# Isle Of Blood3333333333333

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hind the gag. He pulled it off and went to work on the

panty hose that bound her wrists and ankles.

"Who are you?" she mumbled.

"The American."

"How do I know that?"

"Did you recognize Reeta?" he barked.

"Yes."

"Then you'll have to take it for granted," he grunted.

He pulled her to her feet. Her legs were rubber and she

sagged against him.

"What did they want?"

"Lupat's book," she moaned.

"Do you have it?'

"Yes."

"ls it here?" Carter asked. She was fading. He shook

her hard. "Lupat's book, is it here?"

"No ... my briefcase ... car trunk ..

She passed out.

"Shit," Carter hissed.

Louis Corot bolted into the room and took in the two

men on the floor. "They dead?"

"No, but we can't wait around for them to wake up.

Take this one down to the car. I'll be right there."

Corot hoisted the woman to his shoulder and went

through the door.

Carter padded to the bedroom. Two bags were upended

on the floor, clothes strewn everywhere. He chose a light

sweater and a pair of slacks. Magine groaned only once as

he struggled her battered body into the clothing.

He ran down the stairs with the woman over his

shoulder.

On the first floor a door popped open and a horse-faced

woman in a ragged housecoat stepped into the hall. She

took one look at Carter, Magine's bouncing rear end, and

dived back into her flat.

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Reela was behind the wheel, the motor running.

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Carter stuffed Magine into the rear seat with Corot and

Deemy, and dived into the front.

Reela spun the wheel and tronBi the gas. Ihe little car

leaped ahead.

'WWt1ich way?"

From the rear, Corot barked directions.

*'We should have killed those two," Reela said, tires

screaming around a corner.

"Don't think so," Carter replied. "She's got something

Vain wants Lupat's book, whatever that is. He'll know

we've got it now. Let's hope that makes him nice and ner-

vous. Louis?"

"You know a doctor who can be misted?"

"Sure. But there's one problem."

"What's that?"

"He's a vet."

"That's no problem," Carter growled. "Bones is bones

and meat is meat."


ELEVEN

"Gin!" Corot exclaimed, laying out his hand with a

smile.

"You must cheat," Carter chuckled, leaning back in his

chair with a yawn.

"You own me seven hundred and twenty dollars."

"Put it on my tab."

"No way," Corot replied, shuffling the cards. "You get

killed tomorrow, I'm out my money. "

The door to the bedroom opened and a tall, gaunt man

emerged. He had a long, hawklike nose, bushy brows, and

walked with his shoulders rounded and his long arms flap-

ping. It gave him the appearance of a bird about to pounce

on some prey.

He mumbled something to Corot in Arabic, and got a

nod for an answer:

"What did he say?" Carter asked.

"Wants to know if he can have a cup of coffee."

"Jesus," Carter groaned. "What about them? And tell

him to speak French."

The man chuckled and poured himself coffee. "l can

speak English if you prefer." His accent was pure Oxford.

"Terrific," Carter said, filling his own cup. "How are

they?'

"You must understand. I am a veterinarian."

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"It's all anatomy," Carter said with a shrug. "What's the

score?"

*Ihe man was unflappable. He sipped his coffee, set the

cup down, and took his time lighting a cigarette.

"Besides facial contusions, the dark-haired woman has

two broken ribs and a fractured arm."

"Can she talk?"

"I've given her a sedative."

"Shit," Carter hissed, and added brandy to his coffee.

' 'The blonde," the man continued, "she should have X-

rays."

Carter and Corot exchanged looks.

"Why?" Corot asked.

"Concussion, a bad one. I also think she was raped."

Reela had just emerged from the bedroom. Caner spot-

ted the look of disgust on her face. Her eyes repeated the

statement she had made in the car: We should have killed

them.

"Can they be moved?" Carter asked.

The doctor shrugged. "lhe bnmette ... yes, after a day

or so of rest. The blonde very iffy. It could be danger-

ous."

"We'll take care of it," Carter said, and nodded to

Corot.

He stood and escorted the doctor to the door, slipping a

wad of bills into his hand. Carter moved into the bedroom.

Both women looked like hell, but better than they had

an hour earlier. They seemed to be resting easily.

He returned to the living room.

"Play some more gin?" Corot asked.

Carter shook his head. "Sleep. We're all going to need

it."

The three of them arranged themselves on couches and

chairs around the room. Carter was asleep in seconds.

It seemed like the blink of an eye when Reela gently

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shook his shoulder: Through the crack in the drapes he

could see that the sun was high. His watch said half past

noon.

"Deemy is awake. I took some tea in to her."

Carter nodded. 'Te other one?"

"Still out."

He splashed cold water on his face until everything

came into focus. Then he poured a cup of strong coffee and

walked into the bedroom.

Deemy Savine's bruised and puffed lips were set in a

hard line. Through the swollen slits of her eyes she studied

Carter as he took a chair beside the bed.

She was sitting up, sipping the tea. The sheet had

to her waist, revealing her breasts. She didn't

tx)ther to pull it up.

"How do you feel?"

"How do you think I feel?" she murmured* Her blood-

shot, watery eyes looked at him steadily. "Is my brother

dead

"Yes."

She sighed deeply. "Figures. I told him he had only a

twenty-percent chance of pulling it off. What happened?"

Carter told her, most of it. He mentioned the torture, but

left out the grisly details of the body when they found it.

None of it seemed to bother her. She just nodded

through it, and when she spoke again her voice was a calm

monotone.

"So in the end he belched his guts out to save his ass,

ratted on you and your people ... and me as well. The bas-

Cold, Carter thought, the lady is very cold.

"It that way," he replied, keeping his own voice

under control. "You mentioned a book last night before you

passed out."

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He sighed. He dromrd his cigarette in the coffee dregs

and set it aside. "You mentioned a briefcase in the trunk of

a car. You said Lupat's book was in the briefcase. Is that

what they were after? ne book?"

Deemy got rid of her own cup and crossed her anns

under her breasts.

No speak.

"What's in the book?"

Silence.

Carter pulled his chair closer. "What's with you? We

saved your ass last night."

"So what."

"To use an old cliché, Deemy, this is bigger than both of

us. If there's something in that book that will lead me to

Drago Vain or tell me his plans, I want it. Let me tell you

something else. Those two last night? You piss me off,

lady, and I'm a lot like them."

"How much?" she hissed.

"How much is it worth to you?"

"Reela already paid you."

"Half. She paid me half."

Another big sigh. "All right, the other half."

Suddenly the swollen lips managed a smile. "That's

good to know. I'll get a bid from them and get back to

you." She threw off the covers and started to swing her

legs from the t:rd.

