# Triple Cross11111111

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lady is pleasant work, from the look of your attire.

What have you learned?"

"Not much yet—it takes time."

'But you're on top of her, ehr Hawk said, his

cold eyes on me in the dark car. "In the figurative

sense a.s well as the literal, I trust?"

In his own way Hawk has a sense of humor.

Tm getting her attention first," I grinned.

"Meanwhile," Hawk said, "you know exactly where

Mr. Rush is and what he's doing, of course."

gHe's at a meeting TbæsaloniH. Comes back

tomorrow."

"Really? Hawk puffed at his stubby cigar. •nen

I wonder who they've got in prison in Albania?"

I sat up, startled, "Albania? We don't have any

State Department people in Albania."

"It seems that we do now—Michael Rush—and in

one of their foul prisons. PerhapS he got lost on his

way to Thessaloniki."

Hawk's voice slashed with sarcasm. From Athens,

nessaloniki and Albania are in completely opposite

directions.

"Okay, you've had your fun," I said. GYou want to

get serious, fill me in on what it's all about?"

«By all means let's get serious, N3,» Hawk said

grimly, and re-lit that damned stogie once more. He

puffed to get it going, the glow lighting up the dark

interior of the MaseratL

two hours ago the Albanians picked up a

man in Korgö. Seems he'd slipped across the border

and made it all the way to Korqö unseen, was head-

tng north toward Tirana when he had a fluke acci-

dent and was recognized by an offcial who just hap-

pened to be in Korqé, and just happened to know

him as Michael Rush of Statel Pure chance."

Hawk's eyes darkened and he smoked furiously.

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Pure cbance--the monster that haunts all espionage

chiefs. Hawk shook it off, went on:

"Rush told a cock-and-bull yarn about being cap-

tured by bandits on the Greek side and taken into

Albania where he escaped. There are bandits oper-

ating up there in Macedonia, and it was about the

best story he could tell, because nothing else was go-

ing to explain what a U.S. State Department man

was doing in Albania. Only even that didn't hold up

when they found what he was carrying with him."

"What?" I said, uneasy. I liked Diana Rush.

"A German passport, faked Albanian entry papers,

a list of Albanian government leaders with a check

against the name of the Defense Minister, Kico Kel-

lezi, and a take-down sniper rifle with ammunition."

J let it •ink in. Could there be another explanation,

than tbat which both Hawk and I were thinking? I

couldn't see one. Clandestine entry, a of names,

a rifle—I how the game.

ØHow do you how all this so soon?" I asked.

"For once the CIA has a solid contact in Albania

who's a top army man and he got word out fast and

accurate. MI-5 confirmed through the British lega-

tion in Tirana just before I left the sub."

"Okay," I said, grim. "Now read me the bottom

line—why were we worried about Mike Rush before

he got caught."

Hawk's cigar stub had gone out again. He looked

at it in disgust, and this time threw it out the car

window into the silvery moonlight over the craggy

Creek coast.

"In the last six months, two prominent men back

home were tragically shot in robberies—Paul Waring,

the gun tycoon, and N.P. Hodges, the extremist

right-wing congressman who wanted us to use tacti-

cal nuclear weapons even in «nnll wars. The two

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men bad no connection, the shooting happened

three months apart in different citiæ, a lot of money

was stolen in each case. Tragic accidents, unconnect-

ed. We didn't even pay a lot of attention."

Hawk reached to his mouth for his cigar. When he

didn't find it, he squirmed and swore, but went on:

Three days ago we got word from one of our ul-

tra-secret informers that a top American offcial was

to be assassinated by 'Blood Eagle.' When we sent a

man for details, the informer was dead. All we

found was a State Departrnent staff roster with a

question mark against one name—Michael Rush. We

ran a quick check on Rush's activiåes, and found

that—-

"He'd been connected to both the gun tycoon and

the right-wing congressman," I said.

"Only one meeting with both of them, and on le-

gitimate State Department business, but the

President is alarmed. Is something going on at State

even the Secretary doesn't know? He gave it to

AXE--extreme priority: check Michael Rush. I gave it

to you, but except for a fluke accident we might

have had another assassination with Michael Rush

tied in!"

I said, *Let's talk to Diana Rush.'

ÜYou talk to her, N3. III watch."

Hawk never lets himself be seen if he can avoid it.

He remained in the shadows of the jagged cliffs

while I walked out onto the beach.

An empty beach, more silent than ever—Diana

Rush was gone.

I went back to Hawk.

Tone," I said.

eyes. I wonder who was working on whom?"

awk said acidly. "It looks to me like she was hold-

g you hero while Rush slipped off into Albania.

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Sext rve said it before, Nick—some day a woman will

Idll you!"

"Someday somethingll KII all of us, h I said. EAII

right, she's been conning me. Talking but saying

nothing, and keeping me away from Mike. But

there's no way she could know what I really do,

what I am."

"You're sue of that, Nick?" Hawk said uneasily.

Tm sure. And that means she's wary of anyone

who shows special interest in Mike or asks questions.

