup

in the kill."

"He is a good man?"

"Very, and can be trusted. He is the brother of my

wife. "

Caner leaned forward. stubbing out his cigarette. "Is

there any indication of who El Adwan is meeting?"

"None, but he has been recruiting in Libya, Malta,

and Port Said, Egypt, with the promise of great sums of

money. So we know some kind of special operation is

under way." Here, Sabone paused. "This woman, Ravelle

Dressler?"

"Yes."

"Will she hold up long enough to make the identifica-

Carter shrugged. "She has every reason to want him

dead. I think she will."

Sabone nodded and opened a drawer in the desk. From

it he took a 9mm Beretta and two extra, loaded clips.

He passed them across the desk with a smile.

"The bullets have been indented and dipped."

"Cyanide?"

"Of course. This should get you through the night,

until Ami picks you up tomorrow."

Caner got to his feet. "Is there any chance that El

Adwan has been warned?"

Sabone shrugged. "There is always the chance. For,

being such an elusive character, the man has antennae

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everywhere. Also, out of necessity, there are four others

besides myself who know you are in Tunisia. There is

always the chance."

Carter nodded and slipped the gun into his belt, the

extra clips into his jacket pocket. "Your IEOple have

taken the pictures of El Adwan and the decoys?"

"Hopefully, Bassam will have them when he meets

you."

"Hopefully," Carter said dryly, and left the shop.

He used the same roundabout route in his return t(Ythe

hotel. At the door of the room, he knocked and identified

himself before using his key.

Ravelle was on the bed. She had discarded her under-

wear and pulled on a light robe, but hadn't bothered to

belt it. Her hair was still wet from her bath. She was

also very drunk.

Carter said so.

"I know. Angry?"

"Not really," he replied, pulling her gently to her feet.

"But you could have waited for me."

"No way," she whispered. her lips and tongue doing

marvelous things to one of his ears. "I want you sober. "

She wound her arms around his neck and strained close

to him until her breasts surged against his chest. Without

releasing her, Carter shrugged out of his jacket and unbut-

toned his shirt. Then he pushed the robe off her shoulders.

"We should get some food into you."

"Later," she groaned.

He swung her off her feet and settleä her onto the bed.

Somehow he shed his clothes and eased his body along

the smooth length of hers.

From there on, he had a tiger by the tail.

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So close to the endless silence of the desert, even at

the hour of sunrise, there was the echo of camels' hooves

on a distant street coupled with the coughing of an au-

tomobile engine.

"Well?" she said.

Every few moments her face was dimly illuminated

on the pillow as Carter drew on his cigarette. The last

hours had been, to say the least, tumultuous. Ravelle had

been possessed of a passion that went beyond pleasure.

Now, exhausted, she lay very still, talking in a manner

that was quiet and yet almost compulsive.

"You're shocked?"

"No," Caner replied.

"Most men are, afterward. I am the sort they fight to

get, but revile in the morning."

Carter was silent.

"Most men think of their mothers or their sisters or their

wives, and hope none of them are secretly like me. It has

always been my opinion that the man is a big hypocrite in

these matters. Far more so than any woman."

"I'm different."

She sighed. "God knows you are."

He blew smoke toward the ceiling. Her hand came

along his body to his face. Very gently, her fingers

touched his nose, his lips, his brow—then his shoulder,

and down his arm to his hand.

She lifted the cigarette from his fingers, took a deep

drag, and crushed it out.

"Will I have to meet him face to face?"

"I hope not. There are three possible destinations. El

Adwan will come over along with three decoys. Sabone's

people are taking photographs on the other side. With

luck, you can make a positive ID from one of those."

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"When do we leave?"

"At noon," he said.

"Then we had better get some sleep."

She curled into his arm and put her head on his shoul-

der. In seconds she was sound asleep, breathing evenly.

Carter was glad she hadn't asked what they would have

to do if she couldn ' t make a positive ID from the pictures.


SIX

The Land-Rover had lost all its paint and seen many

miles, but it was sound. So was the quiet, robed driver

named Ami. He was prompt to the minute, and by one

o'clock they were in the desert.

In a small wadi, he stopped and directed Carter to

follow him around the vehicle. He opened a false rear

tank so the Killmaster could inspect the equipment.

Inside was a Mannlichter single-action CD-13 sniper

rifle. It was fitted with a Startron night scope and a resting

tripod.

If the Killmaster could get one clean kill shot in, there

would be no need to start a desert war.

If not, the other hardware was available: two Ingram

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M-l Is with lots of steel-jacketed .380s, and two belts of

grenandes.

"Good," Carter said, nodding.

Ami locked up the tank and they climbed back into

the Land-Rover. The Arab was definitely a man of very

few words.

"What was that all about?" Ravelle asked.

"You don't want to know."

They met and cut around two small caravans, and

reached the outskirts of Dehibat just before dusk. Ami

found a small wadi, and without asking for aid rigged a

tent camp. When he was finished he sidled over to Carter,

who was already building a fire.

"I be back, quick. Get horses."

Before he could move away, Ravelle stopped him in

clipped Arabic. "Why do we need horses?"

"Horses don't make the sound of an engine in the

desert night."

It could have been right out of Kipling, but it didn't

amuse Ravelle. She whirled on Carter. "What are the

horses for?"

He explained. "We have to get in quiet and out fast.

Hopefully, we'll be going over terrain that no vehicle

could follow."

"How many horses is he getting?"

Carter looked to Ami, who held up two fingers.

"No way!" she cried.

"You'll be safe here, and I'll leave the Beretta," he said.

"No fucking way!" she shrieked. "You tell him to get

three horses. I'm not staying out in this damn sand alone,

wondering what the hell is going on and if you're ever

coming back for me!"

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"Ravelle .

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She dropped into a lotus position in front of the tent

and crossed her arms defiantly under her breasts. If that

didn't say it all, the grinding of her teeth did.

"Three horses."

The Arab gave Carter a look that said It is a pity you

cannot control your woman and climbed into the Land-

Rover.

By the time he returned, Caner had a meal of beans,

mutton, and sugar cakes ready. Three saddled dapple

gray Arabians—two geldings and a mare—were on lead

ropes behind the Land-Rover.

"Three horses," Ami grunted as he crouched by the

fire and helped himself to the food.

"l can see that," Carter replied.

They ate in silence as the sun slipped down behind the

dunes. By the time they had finished and Carter had

changed into robes and a burnoose, it was pitch-dark.

"Café Sultan is the first alley to the right off the center

round."

"I'll find it," Carter said, carefully folding a sash over

the Beretta.

"You ride?"