Carter stayed cool. "Where do you think you're going?'

"Paris. We'll negotiate more there."

"What about your friend?" He nodded toward the other

"What about her?"

"She has a concussion. She was raped."

"That's the breaks." Deemy glanced at Magine and

shrugged. "I'm taking a bath."

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Carter caught her arm and yanked back so hard she al-

most somersaulted across the sheets. She came out of it

with a vicious kick aimed at his groin. He dodged it and

slapped her, a full-armed blow. Her head seemed to swivel

and she sprawled half on the bed and half off, finally

bouncing onto the floor.

"You don't listen so well, do you, lady?"

He was there at once, seizing her by the hair and drag-

ging her across the room. She came screaming and cursing,

stumbling and falling after him, trying to sink her finger-

nails into him as he kept her at arm's length. Whirling

suddenly, he put his head down, came up under her flailing

arms, sc001Ed her up, and stepF.d into the bathroom.

He dumped her into the tub and turned the shower on

full blast. The cold water hit her and she started to scream

in eamest. He brought his hand up hard, into her

stomach and the scream ended in a gasp as she doubled

over.

"Where's the car?"

'Go to hell."

Pressing one hand onto the back of her he forced

her to her knees in the tub. Her body shivered, the nipples

of her breasts standing out boldly.

He stopped the tub with his free hand and increased the

water pressure. It started to rise over her knees and her

hips.

"What the hell are you doing?" she cried.

"19m going to drown you."

"You're crazy, insane!"

"Yep."

He pushed her head under the water, counted to twenty,

and pulled her up, sputtering.

"Well?" he hissed.

The reply was mumbled, but he didn't think it was what

he wanted.

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She went under again.

After the third baptism, she came up with an. "All right,

all right!"

Finally, shaking her again, he shut off the water and

yanked her naked, wet body from the tub, pushing her into

the other room. Sne tried to tum around and he sent her

spinning onto the bed again, and now he saw fear mingling

with the defiance in her eyes.

"I'd start talking," he said quietly. "Now that we both

know I'm not kidding." He stood before her as she huddled

naked on the bed, glowering up at him. "The car."

"It's an old Moms, dark green."

"Yours?"

"No. It belongs to the butcher near my apartment. He's

almost blind, can't drive, so I take him anywhere he has to

go. In retum I use the car whenever I want."

"Where is it?"

She gave him the address of an apartment building near

Saladin's Tomb. "It's in the basement garage. The keys are

in a magnetic thing under the right front fender."

Carter turned. Reela was in the doorway, glowering.

"Was that necessary?"

"Yes. Watch her like a hawk."

He walked into the living room. Corot was up and

dressed. "Lees take a ride."

It was all in code. At first they thought it was just an

address book. But as they broke more and more of it, they

realized that there were dates to go with most of the names,

and offhand notations with the dates.

Corot put it together first. "The dates are meetings that

took place, and what was discussed."

By late afternoon they had separated what they felt was

relevant and irrelevant. Obviously, several of the names

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were just what they seemed, old girlfriends, acquaintances,

even Savine's tailor and a bookmaker in Marseilles.

Deemy sullenly agreed with their presumptions about

these names, and they went back to work on the others.

Several of them referred to various terrorist activities that

Vain's people had taken part in. It was literally a diary of

their activities.

After another hour, they narrowed what was left down

to ten names. Three of them were in Damascus.

Corot got on the phone to his contacts. It took another

hour to put addresses to the three and pin down what they

did for an illegal living.

"Pierre Marchand is a mercenary recruiter. He works

out of Damascus, Paris, and Rome. Anis Fani is in the

government, Minisuy of Defense. Javadi Boudia is a deal

maker, mostly arms, big stuff. If you want to buy it, he can

supply and deliver."

Carter hit the bedroom again. Deemy Savine knew

nothing about Marchand or Boudia. She did know about

Anis Fani. It was through her and her husband that Vain

and his people were allowed to stay in Syria. Twice,

Deemy had been the go-between who carried the bribe

money to make this possible.

Back in the living room, Carter mulled over the three

names. Anis Fani was out. She could offer little in the way

of information, and by being in the government it might be

dangerous to intimidate her without killing her.

"Marchand and Boudia?" Corot asked.

Carter nodded. 'They've both met with Vain or one of

his people a dozen times in the last four months. It looks

like they are supplying what Vain needs. Make some more

calls, Louis. See if your can get a line on them."

Corot hit the telephone. The feelers went out, and two

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hours later they knew where the two men were and would

be for most of the evening.

"Reela, get yourself and Deemy ready to move. If we

hit tonight with these two, we leave the country."

"What about Magine?"

"Hospital," Carter replied. "We'll drop her on the way

out."


TWELVE

Louis Corot knew Damascus well. They drove almost

all the way across the city without once using a main thor-

oughfare. The car was clean and their were good,

but on the main streets there was always the chance they

would be stopped on a whim and questions asked.

As he drove, Corot passed on to Carter the info he had

gotten on Marchand and Boudia from his Damascus con-

tacts.

"We'll hit Marchand first," Carter said, passing his Ber-

etta across the seat. "I'll go up, you cover my back."

Minutes later they were in one of the oldest and poorest

sections of the sprawling city. Overhead lights gave way to

dim streetlights set far apart. The gutters were clotted with

garbage and refuse of every description. Faded, dimly lit

signs announced small cafés and run-down hotels.

Corot had scarcely parked when ragged teenagers ap-

peared out of the shadows. He passed out warnings along

with coinS: if the car was not whole when they retumed, he

would personally molest every tu in the neighborhood.

They walked down the sidewalk to a narrow, four-story

building, identical with a dozen others in the block. nere

was a short of stone stairs, hollowed by use. Ihe

door was ajar

Inside, there were a dozen men lounging at tables

drinking glasses of tea or arak. In the rear was a counter

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and stairs to the next floor. All conversation ceased as they

made their way to the counter and the huge black standing

behind it.

"Arak," Corot said, and Carter nodded.

Two glasses of the thick, dark liquid were set in front of

them, and Carter slid a twenty-pound note toward the

black.

"Keep it," he said in French. "Pierre Marchand?"

"Who would like to know?"

"Two gentlemen from Tunis," Corot said, "interested in

employment."

A telephone came from beneath the counter. The black

spoke quietly into it, and looked up. "Do you have refer-

"Chavis, Tangier," Carter said, "Borosco in Rome.

lhere are others." Both of the men he mentioned were

notorious recruiters in their resrxctive areas. Any idiot who

would put his ass on the line for a few dollars and a holiday

in the jungle had come across one if not tX)th.