She covers for him with everyone, and that means

thefre in it together—whatever it is."

•I hope you're right, but one way or the other you

had better find her fast, N31 Find her, find out about

Michael Rush, and find out who or what *Blood

Eagle' is! Now!"

Then he was gone.

A thin, stingy figure fn a tweed jacket vanishing

into the Greek moonlight like a ghost. In ten

minutes he'd be back aboard the sub, in ten hours

he'd be back in Washington.

In ten hours, if Diana did know what I really was,

where would I be?

She was the only one who could tell me.


CHAVI*ER FOUR

I parked the MaseraH two blocks from the American

Embassy, in the dark Athens side street where Di-

ana and Mike Rush had their apartment. The red

racer was too damned conspicuous, but it was fast,

and I was in too much of a burry to find Diana to

take time out to get less gaudy transportation.

It was an older building with a concierge, but I

used my special keys and slipped in unseen. (Greeks

are easy-going, not like those French concierges that

guard the portals like dragons.) I took the stairs to

the third floor, and listened for a time outside the

Rush's apartment at the rear. I heard nothing from

inside, knocked lightly twice, and when there was

no answer I used my keys again and stepped inside.

He came at me from behind the door.

A big man with pale blue eyes in a red, sun-

burned face.

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Ihat was all I saw before his thick arm was

around my neck, his breathing harsh in my ear.

authat you gone 'n done with Miss Dian—?" he

snarled.

I broke his grip and threw him over my shoulder.

He slammed hard into the opposite wall in a tangle

of furniture, bounced back off, and I chopped him

down.

Flat on his face, he lay motionless for a moment.

nen he raised up on his hands and knees and shook

his head to clear it. His drawling voice was almost

admiring:

gWhoo! You are a regular buzz saw, you how?"

He was a tough man. rd hit bim with my best,

and most men wouldn't have moved for five minutes,

much less admire my skill. He was all American, and

Wild West at that, from his drawl and high-heeled

boots, through narrow whipcord riding pants and a

lanyard tie with a silver slide, to his rich white Stet-

son lying now in a corner.

Temember that," I said. "Who are your

He swung around to a sitting position on the floor,

his broad back against a couch, and watched me

with his pale blue eyes. Wind-creased eyes were cool

in the sun-and-wind reddened face, and his big,

leathery hands had done hard work in their time.

'You always just bust into a lady's apartrnent?" be

said, studying me. "Some kind of Embassy cop,

maybe? 'Ille little lady's in troubler

"How'd you get in?" I snapped.

"Slipped the concierge twenty bucks. Took a shine

to Miss Diana at a party a couple o' days ago, 'n

what I like I chase."

"She's married."

He grinned. "Sure, only her old man's out 'o town,

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and ain't any harm in tyin', right? Ydre Ameri-

can.

"Pentagon," I said. -Nick Carter. How longve you

been waiting here for Diana?"

"Hour or so," be said. "Name's Jeb Hood, out o'

Big Spring down in Texas, over here on a little

business."

"Cattleman?

run a few hundred sections, but mostly it's oil

now," Jeb Hood drawled, then frowned. "Is the little

lady in some trouble, Carter? Government troubler

glf she comes back while you're still here, tell her

to get to the Embassy fast," I said and ttrned for

the door. "And, Hood, go home. Okayr

He nodded slowly, but I felt those cool blue eyes

on my back as I went out.

At the first telephone I found, I caned fnto the

secret AXE tie-line network and asked for a full

computer check on Jeb Hood of Big Spring Texas.

Then I went to the Embassy.

The Ambassador and all his top aides were out on

urgent business—I knew what business—and I got a

fourth assistant attaché. No one had seen or heard

from Diana Rush. I told them to hold her if she did

show up, and went to my hotel.

The first rule of a Killmaster or any secret oper-

ative was never waste an ounce of strength or a sec-

ond of Mme in useless action. I had nowhere else to

look for Diana until morning. So I had a pair of

brandies in the hotel bar and thought about Mike

Rush. What was he up to in Albania? As far as I

remembered, he was a quiet, serious young diplomat

With a strong sense of duty. What, or who, had put a

sniper's rifle into his hands? Or was there some other

answer?

I went up to bed. Rule two-—sleep when you

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there might not be another chance for a long time.

So I slept, but tomorrow, early, I'd be on the door-

step of Diana's office.

It was one of those ugly buildings in downtown

Athens that could have been in any European city.

Not a ruin in sight. The Greeks don't really make an

issue about their glorious history or spend any more

time looldng at statues or reading Plato than the rest

of the world.

The Institute For Permanent Peace, where Diana

worked, was on the fourth floor. nere was no eleva-

tor. I walked up the dusty stairs thinking about The

Institute For Permanent Peace. It was a small, schol-

arly organization on the side of the angels that put

Out a monthly magazine with small circulation but

large influence. John Ross, the English philosopher

and double Nobel Laureate—literature and peace-—

headed it and was just about the whole show. I

didn't know bow good his literature was, but he

worked hard to get the peace prize. It's slow work

trying to make nuclear powers trust each other.