"No. It's a mile. I'll walk." He moved to Ravelle. "Do

me a favor."

"What?"

"Behave yourself."

She glanced toward Ami. "Don't worry—he's not my

never mind."

"That's not what I . .

Lifting his robes, Carter side-walked up the wall of

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the wadi and headed toward the flickering lights of De-

hibat.

There was only one main street, so following it brought

Carter easily to the center of the village. It was near the

hour, so there were few people outside. The smell

of food—cooked and uncooked—was heavy in the air.

He spotted the alley and moved into it.

Twice he moved into a darkened doorway to let robed

men pass him. They had the smell of camels about them,

and their dark faces from life under the desert sun were

like apparitions from the Arabian Nights.

The Café Sultan was on another, smaller square, with

alleys leading into it. The café itself was a small place

with a hand-lettered sign in Arabic. It had a dirty plate

glass window where a torn velvet portiere hung on a

wooden rod.

Inside, the room was stifling. Acrid cigarette smoke

hung thick under the low ceiling. A few blank-faced men

in from the desert sat sipping mint tea and gnawing food.

There were only two men in Western clothes. One was

young. He sat by the window staring at nothing. With

only one quick sniff, Carter could smell the aura of hash-

iSh hovering about his head.

The Killmaster headed for the other. He sat in a rear

corner table. well chosen for its lack of light.

Carter paused by the table. The seated man idly held

his palm before his face, his elbow castelly on the scarred

wood. When the man nodded. Carter slid into a chair.

am Bassam." He dropped his hand to reveal a snap-

shot of Caner in the disguise. "An excellent likeness."

Carter smiled. "I'm giad it got to you in time."

"Our friends in Paris are very efficient." A waiter in

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a filthy apron lounged up to the table. "A mint tea for

my friend, and be quick," Bassam barked, and leaned

toward Caner. "Now to the beasts you desire."

The talk was of camels until the waiter returned with

the tea and left. When he was well out of earshot, Bas-

sam—a strong, solid man with deep brown eyes set in

thick features that matched his bulky frame—drew a slip

of pal'*r from his coat.

"I have drawn a map, crude, but it will do. The oases

are marked, as you can see, by numbers .

. one, two,

and three. This is far better than using names over the

radio."

"Radio?" Carter said.

Bassam nodded. "My dragoman is nearby now. He is

in touch until we find out what numbers on the backs of

these correspond to the numbers of the oases."

Again he dug in his pocket. He arranged four snapshots

in front of Carter. The Killmaster moved forward to the

edge of his chair, mesmerized by the pictures in front of

him.

The men were all bearded, and not too dissimilar. Two

of them could have been brothers. Overriding the sudden

tension that here, at last, was the target that had eluded

him for so long was the sudden fear that, because of the

similarity of the men, Ravelle Dressler wouldn't be able

to say for sure which was El Adwan.

Carter flipped the photos over. There were numbers

marked on the back, l, 2, 3, and 4.

S 'There are three oases," he said.

Bassam nodded. "There are only three headed out into

the desert. The fourth man left the others at the frontier.

We have someone following him, but at last report he

didn't appear to be heading anywhere in particular."

8

"It would help,"

NICK CARTER


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"It would help," Carter said, "if these snaps were

arger."

"l have thought of that," Bassam said, and slid a large

nvelope toward Carter. "There are blowups of the photos

in there."

A curtain parted to their right at the rear of the café,

and a short, bearded, shifty-eyed character moved toward

them.

"Achmed," Bassam said, "my dragoman."

The little man slid into the third chair and, at a nod

from Bassam, pushed a piece of paper toward Carter. On

it were numbers matching the men in the photos to the

oases: 1 to 3; 2 to l; 3 to 2.

Caner looked up with a frown. "What about number

There was sweat on the dragoman's dark face. His

eyes darted from Bassam to Carter and back to his em-

ployer again.

"What is it? Speak!" Bassam hissed.

"Bodar lost number four about two miles south of

here."

"Here?" Bassam said.

The dragoman nodded. "Bodar came to the hut to in-

form me—

Suddenly a look of mild surprise came over the drago-

man's face, and his words ceased. He reached back as

though to slap at a fly behind him, but his hand never

completed the gesture. He fell forward, his face making

a dull thud when it hit the table.

The curved hilt of a dagger protruded from between

his shoulder blades.

"The curtains!" Bassam hissed, propping the body back

up. "I'll take care of this. Go!"

a!! haw—ed in an


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all haw—zd in an gnUant.

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Before t}" jo ttE café were fully aware of what

taken piu* Canm was up aM through taky red

('f Wyrway In of tte char Üe Arah hai

x.cup'.r:Jf Hc jn a narrow hallway

At tie far ewi, a white-rr*E.d figure was climbing

an arctBd wtrWsw. Tte K II Jrnaster spnmed Uren

hail. With of a rear rvA hxgjnmng jn tye

alé him.

could rrran cmly ore thing: tte man had

jnaily been rußJC.ed.

Ba»arn would have to handle 't his own way. Carter

f to get the Wtftfie could get to Abu El

wan, A second thought also crossed his rmnd; the man

ojrjg through tlr wtndow could be Ej Adwan lurnxlf.

he robed figure frorn Sight Fryond wm-

yw. Cartcr vaulted up onto the Wide ledge and leaped

rough, In the air, he gw•.ßd and fen much further than

had exrxzctcd into a walled courtyard-

Jfe stumbled for a monu:nt. caught his balance, and

* w the white robe vamshing through an orxn gateway.

Without thought. Carter tugged the Beretta from

cath hl's sag,h and gave chase.

On the opposite side of the gateway was a narrow alley

nnjng along the rear of a line of camel stalls. For a

oment Carter saw no one. Cautiously, he took a step

ard.

Suddenly a figure leacEd from the shadows to his right.

arter ducked to the side but was not fast enough. A

hopping blow to his right wrist sent the Beretta off into

darkness.

Carter struck blindly with his left. His fist crunched

to something soft, and he heard a sharp curc of pain.

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Instantly, the Killmaster swung to the right and dropped

into a crouch.

At the same time, the killer lurched back so the moon-

light fell across his face. The expression on the bearded

face was startled with fear and hatred as he swung.

His fist caught the Killmaster in the chest, and then,

before he could recoil, the other hand came down open.

Sharp fingernails slashed across his cheek. Carter felt

warm blood trickle down his chin.

Carter put the full weight of his body behind a killing

chop to the neck, which was deflected by a raised shoul-

der. Suddenly a knee drove up between Carter's legs.

He managed to deflect it on his thigh, but it sent him

sprawling to the ground. A boot blotted out the moon

and came driving down toward Carter's face.