"One of you at a time. Second door on the right, up-

stairs."

Carter moved around the counter and the black stopped

him at the foot of the stairs. The frisk was quick and effi-

cient. When the black nodded, Carter headed up the stairs.

Behind him, he heard conversation retum to the room.

Out of the comer of his eye he saw Louis Corot move

around to the end of the counter. From there he could see

every man in the room and the big black man's hands.

Carter went up two flights of wooden stairs. 'Ihe air was

close and smelled of heavily spiced, overcooked foods.

He knocked, and the door was opened by a slim, dark-

haired girl. She wore a stained red robe that gaped open

above the belt, revealing tiny, just-budding breasts. Her

skin was flawlessly smooth, the color of creamed coffee,

and her eyes were dark and flashing.

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From inside, a guttural growl in French. "Bring him in

here, girl."

'Ihe girl studied Carter, her lips twisting into a leering

smile. 'Go in," she said, and moved aside a few inches.

Carter moved down a hall and into a living rom of tat-

tered furniture and heavy red drapes. Old newspapers and

debris literally covered the floor.

A three-hundred-pound hulk sat at a sturdy wooden

table, gorging himself. The table was laden with plates of

greasy lamb, chicken, bowls of rice, and various meats

wrapped in vine leaves.

"PierTe Marchand?"

The man nodded, belched, and waved Carter to a chair

opposite his at the table. The Killmaster leaned forward

before he sat. The hulk had a huge napkin draped across

his lap. There was another just to the right of his plate,

spread. It seemed to cover yet another dish of food.

"What name do you use?"

"Stassis," Carter said, moving the passport just fast

enough across the other man's eyes, "for now."

A belch. "One name is as good as another." He picked

something from a front tooth. "My supper. You hungry?"

Caner shook his head.

"Arak?"

Carter nodded.

'Girl."

The young girl stepped forward and poured from an

earthenware jug. A smile twisted her full red lips as she

handed the glass to Carter.

"Enough." Marchand growled. "Go find something to

do—play with the television set."

She shrugged and sauntered from the room. Marchand

stared after her, smiling at her small round hips and the

backs of her brown legs.

"Nice, huh?"

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"A little young," Carter replied.

"No. She's thirteen, just right. Bought her from a trader

in Azziz over in Jordan." He picked up a peach from the

bowl of fruit on the table and bit into it strongly, tearing a

chunk free with big white teeth. "How you hear about my

contract?"

Carter jiggled a hand from side to side. "On the streets.

A man named Savine, Lupat Savine." He watched the slit-

ted eyes in the folds of fat. No reaction.

"Don't know the name, but that means nothing." The

peach gone, Marchand dived back into the lamb and rice.

"Where you work? Who for?"

Carter rattled off places and names, and added bits and

pieces of e)gErtise such as explosives and some high-tech

munitions.

"Impressive, very impressive," Marchand said, chewing

away vigorously. "Almost too impressive. How come I

never meet you tEfore?"

"I never had to work this cheap before," Carter said

coolly.

'Ihe room reverberated with Marchand's laughter. "l

like you." Suddenly the laughter stopped. "But I don't like

the shit in your mouth. You're right, though, old Pierre,

the fat man, he gets the shit contracts. You don't look like

the type takes a shit contract."

"It never hurts to ask," Carter said, tensing his body.

"Where's the action and what's the pay?"

The man lowered his fork and looked up at Carter, still

smiling slightly. But his slitted brown eyes were imtable.

"I can't use you. Now, you a good and take a

walk."

Carter persisted. "If it's Drago Vain and Cyprus, I'm

interested."

The dark eyes flashed. "I don't know who you are,

smartass, but walk now before your lip gets you—

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Carter mashed the table into Marchand's belly before he

got all the words out. He went over backward with a roar,

and the room shook when he hit the Caner yanked

the napkin aside and snapped up the big Webley revolver it

had hidden.

Another roar brought Marchand to his feet. He heaved

his enormous bulk at Caner, who danced agilely to the

side. As the hulk came past, Carter smashed him across the

face with the barrel of the Webley. The impact of the blow

sent Marchand across the table. Food scattered in every

direction, and the big body landed on the floor in the mid-

dle of it.

Carter put his knee in the man's gut and squeezed his

throat with his left hand. When the mouth opened, he put

three inches of the Webley's barrel in Marchand's mouth

and rattled it around.

"Listen and listen good, you fat tub of guts. I don't care

any more about you than camel shit. I know you're recruit-

ing for Drago Vain."

Blood spewed from the crease in Marchand's cheek,

mixing with the lamb grease and gravy. He was breathing

rapidly, his eyes flaming in his fat face.

Slowly, Carter removed most of the barrel from his

mouth.

Instantly, in a high, screeching voice, he began to curse

Caner, spitting out epithets in French and Arabic as if they

were dirt he was to get off his tongue.

"Ihat's all," Carter said softly. "Don't say anything

else."

The Killmaster thumbed back the hammer on the Web-

ley and shoved the barrel as far as he could in the rolls of

fat around the man's middle.

"You're just a name on a list. You don't talk, someone

will. Good-bye, asshole."

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"No, no!" Marchand shrieked. "What do you want to

know?"

"Who set up the contract?"

"Vain, it was Drago himself. I met him twice."

"How many men?"

"Fifty, all grunts. I get two hundred English pounds per

"Where do they do the time?"

"Cyprus. I deliver them in Tunis, equipped. They ship

out on a freighter."

"When?" Carter hissed.

Marchand seemed to have second thoughts. His eyes

began darting around the room, and Carter could feel a

sudden tenseness in his bulky body. He buried the Webley

in fat clear to his wrist.

"Do you know how long it takes to die with a bullet in

the gut, Pierre?" he growled. "Now answer my question

When?"

'Two weeks from tomorrow, the seventeenth."

"Good, very good, Marchand. One more to go. Who's

the paymaster?"

"I don't know." He howled in pain as Carter put all his

weight on the knee in his gut. "I swear I don't know! It

comes out of an account in Switzerland, the Credit Suisse

Nationale."

Carter stood and headed for the hall.

"Hey, you ."

Carter turned. Marchand was on his feet, holding one

hand against the angry gash in his cheek. "Yeah?"

"You'll never get out of Damascus alive. I'll come after

you."

Carter walked back across the rcx)m, hefting the big

Webley in his hand. "No, you won't, Pierre." His voice

was soft, his smile thin-lipped. "Because if you do, I'll

finish this. I'll feed five inches of this in your face and then

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blow the back of your head off. So you're not coming after

me, Pierre. You're going to crawl into a hole until I've got

Drago Vain. Because if you don't make contact now and

tell him you're off the contract, he'll kill you faster than I

will."