The Institute's offces were four gray, grubby

rooms. No thick carpet, no Danish modern. Peace

doesn't pay well. A single middle-aged woman

typed slowly behind a battered desk in the outer re-

ception room, and a tall man paced in silence.

I asked for Diana.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rush hasn't come in yet," the

graying typist said. She looked around the bleak

room vaguely, as if not sure who had come in, or

who would.

There was something disorganized about her—

there usually is with these international do-good

outfits. Iliere was nothing disorganized about the

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tall man. He stopped pacing at the mention of Di-

ana's name and pinned me to the wall with his eyes.

"VVhat is your business with Mrs. Rush?" be de-

manded.

gWhat's your business with me?" I demanded

back

He flushed. Tou're an American?"

U Cuilty," I said.

am Jonathan Cuming, chargé dcffaires at the

mbassy. We need to locate Mrs. Rush urgently.

You will please tell me what you want with her."

"Carter," I said, and watched him to see if my

pame got any reaction. grrn with Defense, over here

On vacation. Diana's an old friend, that's all. Is she

s e trouble?"

My name got no reaction, but my question did.

His eyes told me that he hew about Mike Rush in

Albania. He didn't know that I knew, and he wasn't

going to tell me. His title made him number three

man at the Embassy. One of those old family, carecr

State Departrnent types who believe that the people

are stupid and better off ignorant.

•No comment," he snapped "Have you seen her

recently?"

It was kind of unusual for a chargé affaires to

be doing his ox.vn errands. Some private problem,

nnomcial?

Testerday, as a matter of fact," said. I tell the

as often as possible; it makes the big lies more

'5vVe had a date for today. I guess maybe

Mike came home early."

He knew Mike hadn't come home. I was tying to

Ft a slip out of him. I didn't get it.

"Perhaps," he said calmly. "You know Mr.' Rush

hen?"

NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER


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NICK CARTER! KILLMASTER

Trom old Washington days. Is Mike in trouble,

"I don't believe I said anyone was in trouble." Ile

at his watch, then turned to the gray-haired

typist. 'Clf Mrs. Rush reports, you will please call the

Embassy at once." He nodded to me. "You, too, Car-

ter. If you see her, call me."

"Sure will," I said, eager and a little humble.

He nodded, satisfied, and left. These old career

families are about as close as America gets to an ar-

istocracy, and aristocrats are easy to convince that

they have impressed you because they impress them-

selves. I turned to the typist.

"She didn't say she wasn't coming to work? Cali

in sick?"

"Not that I know. Perhaps she told Mr. Ross."

Mr. Ross here in Athens?"

"Oh, yes, he comes to this office often."

She picked up the inter-oßce phone, spoke ner-

vously, and then sent me through the inner door and

along a silent corridor to a closed door at the far

end. The other offices along the corridor wero

empty—the peace business could be depressing. A

deep voice answered my knock

"Come in."

The offce was small and sunny, strewn with books,

pamphlets, files, and all the other signs of real work.

John Ross didn't get up from behind his desk, but

waved me to a chair.

"Sit down, Mr.—r

"Nick Carter," I said.

He showed no reaction to the name, either. Ross

was a big, bluff man in a rumpled tweed suit and I

knew he was pushing sixty, but there wasn't a gay

strand in his thick red hair. A typical Scot, with

sharp blue eyes in a florid, hearty face.

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eso you're a friend of Diana? One of my best

people. We miss her at London headquarters, but

she must go where her man goes, eh? Undo some of

Che damage to peace done by your State Depart-

ment." He smiled at me.

"She told me to meet her here this morning," I

lied.

He watched me. •Are you sure? It's not like Diana

to mix her private life and her work, or to make a

mistake."

"Maybe I misunderstood," I said. "Is she on some

CNOt for us," Rosssafd. He seemed to think. "You

do worry me, Mr. Carter. yes also not like Diana to

miss work without informing us.. Perhaps my man-

lger here knows more." He touched 8 button on the

"Alfredo Stroesser operates this offce. He's ac-

Eually my top aide—the Athens omce is largely sym-

'Olic. Peace of the ages, cradle of reason, eh? An

9hens address on the letterhead helps get contribu-

ions. My royalties alone don't support our work any

pore, I'm afraid."

A stocBt man came into the omce behind me.

jark-haired, in his forties, he was muscular under a

evere black suit, as pale and expressionless as an

mdertaker. He moved lightly on the balls of his feet

th the rigid precision of a drillmaster.

Ah, John Ross said. "This is Mr. Carter.

came for Diana, but she seems to be absent. You

now why?"

"No," Stroesser snapped. ØWhy does Mr. Carter

vant her?"

He had an accent, but not German. Spanish.

"Just an old friend," I said. "Stroesser? You're

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Stroesser's face remained expressionless, but

voice was acid. "Argentinian. My father was a fugi.

tive Nazi. He is dead. I work to undo the evil Of hi'

life. Does that satisfy your curiosity about my namc

and accent, Mr. Carter?"

"Sorry," I said. Was he a little over sensidve?