He rolled and managed to grasp toe and ankle. At the

same time, Carter came up on one foot and a knee. As

the man went forward, the Killmaster brought the ankle

down across his knee.

The sound of the ankle cracking merged with the strang-

led shout of pain. The man kicked out with his other foot

and managed to free himself. He rolled over, up against

the stone wall, doubled back, and managed somehow to

struggle to his feet.

"Stop now or die!" Carter panted in garbled Arabic.

All he got in reply was a growl as the man pushed off

the wall toward him.

Carter met him in mid-stride, feinted to the right, and

then dropped back, Without missing a beat, he brought

his boot up, drop-kick fashion, dead center in the man's

gut. He went into the air and Carter caught him full on

with the ends of four fingers in the windpipe.

The killer hit the ground, tried to suck in one last gasp

of air, and gave it up.

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Caner staggered into the shadow of the wall and leaned

against it until he could get his breath. Back in the area

of the café there were still voices shouting, but, surpris-

ingly. no one seemed to be coming his way.

From the pocket of his pants beneath the robe he dug

out a penlight. Falling to his knees beside the body, he

tore the four large glossy prints from the envelope.

The dragoman had said that it was number four who

had headed toward Dehibat, while the other three had

moved in the opposite direction.

He found the picture with the 4 in dark ink on the back

of it, and placed it beside the man's face.

No doubt.

Carter had found number four.

He took only enough time to cast the penlight around

until he found the Beretta, This done, he stashed every-

thing back under the robes and hurried down the alley.

It was a maze, but he could tell from the moon that he

was heading in the right direction: toward the open desert.

When he hit it, he made a large circle around the town,

keeping high dunes between himself and the flickering

lights.

Twenty minutes later he dropped into the wadi. The

camp had been all packed up. Amis one of the Ingrams

slung over his shoulder, was by the Land-Rover. Ravelle

came up out of the front seat as Carter approached.

"We hear shouting," Ami said, flicking the Ingram's

safety back on.

"Trouble," Carter replied, yanking open the passenger

side door, "but I don't think it will affect us."

"God, what happened to your face?" Ravelle cried.

"Would you believe a jealous husband?" he growled.

"I'll tell you later. Look at this and tell me, please, that

it is El Adwan."

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He put the photo of number four on her lap and steadied

the beam of the penlight. Ravelle took it from his hand

and carefully examined the forehead, the area around the

eyes, and the neck just below the left earlobe.

"No," she said at last, shaking her head.

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Shit."

"What is so important about this one?" she asked.

"Nothing. It would have just made tonight's job one

hell of a lot easier if this had been our man."

"Why?"

"Because I just killed him," Carter said, and spread

out the other three pictures.

Ravelle sat for several seconds staring at Carter, her

face a shade or two lighter than usual,

"Something wrong?" he said. "You look shocked. For

God's sake, Ravelle, you knew what we came here to

do. Get with it!"

She studied each photograph, one by one, and then

started over again. Ami stood stoically by, lovingly car-

ressing the barrel of the Ingram. Carter lit a cigarette and

paced. He was just about to give up, to concede that El

Adwan had disguised himself well enough to slip away

again, when Ravelle called to him.

"Nick .

He lurched to her side. "Yeah?"

"This one."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She shivered but stuck out her chin. "Look, Nick, isn't

this what you brought me along for?"

Carter squeezed her arrn. "Sorry."

She held the picture up to the light. "See, here, on his

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neck? It's a little lump just under the skin. It's some kind

of a growth. You couldn't see it unless it was pointed

out to you."

Caner saw it. "Anything else?"

"Here on the left forehead. That little mark."

"A scar . . . tiny, but there," Carter said.

"And here, by his right eye. It's another scar. He said

he got it when he was a child."

Carter kissed her. "You're wonderful."

He flipped the picture over. There was a heavy black

3 on the back. He dug out the map and whirled on Ami.

"It's this one . . . he's headed there now!"

The tall Arab nodded and jabbed the map with a finger.

'We can drive to here. Ride the rest of the way."

"Let's go!" Caner barked, and crawled into the Land-

over.


SEVEN

Ami made contact with the Bedouin who had followed

number three—Abu El Adwan—soon after they had left

the Land-Rover on horseback. In three-minute intervals,

he led them in by voice.

Then, in the shadow of high dunes about a mile and

a half from the oasis, they spotted him. He somehow

blended with the sand, only the blue shine of his rifle

and the whiteness of some silver bracelets informing on

him.

Ami pressed forward and the two men quickly ex-

changed information. After a few minutes, he returned

to Carter and Ravelle

' had to follow at a grat distance to avoid detection. "

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"Not with a vehicle, I hope." Carter said.

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"Not with a vehicle, I hope." Carter said.

65

"No, by camel. The beast is there, about two hundred

yards in a wadi. He almost lost your man."

"How so?"

"Adwan joined a small caravan about six miles out."

Carter cursed under his breath. "How big?"

"Five camels and some goats, There are three men and

a woman."

"No children?" Carter asked.

"None," Ami replied, tapping the Ingram with his fin-

gers.

"It could be dumb luck on his part, or . . "

Ami nodded. "It could be an arranged rendezvous."

"What does that mean?" Ravelle asked, her eyes darting

between the two men.

"It means," Carter said, "that he's over there in the

middle of innocent people, or with a backup guard for

himself, or he has already met up with the people that

brought him here. Ami, are the others armed?"

"Yes, but only with rifles."

"That doesn't say much. Everyone in the desert carries

a rifle. What's the terrain like?"

"There are a series of high, rolling dunes to the south

of the oasis. Good cover."

Carter nodded. "All right. We'll circle around to the

uth to spot them. I take it that the Bedouin's contract

nds here?"

Ami nodded.

"Have him take our horses to where his camel is

ethered and wait for us there. Ravelle . . ."

"In fora penny, in for a pound," she said. "No reason

o sit on the sidelines now."

Minutes later. the Bedouin was leading the horses into

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the darkness and Ami was leading them, single file, in

a large circle around the oasis.

It seemed forever, but less than thirty minutes later

Ami stopped and pointed. "Up there, less than two

hundred yards."

Carter passed the heavy Ingram to Ravelle and removed

the sand cover from the sniper rifle. In seconds he had

locked on the Startron scope and slung the rifle.

"Wait here!"

They both nodded, and Carter started up the side of

the dune. With night. a chill had settled over the desert

and there was just enough wind to make an eerie, singing

sound.

Just short of the top, he dropped to his belly and wiggled

on his to the rise.