Caner turned and slammed from the room, moving

quickly down the hall. The child-woman was leaning

against the wall by the door. Just as Carter opened it, she

came up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

He went quickly down the stairs, the Webley at his side.

Corot was at the counter, a Beretta held loosely in each

hand. The big black man now sat at one of the tables.

A dozen pair of eyes turned as Carter hit the bottom

step. A dozen pair of eyes followed the two of them as they

walked back to back to the front door.

On the sidewalk outside, Carter tossed the Webley into

an alley.

"Anything?" Corot asked, as the car lurched forward.

"Enough to know we're on the right track. Next stop,

Javadi Boudia."


THIRTEEN

Louis Corot moved steadily down the lane. He had both

hands tucked into his and he walked with his head

down, uninterested in his surroundings. But every detail

was tring recorded in his memory with the accuracy of a

movie camera.

There was plenty of available concealment-—high

banks, higher than a man in places, by hedges

which, in the main, were thick and concealing. Confident

that he was completely hidden, Corot stopped at a gap and

gazed in at the house. Fifty yards of garden, exposed for

most of the way unless they could use the cover of a bi-

secting hedge. Door locked thick and heavy.

He darted into the off-lane and made a complete sweep

around the house. By the time he hit the road again, he had

seen everything he needed to see. He broke into a jog, and

minutes later slid into the car beside Carter.

"Access?" Carter said.

doors are out. They are as thick as you are, and

bolted from the inside. The second-floor windows look like

the twt bet. You can go up one of the piflars."

Carter thought for a moment. Corot's contacts had given

them a brief sketch of Javadi Boudia's business, and his

Frsonality. It was a cash business. Want to start a little

war? A big war? Boudia would supply the hardware, the

end-user certificates, and the means of transportation. It

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was strictly a cash transaction, and usually the cash was

up-front.

Personally, Boudia was strictly a businessman. He

didn't care from whom he bought, nor to whom he sold.

A man like that, Carter thought, would probably listen

to reason.

'*You take the one in the front," Carter said. "I'll handle

the two in the rear and go in. Let's go!"

They split, two shadows merging with the darkness.

The terrain was just as Corot had described it. Carter

moved along the perimeter and then glided over a low wall

soundlessly to land on the balls of his feet. He moved

along the hedges, peering ahead, halting as he saw the dark

shape of the man leaning against a tree.

The man was only half alert, and Carter crept cautiously

forward, silent and swift. The other man would be in the

bushes at the far end of the path. Carter closed in, his blow

designed for effectiveness, not sportsmanship, a smashing,

straight-armed thrust into the man's throat. He caught the

man before he fell, and lowered him silently to the ground.

He moved forward instantly, through the trees. He

picked out the second man, squatting down by the house.

Carter moved to the edge of the trees, then raced into the

open and across the path. The squatting man half turned,

saw the figure rushing toward him, started to rise.

He only half made it as Caner bowled into him, carry-

ing him to the ground. Carter delivered a crushing blow

into the man's jaw, then got to his feet, lifted the man, and

smashed another blow to his jaw. He opened his hand and

the figure toppled backward to lie still. He would lie still a

long time.

Carter crouched, his ears attuned to any foreign sound

in the night. He gave Corot another two minutes to knock

out the guard in the front of the house, and then swung up

onto the stone veranda.

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"Ihe pillars were thin, more decorative than support. He

used his arrns and his knees tightly around one of

the pillars, and seconds later rolled onto the roof.

All the windows on the second floor were dark. He tried

each of them on the side that faced him, and found them all

locked. For enuy, he chose a round, lx:mhole window that

dropped into a bath.

He worked quickly, outlining a rectangle in gaffer's tape

more than large enough for his txxly, with the bottom side

leading into the caulking at the arched base of the window.

This done, he applied a suction cup to the center of the

rectangle, and went to work with a one-inch glass cutter.

Finished with that, it took only four light taps with the butt

of the Beretta and the pane popped out.

Carefully, he set the glass on the roof and dropped into

the bathroom.

The only sound other than his own breathing was music

wafting through the house from somewhere below...

strings, soft, muted.

Carter checked each of the rooms on the second floor

before descending the stairs. Javadi Boudia lived well. The

furnishings in each of the bedrooms and a small den were

worth a year of Carter's salary.

ne only servant was an old lady who slept in a small

room in the rear of the house. Carter didn't bother with

her. If everything went as he it would, her slumtxr

wouldn't be disturbed.

He gravitated toward the music. It came from behind

two large, tile-decorated doors. One of the doors was

slightly ajar, just enough so that the Killmaster could sur-

vey the room.

It was a spacious office, paneled in rich mahogany. At

one end was a sofa and coffee table, then a worktable and

several conference chairs. Across the plush rust-colored

carpet, at the other end of the room, was a handsome

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executive-style desk. One entire wall of the office was

dominated by large windows that out onto the gar-

den courtyard.

'Ihe room's only occupant stood by the desk, speaking

into a telephone. He was tall and rangy and angular and

stoop-shouldered, but he looked very formidable. His face

was craggy, deeply lined, with cold black eyes that ob-

viously meant business. A shock of gray hair fell across his

forehead. He wore a white silk shirt with a loose tie, and

his well-cut suit jacket was on the back of the desk chair.

Carter waited until the. conversation ended and the

phone was replaced before he stepped into the room. He

stopped just inside the the Beretta held in his

right hand.

"I want conversation. I don't want to use this, but I

will."

No change of expression other than perhaps the essence

of a tiny smile. "My son-in-law and his friends?"

"Sleeping peacefully," Carter said. "They'll have head-

aches tomorrow, little more."

nere was no expression on the face or in the black eyes

that followed Carter as he closed the door behind him and

started forward.

Still unmoving, Boudia sat bent slightly forward at the

waist, his left hand resting on the desktop. There was a

diamond ring on the little finger of that well-manicured

hand, and heavy gold links showed in the French cuff of

the silk shin. But it was the right hand that interested

Carter most. Ihe right hand was hidden somewhere below

the desk, and it occurred to him now that it might just

possibly be holding a gun.

He came slowly forward, his gaze fixed, ready to move

faster if he had to. When he reached the desk without start-

ing any reaction, he put both palms on the edge of it and

leaned forward. He stayed that way, saying nothing, his

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gaze intent. It took perhaps three more seconds before any

outward sign was reflected on Boudia's hard face.