Tery well, yes," he accepted my apology, and

voice softened as he frowned. "Actually, I'm worriec

about Diana. She has been rather strange lately—

tense and distant, perhaps excited. Her mind noi

quite on ber work, I think. Then, the Institute is no

without enemies. nere have been incidents."

"What incidents?" I asked. eqrhat enemies?"

"Some attacks on our staff in London, elsewhere,'

John Ross said grimly. "As for enemies, a peace or

ganizadon is not welcome everywhere, eh? Lunati(

militants, Japanese Kamikaze types both right anc

left, neo-Nazis, American conservaåves, Soviet ex

pansionists—the list can be endless."

-Peace offers little advantage to ambitious men,'

Stroesser said. *You are sure, Mr. Carter, that you

interest in Diana Rush is purely one of friendship?"

'What else would it be?" I said.

cannot say, but Diana has not been herself." Hi

glanced toward John Ross. "She has even been sem

at Pegasus Club."

Pegasus!" Ross exploded. usvVhat would Di

ana want—?"

1 said, The Pegasus Club?

u A private club-cafe for the jet-set, the interna

tional businessmen and their women," Stroesser

grimly. He didn't like the jet-set. g Ostensibly it i

purely smial, a haven for the bor«l rich, but then

are rumors of other interests."

John Ross said, STerhaps her husband has som

connection to The Pegasus."

•mlPLE noss

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euthere {s it?" I asked.

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Stroesser gave me the address, and I left them

both silent in the small, sunny offce. Ross was staring

out his window as if weary of the complications of

the world. Stroesser's eyes followed me out. I won-

dered just how far from his Nazi father Alfredo

Stroesser had really come?

I took a taxi to The Pegasus Club. ne address

was on a narrow, crowded side street off Queen So-

phia Avenue about half a mile from Syntagna

Square in the heart of the city. A tall, narrow, gray

brick building in the turn-of-the-century German

style set behind an iron fence, it had broad front

steps up to heavy double doors. An alley behind the

fence led to the rear and on the doors a simple brass

plate read: The Pegasus Club. I went up the steps to

the doorbell.

Brick chips stung my face . brick dust a

puff..

The whine of the bullet. From behind me.

Silenced?

I didn't look or think.

In a rolling dive over the fron fence, I came up

bent low and was around the corner into the alley

before the second shot splintered more chips that

went hissing past my ear as I ran.

A stairwell led down to a side door.

Below the lip of the well I crouched and waited.

He came quickly along the alley, the silenced gun

in his small hand. A boy, dark and bright-eyed,

showing teeth. He passed the stairwell. I came out

silently behind him, Hugo jumping out of my sleeve

into my hand.

I touched the stiletto to his back "Just breathe!"


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But he was a boy on a mission. He jumped away,

turned, the gun swinging toward me. He gave me no

choice.

1 him.


CHAPTER FIVE

td wanted him alive. But hé hadn't let me take him.

Ele'd had a job--kill me or die.

Who was he? Who and what? I bent over him.

pockets were empty and he had no wallet—

fripped for action.

At the mouth of the alley the Greek crowds

'assed, some looking idly into the dim passage. Any

econd someone out there would see me and the

lead boy. I slipped down into the stairwell to the

ide door of ne Pegasus Club.

Out at the alley entrance someone yelled, having

een the boy dead on the cement.

I picked the lock of the side door and slipped in-

ide. No one had seen me and no one was going to

atch me now.

I stood in a dim, silent basement corridor. The

ocked doors of storage rooms lined the corridor. A

ingle bulb hung at the far end where narrow stairs

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led steeply upward. I eased along and went up the

wooden stairs to a narrow door. Beyond it I could

hear distant voices and the clink of dishes, the flush

of a toilet somewhere near. I opened the door a

crack

I saw another corridor, this one broad and carpet-

ed. A cross corridor led off to the left toward the

sound of dishes and the busy voices, the rest rooms

were to the right, and straight ahead wide, carpeted

stairs rose in curves from both sides of the corridor

to a broad landing half a flight up. On the landing

slim women wandered past, affuent-looking men

walked in slow conversation, and waiters in evening

dress hurried in the morning sunlight that came

through high windows.

My de straight, I brushed off my suit, and stepped

out. Briskly—a man with somewhere to go—I went up

the curving stairs to the main floor of the elegant

club. The decor was plush with dark wood and

upholstered chairs and sofas set around small tables.

I entered a large main room with paneled walls, the

entry desk just inside the double doors at the front,

and the dining room off the rear, crowded

even fn the morning, with a long sideboard piled

with the rich dishes of a sumptuous brunch.

The bar and lounge were through an archway to

the left, buzzing even now with the raucous voices

of confident men and the tinsel laughter of idle

women. To the right were a series of alcoves with

chess games and backgammon contests in fierce ac-

Mon, and the expansive geen of billiard tables.

yond the alcoves I saw a series of doors that had to

lead to private rooms.