The oasis was small, a few thorn trees and four clumps

of desert palms. There was only one well, and evidently

a deep one, evidenced by the total lack of grass or any

other surface vegetation that would be spawned by water

near the surface.

A makeshift camp had been set up, but the absence of

two things bothered Carter. There was no sign of the

small, leather tents common to the area. That meant that

the group probably didn't plan on camping the entire

night. Also, the fire was small, far too small for cooking.

A small copper kettle was hung over the flame, and Carter

could smell the aroma of tea carried by the wind.

In the light from a sliver of moon, Carter counted, All

of them were dressed in dark gardbras, a heavy, djel-

labalike with large armholes and a wide girth that

could hide almost any kind of weapon.

Three figures crouched by the fire. A fourth busied

himself with the animals. Carter noted that girths had

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n loosened on the camels' bellies, but they had not

en unsaddled.

The fifth hunkered at the base of one of the palm

lumps, smoking. Now and then the glow of a cigarette

leamed through his cupped hands.

Cautiously. Caner eased the barrel of the Mannlichter

ver the ridge of sand and fitted his eye to the Startron.

acial features became clear as he moved the from

gure to figure.

One of the three figures at the fire was the woman.

e man smoking at the palms was Abu El Adwan.

Carter eased the arrns of the tripod forward and settled

e bases into the sand. He locked a cartridge in and

umbed the safety to "off." Slowly he turned the focus

ng until a dark spot was clear in the center of Adwan's

hest. A quick adjustment of the windage and elevation

rews, and he was set.

It took all of Carter's willpower not to take the man

ut then and there. But it would have been foolhardy and

knew it.

If the other four were El Adwan's backup—and now

was pretty obvious that they were—Carter would be a

•tting duck on the dune all by himself. This was espe-

ially true since the Mannlichter was only single-action.

e moment he fired, the other four would fan out and

ank him before he could get off another shot.

He needed Ami and the firepower of the two Ingrams

his own backup.

Reluctantly, he eased the stock of the rifle to the sand

d belly-crawled backward down the dune. Halfway,

lurched to his feet and jogged to the bottom.

In hushed tones he explained the situation.

Ami nodded his understanding and spoke with a new

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grimness in his voice. "The rendezvous was planned.

They are with him."

"I'm afraid so," Carter agreed, "and Tm not surprised.

He takes no chances with his own skin."

Hurriedly, Carter gave Ravelle a thirty-second lesson

on firing and reloading the Ingram.

"Ami will take my right flank there. and you'll take

my left, about seventy-five yards away. All you have to

do is spray the area around the campfire. With this thing,

you'll hit something. Just remember to keep the barrel

down or the gun is liable to dance around and catch Ami

or myself. Can you do it?"

She nodded a bit tentatively but gave Carter a little

more confidence with the reappearance of the defiant,

jutting jaw he now recognized so well.

"Good girl. All right, let's go . . . quietly."

But suddenly there was no such thing as quiet. A hum-

ming sound arrested their movement. It quickly became

a roar that filled the night. The three of them turned as one.

"There, to the south!" Ami hissed.

"Christ, a chopper!"

Even as Carter stared, the four-seater Bell, its whirling

rotors gleaming in the moonlight, rose above the dunes

and bore down on them. The machine loomed larger and

larger, and suddenly twin landing spots flicked on from

just above the sled.

Two hundred yards in front of them. the desert was

turned from night into day.

"Quick!" Carter barked. "Spread, fratten out, and cover

up completely!"

Ami and Ravelle lurched to the side as Carter dived

for the lowest part of the gulley between the two dunes.

All three of them went slithering under their robes like

insects under rocks:

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The Killmaster took quiet, even breaths. not moving

muscle as the sound of the chopper passed directly over

im. Ile took his cue from the dark, the light, and the

ark again, as well as the throbbing drone of the chopper's

ngine as it landed.

"Now he cried. bounding to his feet. "Up the dune!"

Caner was the first to the top. Quickly he surveyed

c scene, now completely illuminated by the splashing

ight from beneath the chopper.

The engine was on idle, the rotors turning lazily. The

ilot was still at the controls. A passenger—short, bald-

ng, in a dark suit and carrying a briefcase—had dropped

o the ground. Just as he did, he slipped in the sand and

ell to one knee, the light bathing his face and shoulders.

Carter heard a gasp from Ravelle and a few feet to his

eft, but he kept his eyes on the tableau.

The small man moved toward El Adwan, who stood

n the center of the other robed figures. There was little

oubt now as to who the woman and three other men of

he caravan actually were.

Each of them had produced Russian AK-47 rifles from

neath their desert robes.

Carter moved the Mannlichter around to focus on El

dwan. He adjusted the scope and squinted. Even though

he man was stationary, he was constantly shielded by

he restless guards.

The chopper's passenger reached him and they shook

ands. They exchanged a few words and nods.

Caner sweated and waited.

Then they moved fanher away from the chopper and

nto the darkness until there was just the two of them.

ut El Adwan walked on the far side, with the small,

aiding man between himself and Carter with the sniper

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The Killmaster readjusted the focus and range. It was

about two hundred and fifty yards, with very little wind.

An easy shot.

A sure kill shot.

If the two men would only change places.

The minutes dragged on. The pilot in the chopper

looked bored. Two of the guards dropped into a crouch

and lit cigarettes. Ihe woman wandered over to the chop-

and exchanged a few words with the pilot.

Carter sweated some more, the tension building to a

knot in his chest. With one finger he cleared the perspi-

ration from his forehead and quickly returned it to the

trigger. On either side of him he swore that he could hear

Ami and Ravelle breathing.

Suddenly the balding man dropped to one knee. He

set the briefcase on the ground and opened it. A tiny blub

came on. evidently powered by a battery within the case.

Furiously, Carter sighted in: focus right, elevation

right, windage set, range. .

But before he could fire. El Adwan also went down,

to his butt, so his entire body was once again obscured

by the other man.

Carter cursed under his breath and tried to focus on

the terrorist's bobbing head.

It was no good.

He chanced a quick glance at his watch, shielding the

luminous dial with his hand.

The helicopter had been on the ground for twenty min-

utes.

He swiveled his eyes to Ravelle. She was game, the

Ingram cradled in front of her, ready. She appeared calm.

To Carter's right, Ami aprmred to be dozing, but the

Killmaster could tell the truth of it when now and then

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he saw the muzzle swerve around to cover one of the

moving guards.

El Adwan was up, shoving a package into his clothing.

But so was the other man.

niey started moving back toward the chopper, the

terrorist still blocked by his companion.

Carter moved the muzzle of the rifle ahead of them.