Something happened then, Caner could not tell what it

was, but it seemed to him that the shoulders relaxed be-

neath the custom-made shirt. An expression that might

have been relief flickered in the black eyes. The tight line

of the mouth eased somewhat and the thin lips moved.

"I assume this is not a robbery," Boudia said, his En-

glish barely accented.

at all."

Ten you can put that away."

Carter slipped the Beretta into his belt and planted one

cheek on the desk. "I'm afraid you'll have to do some

repair on the round window of the upstairs bath."

Boudia chuckled, almost amused, as if unwanted visi-

tors dropped in on him like this every night. "Whoever you

are, I must say you're resourceful. Brandy?"

"Fine," Carter said.

Boudia moved to a sideboard and poured from a crystal

decanter. "You've ruled out robbery. If you were here to

assassinate me, I would already be dead. What do you

"Information ... on one of your clients."

"Oh, dear, that's difficult. I have almost a lawyer-client

relationship with all of them. Sworn to secrecy, you might

say." He handed Carter one of the snifters. "Cheers."

"A long life."

Boudia sipped. "Should I take that as a warning?"

"Let's not." Carter drank. It was Napoleon, very

good. "You've met three times with Drago Vain in the last

four months. What was his order?"

This brought a reaction. The man was good. He tried to

hide it, but the question was too abrupt and too much on

the mark.

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"l see no problem in telling you that, since I declined to

do business with the man."

This surprised Carter, but he managed to conceal it. As

Boudia reeled off the hardware, grenade lauhchers,

surface-to-surface missiles, and several items of small

arms, a pattem emerged.

Carter decided to take a stab in the dark. "And your

delivery date was to be sometime in this next week. The

place was Tunis. Transportation from there was a

freighter."

Another strong reaction and then a noncommittal shrug.

"It was," Boudia nodded. "But, as I told you, I didn't take

the contract."

Calmly, being careful of his timing, Carter returned his

glass to the sideboard. "I think you did."

"No, you didn't take the contract from Vain. But I think

you took it from someone else."

The right hand started to creep back under the desk.

Carter's free hand darted forward like a snake and grasped

Boudia's wrist. He turned it over and pressed the back of it

against the edge of the desk.

"Most unwise, Monsieur Boudia. Until now we have

both acted like gentlemen. You'll find it very easy for me

to revert to being an animal."

"I do believe you mean it."

"I do, believe me. I won't kill you, but you'll wish I

had."

The a.rrn relaxed. Carter released it and opened the

drawer. From it he lifted a Ballester Molina .45 automatic.

"Exotic," he murmured, hefting the gun. "From Argen-

tina, isn't it?"

"It is."

Carter freed the magazine and ejected the shell from the

chamber. The shell spun across the floor. He pocketed the

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magazine and dropped the automatic on the desk.

127

"Now, let me put the picture together as I see it. Drago

Vain is a man who usually takes what he wants. That's

difficult when it comes to arms. Brokers like yourself

aren't exactly a brotherhood, but you do keep each other

informed. He strong-arms one of you, no one else would

do business with him. Also, the size shipment he needs is

expensive. You don't operate on credit, and Vain doesn't

have that kind of cash. How am I doing so far?"

Boudia's face was impassive, but his body language

told Carter that he was on the right track.

"You agreed to fill the contract only if Vain had a

backer, a man—or men—of means that you could trust.

Who is it?"

lhe eyes never wavered. "You put me in a very tight

position."

"Not at all," Carter replied. "My source of information

is fairly extensive. Eventually I would find out. I just don't

want to take the time. You tell me and go on with your

business. I'll take it from there."

"You're bucking some pretty heavy people," Boudia de-

clared.

"I'm no virgin at it."

"No," the other man sighed, "I imagine you're not. If I

don't deliver, they will simply go to someone else."

"I handle that part of it," Carter said, sure of himself

enough now to slip the Beretta back into his belt. "Who is

Vain's backer?"

Boudia finished his brandy and tossed the snifter into

the fireplace. Ihe sound of the shattering glass reverber-

ated around the rcx)m.

'The Zimbatti brothers, in Milan."

"Nice doing business with you, Boudia."

Carter walked to the front door and exited into the

night. Louis Corot materialized at once by his side.

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"You're smiling."

"Yes, I am," Carter replied. "How long •will it take to

set us up for an exit out of the country?"

"An hour, no more. Everything's ready and waiting."

Corot drove. They were both silent for the entire trip

back to the city. Only when they were climbing to the flat

did Corot speak.

"Six hours, we'll out of Syria."

"That's good," Carter said.

"What then?'

"Back to Italy, raise some hell."

"Sounds like fun."

"Your job's done once you get us out of Syria."

' 'Tell you what," Corot said with a chuckle. I'll stay on

for half pay. I hadn't realized how boring my life had be-

come."

Carter glanced over at him. "You're on."

Something was very wrong. They could both sense it

the moment they entered the apartment.

"What is it?" Carter asked.

"Magine," Reela '*She never woke up. She's

dead."

Caner looked at Corot. "I'll get someone over here to

take care of it," Corot growled.

The Killmaster nodded and lit a cigarette as the other

man moved to the phone.


FOURTEEN

Caner tossed his bag into the back seat of the taxi and

followed it.

"Welcome to Sicily, signore. What hotel?"

"A hotel later, here in Palermo," Carter said. "First I

want to go to the Villa Palagonia. Ih you know it?"

"Si. It is expensive, twenty kilometers."

'Tat's all right. I'm a rich American."

Ihe taxi lurched from the curb and Carter leaned back

in the seat and rubbed his eyes.

It had been a rough fourteen hours, with little or no

sleep. First by tuck to the coast and then the transfer to the

small fishing boat. Twelve miles out, a chartered seaplane

had picked them up and flown them to Tel Aviv. At Lod

Airport, a young embassy official ushered them through

customs. An hour in the VIP lounge—and a few more

strings pulled—put them on the early-morning flight to

Rome.

Carter had reclaimed his gear and his own passport from

the hotel, and contacted Washington with what he had

learned and his plan of attack.

It had taken an hour for the word to come back: Gofor

it.

lhe second half of Deemy Savine's money was author-

bed andshe was put on a plane for Paris. Reela, Carter,

and Louis Corot were glad to rid of her. She was not the

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NICK CARTER

warmest or noblest of people. They all had the mutual feel-

ing that they were transporting a female adder.

Reela and Corot stayed in Rome to await word from

Carter, who caught the first available flight to Palermo,

Sicily.

"Palagonia, signore. Where do you wish to go?"

"Around the villa, the park by the sea."

The driver made the turn and slowed as he drove

through the narrow road through the park.

"Here," Carter said. "Wait." He climbed out of the taxi.