The stairs continued on up between the bar and

the front desk, disappearing into the silence of the

upper floors. I assumed that there were the private

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rooms for the intemational travellers, for any mem-

ber who needed some privacy. As I watched, a thin

middle-aged woman in evening dress swayed drunk-

enly up the stairs with a young

half her age.

She looked haggard and desparate. He looked smug

and shallow. I felt sorry for both of them.

I went into the lounge. At the bar I didn't order a

drink—only members could do that, I was pretty

sure—but looked at my watch a few times, tapped

my fingers on the bar, and beckoned to the bar-

tender like a man with a problem and in a hurry.

"Diana Rush,D I snapped. "Have you seen her this

morning?"

"Rush?" the bartender frowned, trying to think

about the question and to place me at the same

"Damn it, man, the wife of the State Department

guy," I snarled. -we were in here only a few days

ago. With--" I snapped my fingers impatiently as if a

well-known name was momentarily eluding me.

"Her friend, you know—n

"Ah, Mr. Suderman, yes. I remember her," the

bartender said. He was relieved. ne rich are impa-

tient and nasty when they don't get what they want.

"Mrs. Rush, certainly. But I haven't seen her for a

few days, Mr.—r

"Damn annoying," I said as if to myself, then

scowled. "Suderman, then. Is be in? Page him. 11.1 be

in the chess alcove."

I stalked away. Arrogance can get a lot of results

in a place where arrogance is expected. Suderman?

What Suderman? The name had a familiar ring; rd

heard it before. In the chess alcove I stood watching

a silent game between two old men who looked like

cherubs but who had eyes that could hang their

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mothers without losing a night's sleep if they had

something to gain by lynching the old lady.

Pf%ey'd probably played each Other a thousand

fines, but they studied each move as if there was

nothing more important on earth. For them . there

was no such thing as a friendly game. That's why

they sat in the plush club and the thousands of ordi-

nary Greeks out on the street would never sit in

here.

"Check!" one Of them said softly and smiled like a

wolf at his opponent. Tou are beaten, Dimitri."

I sensed him behind me too late. The gun barrel

was in my back, hidden by my body. His voice was

quiet and soft, with an accent: Teutonic, but not

German.

'To your right there fs a door. It fs a private room.

Walk to it, slowly and smiling, and go in. Inside,

walk out into the of the room. Stand there.

Do not turn."

The gun prodded, I walked. The door was only a

few feet away. I opened it and walked into the small

room. It had two high windows, both c»vered by

heavy drapes. I waited in the center of the room,

heard the door close and lock

@You may turn," the accented voice said.

I turned.

are you?" he said, the gun aimed at my

belly.

He was tall and thin. Very tall, and very thin,

with a hooked nose in a cadaverous face that made

him look like some alert waiting for its prey

to die. Completely bald, his head shaved, he was

burned brown by the southern sun, but he was no

southerner. He was a northern man, from the Baltic

rather than the Aegean, and now I hew who Die •

ana's friend was.

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e A friend Of Diana Rush," I said. fs she,

Sudermanr

Stig Suderman, and I had heard his name before.

A lot. In my work it was a name you got to know

early. A Swede, born in that northern country, but a

man who now belonged everywhere and nowhere.

International wheeler-dealer, a seller of weapons

from pistols to jets to anyone who could pay for

them, and a seller of anything else he could turn a

buck on.

Tana?" Suderman said, watching me. -you're

not a member here and I don't think anyone invited

.D He took a step closer to me, his pistol probing

Tey fist found a man dead in the alley

next to the club. Stabbed. Just once. By someone

who knew how to stab. You couldn't have gotten in

here the front way. side door from the alley into

the basement, yes. I'll find a on you, and a

stiletto. You killed that man."

"Did I?" I said. I shrugged—and edged a step

toward him.

He didn't notice, too busy thinking about me, and

Diana, and the dead man in the alley.

gHe had a gun, it had been fired. He was after

rou, and you're after Diana, and Diana was playing

games with me. I don't like that, you understand?

going on. What?"

If I could distract his mind from the pistol

Tana didn't tell you?" I said.

Tell me what?"

I had him now, even if he didn't how ft. I started

o speak again, looked scared, and shook my head.

took the bait, stepped closer to me, waving the

3m menacingly.

'Tell

What be didn't expect was my lunge at him in the

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NICE KIILM.ASTER

same instant he stepped toward me. I was on him

before he realized I'd even moved. He fell back, an

automatic reflex. It takes a lot of training and prac-

tice to learn to think of two actions at once. He

didn't have that training. He tried to jump away

and escape my lunge—and forgot all about the gun.

I got the pistol, hit him Rush on the chin at the

same moment, and he sprawled flat on his back leav-

ing the pistol in my band. I covered him, but on the

floor of the silent room he didn't move.

I listened for a moment at the locked door. fiere

was no sound of alarm, only the low, quiet voices of

the club members in comfortable conversation, and

the distant sensual laughter of the women in the idle

morning. I picked Suderman from the floor and sat

him on a stiff leather couch. He groaned once.

I sat facing him, the pistol resting on my knee, lit

a cigarette, and waited.