He was guessing. At the chopper, they would shake hands

again. Then the balding man would climb in. For just

that second, when the man was getting seated, El Adwan

would be completely exposed.

For the last time, Carter adjusted the scope.

They reached the door. Just as Carter guessed, they

shook hands. A few more words were exchanged, and

the small man set his briefcase on the floorboards in front

of the seat. He grasped the hand pull, put his right foot

on the step, and pulled himself up.

Carter took a deep breath, eased it out, and fired.

"Damn!" Carter growled aloud.

The man's foot had slipped on the step, throwing him

backward. In that instant, El Adwan had stepped forward

to balance him.

It was just far enough.

The balding man had taken the heavy-caliber slug from

the Mannlichter, and the loud crack of the rifle had re-

sounded over the gentle idle of the chopper's engine.

They were all alerted and they swung immediately into

action.

Two of the four guards dropped to one knee and sprayed

the ridge in Carter's direction with their rifles. The other

two, one of them the woman, raced to the flanks, firing

on the run.

The Ingram in Ami's hand was bucking, firing at the

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running figure on his side. But missing.

There was silence from Carter's left. The woman was

frozen.

"Fire, Ravelle, dammit! Fire at anything!" Carter

shouted, jamming anothercartridge into the sniper rifle.

El Adwan had been galvanized into action himself,

but not defensive. As usual, his first thought was himself.

He had wrenched the dead man around in front of him.

Then, using the other man's body as a shield, he was

now crawling into the chopper. Carter could see him

barking orders at the pilot. and he knew exactly what

those orders were.

The engine was roaring now and the rotors were picking

up speed.

Carter sighted in on the pilot's head. It was a tough

shot, almost impossible. The slugs from the two kneeling

guards were kicking up sand all around Carter's head and

the chopper was moving. lifting off the desert floor.

Wisely, the pilot was jiggling the machine from side

to side as he got lift. El Adwan had brought his own rifle

into play and was firing at the orange spurts that Ami's

Ingram made in the night.

Then Carter got some peace and quiet. Ami had zeroed

in on the two squatting guards. With a fanning burst he

had raked them, sending them both flying backward to

land, very dead, spread-eagled in the sand.

It was the lull the Killmaster needed. He sighted in.

The chopper was about twenty-five feet off the ground

and rolling its tail around. When the spiQ was completed,

the silhouette of the pilot was dead center in Carter's

sights.

He fired, and through the scope saw the pilot's head

explode, the remnants spraying the far side of the Plexi-

glås bubble.

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73

It was a perfect hit, but the Killmaster had other prob-

lems. The female guard, realizing that she was drawing

no fire, had made a right angle and charged up the dune.

Carter's shot drew her and she turned his way.

Suddenly she was charging over the rim, the bucking

AK-47 in her hand on full auto.

Carter managed to roll away from the first burst as he

struggled to get another cartridge into the Mannlichter.

Even as he jammed the bolt home, he knew he would

be too late. The woman had spotted him and read the

situation. She skidded to a halt and brought the muzzle

of the gun around in a slowly deliberate motion.

At the last second, just before she fired, her eyes went

wide and the rifle dropped from her hands. Carter heard

the chatter of Ravelle's Ingram just as the woman's body

lifted into the air and fell, lifeless, at his side.

He looked up. Ravelle knelt only two feet behind where

the woman had been, her face stark white, the Ingram

still shaking in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she gasped.

"Better late than never," Carter said, leaping toward

her.

He grabbed the Ingram and a magazine from the belt

around her chest. In one movement he had reloaded and

turned.

The chopper was still rising, slowly spinning in circles.

He raised the Ingram and fired.

Halfway through the clip, he saw the hatch open. A

body came through it and hurtled down to hit the sand.

In the same instant, the chopper righted. The nose bent,

the tail lifted, and it moved off.

Carter finished the magazine, but it was too late. In

seconds the machine was over a dune and lifting into the

night sky.

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"You son of a bitch!" Carter screamed, watching it

disappear.

El Adwan had kicked out the pilot's body and taken

the controls himself.

Carter had lost again.

But even in his anger, his instincts took over. As the

sound of the chopper faded, he realized that all around

him was deathly silence.

Mentally he made a body count: two dead in the sand

near where the chopper had been, and the woman's man-

gled corpse at his feet.

A long silence and then, "Down here," from the gulley

behind the far end of the dune.

Carter grabbed another clip from Ravelle and jacked

it in as he ran.

Ami stood, a bloody dagger in his hand, carefully

shredding the sleeve over his right arm. The top of the

sleeve was crimson.

At his feet was the fourth guard, his head nearly severed

from his body.

"You're hit," Carter said.

Ami nodded, making bandages from the ripped cloth.

The man shook his head.

"Let the woman give you a hand with the bandage.

I'll do the burying."

Still without a word, the big Arab moved off.

Carter found tools in the packs of thexcamels and went

to work. It took the better part of two hours to erase all

traces of the battle. During that time, the little man who

had been their spotter wandered in, leading the three

horses and his camel.

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When the burying was done, Caner went through the

packs and saddlebags of all the camels, and re-checked

the area.

Nothing.

El Adwan had once again gotten away clean.

They were just mounting for the ride back to the Land-

Rover, when Ravelle grasped Carter's arm.

"I did the best I could," she said, still looking a little

sick.

Carter squeezed her shoulder." You came through just

when you had to. That's more than enough. This isn't

exactly your line of work."

"There is one thing that may help

"What's that?"

'The bald man, the one who came in the helicopter?"

"Yes?" Carter said, his antennae coming out as he

remembered the gasp he had heard when the man with

the briefcase had dropped into the light. "What about

"I recognized him. It was Oliver Estes."


EIGHT

St. James Manor sat regally on two hundred acres of

lush Surrey conuyside south of London. Heavy-coated

sheep and fat cattle ranged on the deep green fields, and

the whole was surrounded by chest-high stone fences.

Nearer the manor proper, the fences were three feet

higher, with electrified wire and glass shards around the

top.

The house itself was a massive two-story Tudor in the

shape of an L. Heavy dark beams contrasted sharply with

the whitewashed walls, and the windows, set deeply,

were of heavy leaded glass.

From the road, a wide gravel cahiage lane wound

through manicured lawns and gardens with tall, graceful

trees, past a pond in which ducks and geese and swans

76

DEATHSTRIKE

swam freely during the summer months.

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77

Hannibal St. James sat behind his massive desk in his

massive swivel chair in his massive second-story office.

The great man was a vision in gray—dapper gray

tweeds, pearl-gray shirt, dark gray tie, pale gray eyes,

and silver-gray hair.