The temperature was a pleasant eighty, but threatening

to climb higher as the afterncx)n wore on. The breeze com-

ing in off the ocean stirred the airs making it comfortably

bearable.

Carter checked the park's occupants as he strolled. A

man in his sixties sat alone on a bench, reading a paper.

Near the playground was a woman in a white starched

dress and spotless white shoes. She was busily engaged in

rocking a baby carriage and watching over a small boy who

was riding around and around in circles on a red tricycle.

Near the rail over the ocean stood a slim, handsome

man in his thirties. He was weanng dark sunglasses, a silk

shirt opened halfway to his navel, and a pair of expensive

tan leather loafers that matched his skintight trousers.

He lit a cigarette and tossed the match toward the ocean

as Carter settled against the rail a few feet to his right.

"Ciao, Guido," Carter said. "How're you liking it over

"lt ain't Manhattan, man."

"It ain't thirty years starin' at bars, either," Carter re-

plied, lighting his own cigarette.

Both men spoke without looking at one another. They

smoked, staring straight out to sea. Behind them, the

toddler continued his rounds, the circles getting bigger and

bigger. The plastic wheels of the tricycle made an annoy-

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ingly gritty sound against the bricks and cobbles.

131

"You got a lot of balls, man, helpin' deport my ass and

then callin' me."

"You owe rne one, Guido."

A laugh, hoarse, raspy. "Shit."

Carter fliprrd his cigarette and turned around. He

leaned his elbow on the rail and watched the kid on the

tricycle.

"I did you a favor that night, Guido."

"Some favor."

"I gave you a choice ... thirty years, or run. I could

have given you another choice. I could have blown you

away."

"I gave you the names you wanted."

'True," Caner said. "But the law wouldn't have seen it

that way."

'Okay, I owe you one. Whaddaya want?"

"You work for Don Pepe?"

"It ain't exactly a secret."

want a meet," Carter said.

Another derisive laugh. "You're outta your mind. The

old man don't see nobody, let alone someone with your

connections."

"He'll see me, Guido. You tell him who I am, and that I

want to talk to him about the Zimbatti brothers in Milan."

Out of the comer of his eye, Carter could see the man

tense.

"That may not be enough."

'Then you tell him what a bad son of a bitch I am,

Guido, and that I know about his son, Giulio."

ne silence stretched for several minutes. Finally,

Guido turned to face him. "Where you stayin'?"

"Villa Igiea, in Palermo," Carter said, and turned on his

heel and walked back to the taxi.

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Carter paid the driver and stepped from the cab. nere

was a busload of tourists arriving at the same time. He let

himself get caught up in their flow.

It took a while because of the commotion, but he was

finally able to book a room.

The first thing he did was purchase a bathing suit in the

hotel sports shop. Then he took the elevator to his room.

He was pleased with the accommodations. It was a good-

sized room, with a large bathroom and a lovely balcony

that overlooked the entire bay. Carter could see the tiny

white sails of the boats on the water and hear the delighted

ches of the bathers on the beach trlow.

He changed and went down to the tmch. He rented a

lounge chair and lay back languidly. In minutes he felt the

tension ease from his body and his mind began to work.

Don Pepe Allano, the head of one of the four ruling

families in Sicily. Don Pepe was one the first ones in the

old days who had expanded to the mainland. Eventually all

four families made the move. To avoid war, they had split

the territory. Don had taken northern Italy for his

own, with his rx)'.ver base in Milan.

He had ruled it for many years uncontested. Then along

came the Zimbatti brothers, four of them, the upstarts from

Sardinia. A bloody war broke out, and lasted four years.

And then Don Pepe's only son, Giulio, was killed.

It took the heart out of the old man. He pulled in his

teeth and gave the Zimbattis Milan. Shortly afterward, he

had retired. Don Pepe had very little m»wer now, but he

had knowledge. And that was what Carter wanted.

Carter felt his eyes grow heavy. He dozed, and when he

awoke, the light had changed. lhere were fewer people on

the beach. He got up, stretched, and walked out into the

breakers that were pounding along the shore. He swam out

until the hotel looked like a cereal box in the distance.

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133

Then he rolled over on his back and let the tide wash him

lazily back to shore.

He took his time ambling back inside and through the

lobby No one even looked at him, let alone made an ap-

proach, as he moved to the front desk.

'Caner, six-twenty. Any messages?"

"None, signore."

"Grazie."

He took the elevator up to his room and showered the

salt and sand from his body.

At seven, he dressed and went down to the bar. He

ordered a local beer and sipped it as he eyed the spectacu-

lar sunset dip gold and red over the hills. Sicily was beauti-

ful. What a contrast to its poverty.

He had been in the bar almost an hour when the woman

slid onto the beside him. She was tanned and seduc-

tive in a thin white nylon dress relieved by a leather belt.

"A whiskey, neat," she told the barman, and took a pack

of unfiltered cigarettes and a book of paper matches from a

small white straw purse. When her drink came and her

cigarette was lit, she turned toward Caner. "I'll bet your

name is Nick."

"Do you always bet on sure things?" he replied, swivel-

ing the stool to face her.

She leaned her elbows on the bar, narrowing her square

shoulders. The tight dress made her seem terribly thin,

tiny-breasted and boyish. She wore no jewelry, and her

gray cat's eyes were large and luminous. Her cheekbones

were high and prominent, the mouth wide, and the light

reflected from the window took the color from her cheeks

and hollowed them out, giving her a gaunt cast.

"Touché," she murmured, blowing smoke from the side

of her mouth. "We have a mutual friend. Guido."

Carter managed not to register any surprise that the con-

tact was a woman, nor show his relief that the contact had

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been made. wouldn't call Guido a friend. Who are

you?"

"My name is Simone. Why do you want to see Don

"l told Guido ..

donst give a shit what you told Guido." Her smile

was wide, her teeth starkly white and even. "Tell me."

"Why should 1?"

"Because, if you don't, you might as well flap your

arms and fly back to where you came from. Don Pepe

doesn't get along with the American police."

'Tm not a policeman."

She shrugged, mashed out her cigarette, and slid off the

stool. Carter dropped a bill on the bar and followed her

into the lobby He caught her by the elbow as she reached

the front entrance.

"l need information, a lot of information."

"What kind of information?"

"About the Zimbatti brothers."

"Look in the files of your FBI," she replied icily.

"l need more than that."

Caner leaned forward until his nostrils filled with her

scent. "Because in the next few days I want to become a

very large pain in the ass to the Zimbattis."

The big gray eyes narrowed and he could almost see the

gears mesh in her brain.