He moved his head slowly from side to side. His

eyes were closed, the sunburned vulture-face and

bald head like some ancient statue in stone. He sat

for some minutes, eyes closed.

"Will you kill me now?" His eyes remained closed.

"Is that what you expect? To be killed? Who

are always assassins."

e Maybe 'Blood Eagle'?" I said. 'Did Diana Rush

come to warn you? Or maybe you think she was with

the assassins?"

"What is 'Blood Eagle'? " Sudernan said. His eyes

were still closed, his face turned toward me like a

blind man.

g I think you know," I said.

"No, I do not." His eyes opened. g And I don't

think you know."

"It could be you. Or one of your clients."

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44

Ile half-smiled. ¯What government do you work

for, my friend? Or perhaps you are yourself this

'Blood Eagle'?

"Where is Diana Rush?

her husband, I presume. The little lady

found me attractive, or so she said. Some women

do.- He smiled again. 'Tell me more about this

'Blood Eagle' of yours. It appears to have your side,

whoever that is, worried."

'Thinldng of doing some businss,

"I always think of business."

¯ltl.l get you killed yet," I said, and stood up.

ÜDon't follow me, that could get you killed even

quicker."

I emptied his pistol, dropped the bullets into my

pocket, tossed the gun to him, and went to the door.

I unlocked it and out without looking back. I

crossed the wide main lobby among the scurrying

waiters and lounging members.

Outside on the narrow Athens street police cars at

the alley blocked the traffc. I walked the other way

and didn't look back. If Stig Suderman wanted to

follow me, I'd him every chance. That was my

game, and the fox would become the hound.

I turned a few corners, jostling my Yankee way

through the crowd of Greeks, towering over them

and drawing a lot of attention. I plowed ahead as if

in one hell of a hurry to get somewhere and after a

few more turns I knew he tailing me, frying to

hide himself under a broad Panama hat that, fortu-

nately for me, made his tall, thin figure stand out

like a beacon.

I slipped into an arcade lined with small booths,

ducked into the first booth, and waited. I waited five

minutes. He didn't Damn! Was he such a

lousy amateur that he'd lost me? I slid back to the

NICE CARTER: KILLMASTER


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NICE CARTER: KILLMASTER

mouth of the arcade and the narrow street.

He was nowhere in sight, and—then he wast

He stood across the street at the next corner and

he was no amateur. He was smiling under the

Panama, waiting for me to reappear. Not fooled for

a second by my little trick—and not Stig Sudermant

Tall, and thin, and hawk-faced, and I knew him. I

knew an NKVD man when I saw him, but I knew

this NKVD man even better. Denka Vortov himself,

Chief of NKVD Counter-Intelligence!

Across the narrow Athens street our eyes met for a

moment. His smile broadened, and, with a small wave

to me, he was gone. I didn't follow. We'd spotted

each other, the game was over—this time.

And the whole affair was changed. Vortov himself

in Athens? I grabbed a taxi and rode back to Diana

Rush's apartment near the Embassy. The Texan, Jeb

Hood, wasn't there this dme, and neither was any-

one else.

Back on the sunny Athens street, I lit a cigarette.

Denka Vortov was in Athens—and tailing me. Stig

Suderman was mixed in with Diana, and death and

violence were never far from Suderman. Diana was

missing.

Blood Eagle was taldng on a new dimension.

I couldn't wait any longer to find Diana Rush. I

needed some answers, and fast, and if I couldn't find

Diana, I knew where I could find one Rush.


CHAPTER SIX

The wheels of AXE grind smoothly and fast.

Three hours after I walked into the innocent-look-

ing tobacco shop just off Stadium in downtown

Athens, and gave the priority code for emergency

help, I was sitting in the back of a Learjet on a small

airstrip on the Greek side of the Albanian border in

Macedonia. I was waiting for dark.

"The borde/s sealed tight," my contact man said.

"Even the bandit columns are lying low."

He looked like any other bearded Greek moun-

taineer, and I didn't know his name any more than

he knew mine. I never would; that's the way it is in

AXE. All he knew about me was that I had an Admi-

ral's rating and top code priority, and that it was his

job to get me into Albania.

"Well slipped into their scheduled traffc pat-

tern," he said. pilot can drop Off their radar

screens for about two minutes, no more."

45

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Ntrcr CARTER: KILLMASTFR

"It'll be enough," I said.

The barren mountains loomed treeless around the

hidden Airstrip as the sun slowly settled behind

them. Then it was night, and the pilot climbed into

the cockpit. He was a short, heavy Turk who spoke

no English, but he knew his job.

We took off five minutes after complete darkness.

The Lear had Albanian markings and a cleared

flight plan from the coast by way of Korqö to Tirana.

The silent Turk headed south hugging the dark

mountain slopes I couldn't even see but which felt

so close could have touched them. I must have

turned chalk white. The Turk looked back and

grinned thinly. 'Iliis was his country, not mine, and

we all fear the unfamiliar. I hung on.

After ten minutes of hide-and-seek with the un-

seen but very solid mountains, the Lear turned

sharply west and shot up to some ten thousand feet.