Only one thing marred the image of the world-shaking

tycoon in his own element: Hannibal St. James was sweat-

ing like the proverbial pig. Now and then, between large

sips of cognac from the snifter in his right hand, he would

mop the dew from his face with a monogrammed hand-

kerchief in his left.

St. James had a lot to sweat about. It had been thirty-six

hours since the meeting in the desert, and he had received

no word. Everything depended on that filthy Arab's

agreement to his end of the bargain. St. James had agreed

on the price: ten million .

five in front, five on com-

pletion.

Where was Oliver Estes?

Behind the wall to his right, the telex machines began

to clatter. The sound made St. James jump in his chair.

It had been a telex earlier that afternoon. using his

private code, that had stared his sweat glands going:

TONIGHT EIGHT P.M. SHARP YOUR TIME.

PRIVATE HOT LINE TO YOUR OFFICE

WILL CALL. BE THERE. ESTES.

St. James glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch on

his wrist: 7:55.

The telex didn't sound like Estes at all. Oliver would

never have the nerve to make such an imperative com-

and: Be there.

But perhaps Estes was up to his old tricks. Perhaps

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the man actually thought he had found a foolproof way

to betray St. Janws.

Impossible, he thought, gulping the last of the cognac.

I would make sure he died a horrible death if it was the

last thing I did!

He took a cigarette from an oblong crystal box on the

desk. He inserted it into an ivory holder and lit it with a

gold lighter. His movements were uncharacteristically

shaky and the smoke burned his lungs.

The door opened silently and closed the same way.

Horst Layman moved across the rck)m and eased his huge

bulk into a leather chair.

"Anything more on the wire?"

"Nothing," Layman grunted. The big man's eyes were

like a cat's: the concentrated pupils tiny, the irises large,

the gaze absolutely unfathomable.

The telephone buzzed and St. James forced himself to

wait several seconds before answering it.

"Hannibal St. James?"

"Yes. Who is this? How did you get my private telex

code and this number?"

"From Oliver Estes the voice said, "before he died."

"Estes is dead?"

"As dead as anyone can be after taking a high-powered

slug in his back."

"Damn .

The voice calmly gave St. James a complete rundown

on the happenings in the Tunisian desirt thirty-six hours

before.

"But in spite of the problems and your man's death,

Mr. St. James. J have decided to go ahead with the

contract. There will be, however, some new stipulations."

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St. James froze. "I have met every one of your de-

mands. It is not my fault that you have an American

agent on your back from your earlier affairs!"

"Mr. St. James, you know who and what I am."

"l do."

"And now I know who and what you are. Besides

buying my silence, what I am about to ask of you will

provide me with a much better atmosphere to carry out

your contract."

"I don't want myself, or anyone connected with me,

to be involved!"

"You will not be involved in the contract."

St. James's voice shook when he replied. "What the

hell do you call killing an American agent? If that is not

'involvement,' then I don't know what is! Besides, if the

man is as good as you say he is, how in God's name

could my people get close to him?"

"l have a plan all worked out. For the last two days I

have done nothing but gather information. I know that

the woman with Carter was Ravellc Dressler. Now, here

is what I want your people to do .

As Abu El Adwan spoke, Hannibal St. James removed

the cigarette from the ivory holder and tapped it out,

gently, in an alabaster ashtray. The disembodied voice

through the phone was like the voice of a ghost at a

seance. But he found himself listening raptly.

"It might work," St. James said when the voice ceased.

"Of course it will work. And it will also buy me the

needed time. I assume the Thor I is still on the timetable

given me by Mr. Estes?"

"It is. The ship sails the day after tomorrow from Japan

for the Middle East."

"Keep Caner off my back, Mr. St. James. Buy me the

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time, and your contract will be completed."

Hannibal St. James glanced up at Horst Layman's flat,

vacuous face, and nodded. "We will do it, exactly as

you say."

"Good. If Carter thinks I'm in London, he won't be

looking for me anywhere else. I'll make the phone call

to Ravelle Dressler the day after tomorrow at this same

hour. That should give your people enough time to pre-

pare."

The line went dead, and St. James sat back in his chair

with a sigh. He tapped the tips of his fingers together in

front of his face and stared at Horst Layman, who stared

back impassively.

When St. James spoke, it was in a quiet, almost dull

monotone. He went on for a full fifteen minutes, and

when he finished, Horst Layman only nodded.

He stood and lumbered toward the door. It would be

a very busy two days.

The huge man gave no thought to the victim. The name

Nick Carter meant nothing to him, no more than the fact

that the man was an American government agent.

Nick Carter was a man. He would die as all men die.

In an outdoor phone booth in Rome's Piazza del

Popolo, a tall, dark-skinned priest with a bald spot on

the back of his head hung up the phone. After looking

around, he moved out of the box and walked at a leisurely

pace down the street. He walked across the Ponte Mar-

gherita, and followed the Tiber around the Castel

Sant'Angelo. Several blocks farther on, he turned into

the Via della Conciliazione. Two blocks short of Saint

Peter's Square, he stopped at a newly renovated building.

A key opened the front door and he stepped into a

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marbled lobby. Shunning the elevator, he walked up four

flights and let himself into an apartment with a second

key.

The apartment was huge, expensive, and tasteful. The

living room was filled with ebony and copper bookcases

covering three entire walls. On the far wall, separating

the windows and the fireplace, were priceless copies of

two sixteenth-century Italian enamel portraits. The room

was dark, the windows heavily draped with deep blue

brocade.

Unbuttoning his dark suit jacket and sliding it from

his shoulders, he moved on into the bedroom. Like the

living room, it was exquisite, characterized by rich pat-

terns, colors, and textures. Natural wood boiserie with

Cordoba leather panels warmed the room and set off the

black marble mantel that dominated one entire wall.

The huge canopied bed where he discarded the rest of

the priest's garb was draped in royal blue velvet trimmed

with embroidery. A huge antique Chinese carpet in shades

of blue and rose covered most of the highly polished

parquet floor.

Abu El Adwan enjoyed luxury no matter what the cost.

From a mini-bar he poured himself a cognac and en-

tered the bathroom. After a long shower, he donned red

socks, tan slacks, low boots with Cuban heels, and a

bright knit shirt. From a drawer, he got a cheap camera

and a pair of lightly tinted glasses.

These would help him assume the guise of a tourist-

about-town later that evening.

A catch in one wall opened two panels. El Adwan

stepped back to make the evening's choice.

Long ago, he had spent time with a master wigmaker

and makeup specialist who had retired from the Kabuki

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theater, During that time, EI Adwan had studied well and

purchased even better.