"My car is in the hotel parking lot. This way."

He fell in step tBide her. s 'Don Pepe must trust you a

great deal."

"He d(kS. We are very close. Don Pel* is my father. "

Now Carter understood the acid in her tone when he'd

mentioned the Zimbatti name. Simone Allano, besides

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135

being the daughter of Don Pepe, would also be the sister of

the butchered son, Giulio.

The car was a fast, low-slung Porsche, and she hit every

mountain curve as if she were headed into the stretch of a

Grand Prix race.

Carter forgot her driving and concentrated on the beauty

of the moonlight glinting off the sea to their left and the

mountains to their right.

They flashed through tiny fishing villages, each one like

the last. Always there was a square with a three-or-four

hundred-year-old church. The stone houses, most of them

two or three storics high, were built in tight rows alongside

narrow, cobbled streets.

Suddenly she turned off the road onto a small lane.

Minutes later, they were running next to a high concrete

and stone wall. There was an opening to a driveway, and as

Simone turned into it, she blinked the headlights twice.

They glided over a gravel drive, and a figure moved in

the shadows at one side. Carter thought he could see the

gun cradled in his arms. The walls seemed to be about six

feet high, enclosing an acre of tree-studded lawn

and shrubbery. The floodlights had been arranged so that

their beams did not light the entire area but only the perim-

eter of the house, a rambling, one-story structure, its

white-painted masonry walls topped by a tile roof.

The car pulled past one wing and stopFEd in the parking

area in front of a three-car garage. Carter followed the

woman's lead back around to the front of the house. At the

door, a hulking figure in a white shirt and dark beret with a

shotgun slung over one shoulder stepped from the

shadows.

"You know the procedure," Simone said coolly.

The Killmaster lifted his arms and spread his legs.

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NICK CARTER

When the frisk was done, the big man orrned the front

door and bowed them into the foyer. It was masonry like

the exterior, and directly ahead was a living room.

"This way."

She led him through a living room and along a paneled

hall. They passed one closed door, their steps reverberating

on the bare wood floor. When they reached a second door,

Simone ormed it and motioned Carter inside.

"My father is waiting," she said in a low voice.

It was a beam-ceilinged room with paneled walls and

bookcases and built-in cabinets. A fireplace yawned in the

lower half of one wall, the furniture was heavy-looking,

and the rug was thick. The man who rose from the oversize

red leather chair under the floor lamp was Don PeEE Al-

lano.

He had the same look Carter remembered from photo-

graphs. His tanned face the thinning hair looked

smooth and faintly glistening in the lamplight. A large

multiple-band radio had tEen tuned low, and for a moment

there was only the shortwave sound of American music in

the room.

He cleared his throat and extended his hand. eve-

ning, Mr. Carter."

"Don Perr."

"Have a seat. A drink?"

'Thank you, no."

Don Pepe Allano was impressive. He was nearing sev-

enty, but was still handsome and erect. His features seemed

benign, but on closer scrutiny Carter saw an immense ca-

pacity for cruelty that couldn't be hidden.

It was in the eyes. They were penetratingly sharp and

set deeply into a narrow face that appeared long because

his hair was straight and combed back from a high fore-

head. Both cheeks were lightly from a childhood

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137

disease; the nose was long and straight, his mouth wide

and harsh over a hard, unyielding chin. The overall im-

pression was one of firm, formidable authority.

The eyes scrutinized Carter. lhere was no humor in

them. "What is it you want from me?"

"l assurne you have a file on the Zimbattis."

"A file? Why would I have a file on that scum?" Don

Pepe snorted.

"I think, Don Pepe, because in your heart you still think

vendetta for the way they murdered and butchered your

son, Giulio."

Black fire crackled from the old man's eyes for an in-

stant, and then he looked away. "That was years ago. A

bitter memory, no more."

'Ihen I have wasted my time." Carter started to rise,

but the man's soft voice brought him back to his chair.

"Why do you want to know about the Zimbattis? Or

I should say, why d(ES the American government

come to me to leam about the Zimbattis?"

sunley are bankrolling a man we are very interested in."

"Ihis man is about to embark on a very large business

venture, with the Zimbattis' financial aid. We would like

that business venture to fail."

The old man chuckled but there was no humor in the

sound. "l will be honest with you, Mr. Carter. There is

nothing I would like more in my old age than to see all four

of them with coins on their eyes. But I am too old now for

war.

"Before it starts, Don Pepe, they will know that it's me

on the other side. They will never know the source of the

information you give me."

Allano seemed to go inside himself for several mo-

ments, digesting both the man, Carter, and his words.

When he spoke, it was scarcely above a whisper.

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NICK CARTER

"What do you want to know?"

"Names, first of all. I want the names of every man

associated with them. I want the names of their suppliers

and their customers. want addresses and telephone

numbers. I want to know who their mistresses are and how

often they visit them. I want the make and license plate

numbers of their cars. I want—

Don Pepe held up his hand. "I understand." He stood

and his black eyes stared piercingly down at Carter. "Have

you had dinner?"

"This will take some time. I'll have food sent to you."

He left the room, and minutes later his daughter

wheeled a tray into the rcx)rn. It was brimming with aro-

matic pasta dishes, veal, huge chunks of bread, and wine.

Wordlessly, Simone set a small table between them and

served the food.

"Buon appetito," she said, and t*gan to eat.

Carter found that he was ravenous. He ate with gusto,

almost forgetting that she sat opposite him. He was on his

second helping of everything when she spoke at last.

"My father has asked many about you."

i' You are something of a mystery, an enigma."

"Oh," Carter repeated, not at her.

"But with bits and pieces of information, he has pu

together something of a picture. You are a specialist. Yo

go after hand-picked targets, IXOPle who are normally un

touchable. It is said that you are the best at quietly doin

the job and getting away clean. Is that true?"

Carter slowly sipped his wine and met her stare. "If it i

true, if I am that man, then I would be a very foolish m

to admit it, wouldn't I?"

Simone took his reply with a nod and went back to he

plate. "Will you kill the Zimbattis?"

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"Not unless they try to kill me."

"Let's hope they do," she said in a low voice.

139

An hour later, the old man reentered the room. He

handed Carter a manila two inches thick and,

without a word, turned and walked back out.

"I'll drive you back to Palermo," the woman said, ris-

ing.

In the car, using a small IEnlight, Carter perused the

thick sheaf of neatly typed pages Don Pepe had given him.

By the time they pulled into the hotel parking lot, he was

satisfied that there wasn't a thing he didn't know about the

Zimbattis and their underlings.

'Xiood night," he said, stepping from the car. "And,

thanks."