It flew a long arc inside Albania, as if sweeping up

from the coast, and the Turk turned to me.

"In two minutes I will drop behind the mountains

near Korqé," he said in Greek. "We will be off their

radar for another two minutes. I will land in a clear-

ing, you uill get out, and I will reappear on their

screens. Two minutes, that is all."

I nodded. If he did his part, I'd do mine.

He did his—behind the mountain, dropping down

like a stone, hitting, and stopping the short-take-off

craft. I had the door open and fell out into the field

of coarse grass. Up, I ran for the rocks. The Turk

bad the jet off and gone before I reached the first

slope of the mountain. It would reappear on the ra-

dar screens exactly when it was supposed to.

Unless we'd been spotted, there was no way any-

one could know that the Lear had ever landed.

In the rocks, I waited an hour.

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47

No one came. Nothing moved among the shadows

of the hills.

I started walking.

The rustic tavem was on the outskirts of Korqö,

where the paved highway led north. Light and loud

voices spilled out into the early night. At the dinner

hour, the outlying narrow streets of the old town

were all but deserted. I slipped out of the night,

pushed the tavern door open, and swaggered in.

Fifty heads turned to look at me as I strode into

the smoke and noise.

What they saw was a tall Albanian Army Captain

with a wide mustache and the regimental markings

of an elite unit stationed up north near Tirana—and

they all looked away fast!

In a lot of ways a police state is safer for a spy

than a democracy. In the uniform, no one was going

to ask me any questions—except maybe another sol-

dier with more rank.

Like the one-eyed Colonel who sat alone at a cor-

ner table, and didn't look away when he saw me.

Tall and massive in the Russian-style uniform with

its red shoulder boards, he stared at me with his

good eye over his glass. Stared with more than ordi-

nary interest. Had he spotted something wrong?

Arrogant, I pushed through the Albanians to the

narrow zinc bar, but my eyes were searching every

corner of the room, studying every door. If the one-

eyed Colonel had spotted me, it wasn't going to be

easy to get out. But that was a bridge somewhere

ahead, and I put it out of my mind. You take one

step at a time in my work, and deal with danger

when it comes. Now I had a job to do.

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xrcr CARTER:

will you drink, Captain? the barman

asked in the Highland Tosk dialect of Albanian.

"Red wine." I used the Gheg dialect from Shkoder

up in the far north. "Ill take French if you've got it,

but no Chinese swill at any rate."

It was the code signal the CIA had given Hawk

for contacting their Albanian man. "1%e barman

poured my wine.

gyou've been to France, then, Captain? The

countersign.

"No," I said, "only once to Algeria."

ne barman turned away. "Back room. %rough

the door to the toilets."

I leaned against the narrow bar, unhurried, finish-

ing my wine, smiling at all the loud, boisterous drink-

ers—and watching the big Colonel with the black

eye-patch. He had a woman with him now, a

peasant girl, and he wasn't looking at me anymore. I

left my second wine on the bar and went through

the door to the toilets.

It was a low passageway that stank Of earth and

urine. Just inside the door I fattened in the

shadows. If the one-eyed Colonel had suspicions, I

wanted to know it before I went into the back room.

You don't lead the enemy to your contact in their

ranks, never.

I waited ten minutes. NO one followed me.

The back room was at the end of the low passage,

with the rear door just beyond, and the distant

sounds of the revelers in the tavern were drifting

into the dim silence. I took Wilhelmina out of my

belt and stepped into the back room.

A single lamp stood lighted on a table. fiere were

two wooden chairs. No one was in the room.

"Put your gun on the table."

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49

The voice from nowhere. room was still

empty.

"On the table, Captain," the voice said quietly.

I put my Luger on the bare table. There was

nothing to shoot at, and a shot would bring them

running from out in front. To the left the shadows of

the room moved and part of the wall opened. It was

a door set flush as part of the wall. The one-eyed

Colonel stepped into the room. His eye pateh

seemed to point at me and the pistol in his hand

glistened.

Td begun to think you weren't coming back

bere," the Colonel Said. He spoke the same northern

Gheg dialect I'd used, suddenly laughed, then spoke

in English. Tou're a new man. They really should

bave warned me. Surprises can be dangerous."

Smiling, he sat down on one of the chairs. I

watched him.

"You're my contact? The CIA's man?"

UColonel Zilo Draja, at your service."

"Colonel of what?'

"I am, ab, detached. A staff function."

"Meaning you're political," I said. "A commissar."

Tverything in Albania is political," he said dryly.

"I am with Internal Security at the Defense Minis-

fry."

"Convenient for playing two sides."

"It is a many-sided world," the Colonel said.

Mike Rush's sider

"Ah? So that is it?" Draia studied me. «you are

saying that you do not Imow why Rush came here,

or who sent him?"

"We don't know that anyone sent him," I said.

UA purely individual action? Possible, but why?"

Trivate reasons? Some personal vendetta?'