Now before him on a huge wall board were over two

hundred wigs of every imaginable length, texture, and

color. There were also matching mustaches, beards,

sideburns, and even eyebrows and eyelashes.

He selected a sandy-brown wig with matching eye-

brows, sideburns, and a heavy mustache. When the facial

hair was meticulously applied with a spirit gum, he dis-

carded the black wig of the balding priest and donned

the new one.

Finished, he stared at himself in the mirror and smiled.

Nobody in the world could recognize him; he hardly

recognized himslef. And the spirit gum was made esl*-

cially for him from an old Greek formula. It adhered

directly to the pores in the skin. He could do anything

in the disguise—swim, shower, yank and pull—and noth-

ing would happen. When he was through with the dis-

guise, he had to use a special solvent to remove it.

A few final touches were needed. He used a stain to

slightly discolor his white teeth. Two thin rubber pads

between cheek and gum subtly altered the shape of his

face.

He slipped into a plaid sports jacket and adjusted the

collar of the shirt over the jacket. From a case containing

over forty pairs of tinted contact lenses, he chose a pair

that he laughingly called "Paul Newman" blue, and in-

serted them.

With a last look in the mirror, he draped the camera

around his neck and left the apartment.

The man with the strikingly blue eyes and the loud

clothes moved swiftly down the deserted hotel corridor.

DEATHSTRIKE

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e odor of decay hung like a stagnant cloud near the

w ceiling of the narrow passageway. The only sound

aching his ears came from the creak of the slowly rotting

ards beneath his feet.

There were no windows in the hallway, and the single

ulb burning at the end of a frayed cord strained to push

very one of its fifteen watts through the thick atmos-

here. For all the light available, he could have been in

ome's catacombs instead of a run-down hotel on the

ppia Antica.

It was called II Grande Appia, but on the street it was

icknamed La Puttana—the Prostitute—because most of

s tenents were ladies of the street. It was a home for

rs, a last stop for society's rejects, a graveyard for

e living. The place was too dreary to stay in if one

idn't have to, which was why he had chosen it for the

eeting.

He slowed his pace as he neared the last room at the

nd of the hallway, but quickly jumped aside when a

ueaking rat darted from one hole in the woodwork to

other. He watched the rat pass, chuckled, and then

rned to the door.

It was marked MAINTENANCE—NO ADMITTANCE.

The door was unlocked. Beyond it was a steep set of

nlit stairs. In the glow of a cigarette lighter, he descended

d rapped on a second door at the bottom.

"Who wants to know?"

"Abu, my friend ... the wealthy tourist who has come

make you rich."

Bolts were pulled aside and the door opened a few

Ches. Behind it was a tall lanky figure in a shabby

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NICK CARTER

topcoat. His thick black hair was worn long and brushed

back from his forehead.

"Jesus Christ, how do r know it is you? I never see

you the same twice!"

Abu El Adwan smiled. The man who stood before him

was Jadak Salas, and he had worked closely with El

Adwan twice in the past. But, like everyone else, he had

no idea what Adwan really looked like.

Slowly, in almost a whisper, El Adwan recited the

names of the other ten men and two women in the base-

ment room behind Jadak.

"Mother of Christ, come in." He stepped into the room

and the door was closed and locked behind him. Jadak

turned to the hard-eyed, expectant faces. "Believe it or

not, this is Abu El Adwan."

One of the women, a young blonde with eyes like cold

steel, couldn't stifle a giggle.

"You, my dear Antonia Perini, should recognize my

voice, at least. How many nights did I whisper words of

love while I thrust between your thighs, two years ago

on Malta?"

"Sweet Jesus y" the blonde gasped and crossed herself.

The others laughed, and El Adwan made his way to

the front of the room. Even as he moved, the inner man

emerged through the disguise and the room fell silent.

"You have all agreed to the terms, so from this night

on you are in, and there is no getting out. Do I make

myself understood?"

A chorus of affirmative grunts.

"Each of you is a specialist at more than one thing.

All of your talents will be well used, I assure you."

"Who are we killing for this time?" asked a male voice

from the rear.

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El Adwan smiled. "As always, oppressed peoples

verywhere."

"Bullshit," said the second woman, a short, very vo-

ptuous brunette, and laughed harshly.

"What do we call ourselves?" asked another.

Another wide smile from El Adwan. "I'm sure that

tween us we can find an appropriate political name for

ur cause."

"Quiet," Jadak hissed. "I for one want to know the

The room became gravely silent and all eyes turned to

e front.

"The fourteen of us are going to hijack the largest ship

the world, the brand-new supertanker, Thor I."


NINE

Her eyes were a smoldering gray and deep-set, so that

they enhanced her cheekbones into a strong angle that

gave off an accurate impression of self-willed self-suffi-

ciency and self-reliance.

But at this moment Carolyn Reed felt far from self-re-

liant. She felt confused and scared.

It had been five days since she had taken the phone

call from Ishu Tanaki in the hotel room in Japan. She

had sat for hours, her bags packed, waiting for him, until

the room had closed in and she had to do something.

At four in the morning, she had taken a cab to his tiny,

transient apartment. The old mama-san had ranted, but

finally the woman had let Carolyn in. They had found

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he money and the note. but nothing elSk

87

Carolyn had returTEd to hotel and waited until

Xin. Still Tanakj hain't shown.

That was when she called Sir Charles Dunwcxxl,

'„uFnor jn London. Sir Charles was the heui of the

ery quiet arm of Lloyd's known as Insuree Investiga-

ons He had txen as troubled as she about Ishu Tanaki.

"Should I Inform the m)lice?"

"My dear Carolyn. what could you tell them?'

Carolyn had bndled. How like Sir Charles and his

amnable cautiousness. In her mind, Jshu had found

yrnethng big, and Just at the moment he had t*en ready

) pass It on to her and leave the Thor Proyect for the

ast urne, he had disappeared. As far as she was con-

rned , 't was no time for caution: it was time for action.

But Sir Charles Dunwood made the decisions.

suggest that you return to London at once, Carolyn.

think for the tirne being, a waiting game is preferable.

have a great many fnends in thc Home ()ffice. I suggest

e make some discreet inquiries in that area."

So Carolyn had returned. She had filed her report and

iterated Ishu Tanaki's last words over the phone.

So far, nothing had haprx'ned. But that afternoon Sir

harJes had dropßd by her office.

"l know this is highly irregular, my dear, but I wonder

J might drop by your flat this evening?'

"Of course, but—

"A pnvate discussjon."

"Of course."

V'Shall we say, ten?'