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"No one in our government has the remotest con-

nection to Rush that we can find," Draja said. "It is

also possible that he was sent by some secret cabal

inside your government, yes? Perhaps your Stat

Department does not reveal all?"

"It's happened," I agreed. "You have Rush,

what do you know? What has your governmen

found out?"

He smiled again. know that Mr. Rush is not

CIA, yes? I hew that before you came—he failed to

respond to my recognition siglal. That is all I

know at this point, and my government does not

even know that. Usually, when a spy is caught, there

is some evidence of his connections, some hint of

who he works for. Word comes from our own agents;

from our friends, from informers and paid contacts

among the enemy. This time, beyond the simple fact

that Rush works for the United States Department

Of State, there is only silence. No one knows any•

thing, or no one is telling what they know."

He lit a long Russian cigarette. "Did he come tf

assassinate Our Defense Minister, or is that perhaps

a cover -to hide some other action? Is Rush part 01

some plot inside our government? It is impossible

believe that Rush is no more tban he seems to be—

agent of your State Department. But perhaps some

one in your State Departnent counted on that, yes;

It is hard to take action when you don't know whal

to act against, and so far we have not been able tf

persuade Rush to talk."

'SWhere is he now?"

"In Tirana, already convicted of illegal enb•y

sentenced to a labor camp."

"Illegal entry? Nothing more?

'€1t will hold him legally, beyond the help of yoo

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51


'IRIPLE

51

State Department, while we find out what fs really

going on. While we learn who and what is behind

In the silent room Colonel Draja smoked his Rus-

Sian cigarette and stared speculatively into the

shadows.

"YVhat do you think is going on, Draja?" I said.

"My opinion?' He smoked. will cost extra,

"How much?

He watched me. So? You are authorized?'

I took out my notebook, scribbled a draft in code,

and waited.

"Say, five thousand?" Draja said.

I signed the draft with the Kill.master code and

N3, and gave it to Draja. He read it once, put it into

his pocket with a small bow of his head, and I saw

something in his eyes. A quick gleam, there and

gone, but I'd seen it. Something more than avarice.

What? And I had the sudden thought that this

whole thing could be the opposite—an Albanian-

Chinese play against us.

"What is Rush doing, Colonel?" I said.

Draja smoked as he thought. "Our Defense Minis-

ter is a militant world revolutionist, wants no de-

tente with you or the Soviet. An extremist, he thinks

that only violence will save the world for socialism,

and next to Hoxha he is the most popular man in Al-

bania. Your State Department is worried about him,

and the Soviet would like to see him gone for good."

I let the silence of the back room stretch like a

steel spring. The sound of laughter and drinking out

in the tavern seemed to be on another planet.

Colonel Draja pinched out his ciüarette, dropped it

onto the floor.

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NICK CARTER: XT*LMASTER

"You're saying our State Department and the so-

viets are in it together? A joint operation?"

"It is possible. But I think perhaps it is more unoff-

cial, yes? Perhaps Rush works alone with the

NKVD, or perhaps there is a secret faction in both

your State Department and the Soviet Foreign Min-

istry. We and tbe Chinese have long suspected some

such secret arrangement and it would be logical to

send your man as the assassin. A Soviet assassin, if

captured, could explode the Communist world into a

hundred factions."

Was that why Denka Vortov himself was in

Greece?

"How do I get to Mike Rush?" I asked.

'Tomorrow he will be moved to the labor camp."

"How?"

The morning train from Tirana to Durrés."

UOkay.

non't tell me your plans," Draia snapped. He

stood, and walked to the door. "If you are caught do

not count on me. If we meet we are enemies. After I

leave this room wait fifteen minutes before you your-

self leave."

Alone in the silent back room, I remembered that

gleam I'd seen in his eye when he'd looked at the

draft I'd signed. Call it a sixth sense. I slipped out

the rear door of the low passageway and circled in

the night to the front of the tavern. An offcial army

car stood on the road. Colonel Draja was in the

front seat—talking into his radio!

I waited until he put down the microphone.

Then I chopped him down where be sat.

I drove north until I saw headlights coming

toward me. Off the highway, I waited. Five army

cars roared past toward Korcé. When they had

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53

passed, I tied up Draja and left him in the brush.

Alone, I went on north fast. After a few hours I

found another car, jumped the ignition, and drove

on toward Tirana.


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CHAVI'ER SEVEN

Fifteen miles west of Tirana, the Albanian National

Railroad tracks made a sharp curve through the hills

before dropping down to the coastal plain. The

curve is in a narrow cut with steep sides and any

train going to the seaport of Durrös has to slow here.

One side of the cut almost the tracks.

In the dark before dawn, I waited at the cut.

The express came out of the low red streak of

dawn to the east, the sharp horn of its diesel prob-

ing ahead toward where I waited. In the steep cut it

was still night. I crouched to spring, wearing a black

jump suit now that my disguise had been blown,

magnetic grippers in my hands.

The express came into the curve still doing at least

forty. Its airbrakes hissed, metal jangling and wheels

screaming against the tracks as it slowed. I waited

as long a.s I could, the last car into the curve and the

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