Carolyn shifted her eyes from the mirror to the clcxk

a nearby mantel.

Jt was one mmute before ten.

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Absently, she watched the second hand sweep around.

When it reached the top, a single chime announced the

hour. The sound had scarcely faded when the doorbell

buzzed.

How like Sir Charles, punctual to the second, she

thought as she walked to the door on long, supple legs.

"Sir Charles, good evening."

Sir Charles Dunwood bowed slightly and stepped into

the foyer. He was a mustached man in his late fifties,

with graying hair closely cropped, a military bearing,

and the stern face of command. He wore a tweed suit

with matching vest, a regimental tie perfectly knotted at

his throat, and gave the impression that he would much

rather be in uniform.

Dunwood had started his career in the Scots Guards,

and gravitated to the Home Office as liaison to M15 and

M16. Upon his early retirement, he had taken over the

investigative section of Lloyd's.

"Beastly weather," he said, handing Carolyn his hat,

raincoat, and umbrella.

"Yes, yes, it is. A drink?"

4'A gin, if you have it."

Of course I have it, Carolyn thought gratingly as she

walked to the sideboard. What civilized English household

could survive without gin?

She prepared the drinks and they sat. For a full five

minutes the conversation was inane, and Carolyn thought

she would scream.

At last Sir Charles leaned forward and got to the point.

"The Japanese authorities were informed of Tanaki's dis-

appearance through my friends in the Home Office, and,

in turn, a branch of M16."

"And .

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"Nothing. Jt is as if he had never existed. They have

uggested that he may have fled on his own. As you

ow, he was not happy in his role as a junior investigator

nder you."

Carolyn folded her hands in her lap with great control.

akinga deep breath, she lifted her head and looked Sir

harles in the eye. Something had blazed and hardened,

ike the effect of an intense fire.

"I cannot accept that, Sir Charles. I will not accept it.

shu and I worked out those differences between us, par-

icularly when we began getting results on the Thor inves-

igation."

"You've never actually stated a theory. Carolyn. What

do you think?"

She couldn't stop a shiver from running through her

y. To cover it, she grabbed the glasses and made

sh drinks. By the time she had seated herself again,

ontrol had returned.

"J think Ishu had obtained facts. I think he had un-

covered a plot to doom the Thor before she ever sailed.

nd if she did sail, I think there is a plot to sink her,"

Sir Charles sipped his drink and rubbed the loose skin

n his temple. "I assumed that was your conclusion. And

Tanaki?'

"l think . . . I think he was killed to stop him from

assing his findings along to me."

"My dear, what you're saying borders on the impossi-

le. If it is true, and it corresponds to your earlier reports,

uch a plan would have to originate at the very top . . .

rhaps with Hannibal St. James himself!"

Carolyn swallowed and straightened her shoulders.

'That's exactly what I think."

Suddenly Sir Charles smiled. "If it is any help; Carolyn,

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I am in total agreement with you."

She was instantly on her feet. "Then why—

"l addressed the board with both findings and theories

this afternoom"

"And . . .

"And they have decided that the findings are inconclu-

Sive and the theories implausible. We must remember

that St. James Lines have over ninety vessels insured

with us."

"So what? All ninety would be a drop in the bucket if

the Thor goes down and we pay the insured!"

"True."

"Then they are going to stand by—

"They, my dear, are. We are not."

Carolyn slumped heavily back into her chair. "But

what can we do?"

"Perhaps a great deal. This is Friday. I am meeting

two very powerful gentlemen at my club on Monday for

lunch. I think I have enough information to interest them

in our problem."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because they have already expressed undue interest

as of today in one of the chief architects of the Thor

Project, Oliver Estes."

"St. James's comptroller?"

' 'Yes," Sir Charles said. "The inquiries were subtle

but demanding. My guess is that the Thor Project has

come under suspicion by several people beyond our

sphere."

A new light came into Carolyn Reed's eyes. "Then you

think that by giving them all the information we've

found .

Again Sir Charles nodded, this time far more emphat-

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92

ically. "Her Majesty's Government has far more weight

with the International Maritime Commission than we do. "

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, the Thor has been insEEcted again,

and again cleared. She sails tomorrow morning."

"Oh, my God."

A few minutes later, Sir Charles excused himself and

left.

Carolyn Reed went to bed, but she didn't sleep. Each

time she closed her eyes she could see the enormous bow

of the Thor slipping beneath the water as millions of

barrels of oil from her ruptured tanks polluted the sea for

miles around.

Ravelle Dressler ran her fingertips over the pale blue

circles beneath her eyes and growled at the mirror as she

had practically every night since their retum.

She felt more like a prisoner now in the Mayfair flat

than she had before.

"We'll give you a guard or an escort whenever you

want to go out," Carter had said.

"No, I don't want a baby-sitter . . .

unless it's you."

"Ravelle, I'm still after him. I've still got to get him."

"Okay, all right. I 'II be fine."

But she wasn't fine. She was drinking too much. and

even though she knew she was safe, she found herself

jumping at every shadow and every sound. And sleep

was hard. When it did come, she relived the desert in a

nightmare, only to wake up in a cold sweat.

she should go to America . . . New York, or

even Montana. God knows the Arab bastard wouldn't

follow her there.

Or would he?

NICK CARTER

She kicked open the dressing room door. The room


92

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

She kicked open the dressing room door. The room

was stacked with suitcases and garment bags bloated with

clothing. She had packed and repacked a dozen times,

and still couldn't bring herself to go.

Ravelle dug two aspirin tablets out of her medicine

chest and washed them down with gin. She stepped into

the chilling shower and, after emitting a slight scream,

began to bathe.

Three minutes was all she could take. When her body

was dry and powdered, she used the blow dryer on her

hair until she could no longer stand the noise. Then she

slipped into a robe and walked across the flat to the

kitchen.

"You've got to eat while you drink," she told herself,

and dropped two eggs into a pan before returning to the

living room and more gin.

The glass was half full when the telephone rang. Ab-

sently, she lifted it with her left hand.

Yes

"Ravelle, you are such a bitch .

"Oh, my God, you!" The bottle of gin fell, its contents

spreading a stain across the rug.

"Yes, me, Ravelle. I am in London and I'm going to

get you. I'm going to kill you, very, very slowly. It might

take me some time, but eventually I'll get to you, Ravelle.

Until then, wait .

wait and sweat."

The phone went dead and Ravelle stood for several

seconds, shaking, staring at the instrument in her hand.

Then she slammed it back onto its etadle and ran to

her purse. Frantically, she clawed at the contents until

she found the number Carter had given her.

"What we can ascertain about El Adwan—and about

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