"Mr. Carter?"

"Would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

He leaned through the window. "No. You see, I don't

like you or your father any more than I like the Zimbattis."

He turned and, whistling softly, walked up the steps and

into the hotel.


FIFTEEN

Caner called Reela from the Palermo airport just before

his flight.

"I've got everything we'll need. You and Louis get the

earliest flight into Genoa."

"Genoa? I thought our targets were in Milan," she re-

plied.

"They are, my love but I don't want any telltale signs of

us coming in by air, train, or even a bus. I'm flying to

Genoa directly from here. You should arrive before me, so

have a car ready."

"Will do. See you soon."

He had a light breakfast and boarded the noon flight.

Reela and Corot were waiting for him in the baggage claim

area.

"I got a Volvo," Corot said. "It's fairly inconspicuous,

but solid and it moves."

Twenty minutes later they were on the highway to

Milan. Carter drove so that the other two could digest the

ream of information he had brought with him from Sicily.

Around five, he stopped in the little village of Lomella

for something to eat. He found a little trattoria on the edge

of the village that wasn't crowded. He requested a table far

in the rear where there were no other customers.

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NICK CARTER

He waited until they were fortified with food and wine

before he started.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Fantastic," Corot enthused. "My God, we even know

what kind of medicine Carlo Zimbatti uses for his ulcer."

"I can already think of about five stings," Reela added.

"Where did you get the information?"

'That's not important," Carter replied. "lhe man wants

nothing to do with this. The important thing is, this stuff is

up to date almost to the hour. Louis, you got a safe pad in

"No problem. It's a villa on the river about five miles

north of the city. Very secluded."

"Who owns it?" Carter asked.

'*An old gunrunner. He's doing five years in Ipotsi out-

side Rome. I negotiated through his daughter She jumped

at the three-grand rent."

"And she'll keep her mouth shut?"

Corot nodded. "She's been in the game damn near as

long as I have."

"Good. Let's get moving."

ney skirted Milan to the north, and about two miles

farther on Carter left the motorway. Another mile and

Corot directed Carter off onto a gravel side road.

"Just a little farther," Corot said. "There."

Carter turned into a drive on the left, away from the

river. The house wasn't visible from the road because of

the thick stand of trees and shrubbery, but there was a

chain link fence with a wide gate that stood OIRn. The

drive curved slightly and then Carter saw the squarish bun-

galow with the veranda across the front.

"Looks good," he said. "We can see forever from every

side."

The house sat well back from the road. Between it and

the river, the villa boasted a semicircular driveway. One

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143

big tree shaded the front veranda, and the house was com-

pletely surrounded by lawns.

Inside, without speaking, they dumped their bags in the

hall and together inspected every room in the villa, each

mind committing to memory the layout, the positions of

doors and windows, and of every room in relation to the

others. They found no one in the house, in the double gar-

age, or on the grounds.

"Louis, you're a genius," Carter said, pulling a bottle

from his bag.

"I know."

"Let's have a drink."

They had drinks over a small kitchen table by a window

overlooking the river.

"As soon as I stow my gear, I'll fix some dinner," Corot

said. "I stashed some groceries in one of my bags."

"I'm afraid you're going to be busy tonight and most of

tomorrow," Carter said. "Here's a shopping list."

Louis Corot surveyed the penciled sheet. "No problem

on the cars, about an hour. The guns, ditto, maybe a little

more time. What do you want with a boat?"

"Insurance," Carter replied. 'This place is on the river

If we can't get out of here on the road, we'll go by water."

"Good thinking," Corot said nodding. 'The rest of it I

can get by tomorrow."

"Make sure of that telephone gear," Carter said. "The

one number my man in Sicily couldn't get was Bruno Zim-

batti's hot line. I have a feeling that before this is all over

we'll need that."

"Right." Corot stowed the contents of his bags and re-

turned with some canned goods and steaks. "Eat well. I'll

hike to the village and take a bus into Milan. Don't wait

up."

He was out the door, and seconds later the sound of his

footsteps faded.

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"I'll cook," Reela said.

"You do the cans, I'll do the steaks," Caner offered.

A half hour later they were enjoying the meal. The tal

was light, inconsequential, as if neither of them reall

wanted to discuss why they were there. Then Reel

abruptly changed the subject.

"Do you really think this will work, Nick?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm sure of it. Two things that peopl

like the Zimbattis can't take... a hard hit in their pocket

books, and frustration. We'll do both."

"Just the three of us?"

Carter grinned. "Just the three of us. A few days fro

now, Bruno Zimbatti will back off Drago Vain's deal, and

think he'll hand us Vain on a platter."

"You know what?" she said, shaking her head and grin

ning back at him. "l tElieve you."

He pushed away from the table. "Now, me for a showe

and shave."

Carter emerged from the bathroom with a towel aroun

his middle. Reela was lying on the bed. Her clothes made

trail from the to the

Maybe it was just an accident of beautiful physical

or how she lay, or just because it was Reela, bu

the sight gave Carter's eyes a rare old pleasure.

He sauntered across room, taking off the towel. A

he looked at her, a movement under her closed eyelids tol

him she was awake. He dropped the towel on a chair an

sat on the foot of the bed watching her. There was a gliste

of sweat around her lips and on her ribs.

Within a few moments she 0}xned her eyes, turning he

head lazily to see him. He shifted up to where he coul

bend over to put his lips on hers. A smooth arm coile

around his shoulders to keep him close.

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"You know," she whispered, "I think Louis's old

gunrunner friend is not so old."

"Why?"

"Look."

Caner rolled to his side and looked up. Ihe entire un-

derside of the canopy over the tEd was one huge mirror.

"My, my," he chuckled.

'Come here."

She found his lips with hers. They were moist and wel-

comingly parted. Her tongue glided effortlessly through his

lips, prying, orrning, until it found his tongue. Quick,

darting movements, thrust of a tongue against a tongue,

heightened the passion already alive in their bodies.

Then she slowed her tongue and struck up a deliberate

temrxy, in and out of his mouth. Her legs twisted him over

until she was above him.

He kissed her arms and her breasts and her navel. Her

hands pushed his head farther down until his tongue found

the center of her passion.

"Yes," she hissed, grinding herself against him, "yes,

yes, yes."

She began to tremble, and Caner fliprEd her over onto

her back and started all over again. Licking her ears. And

her neck. And down along her breasts. And holding them

together firmly, his head oscillated as he sucked the nip-

pres. And then down, down he went, licking her stomach,

licking her thighs.

Then his head was between her legs and he pulled them

up and closed them. His tongue was there, his hot tongue

licking, and then his teeth gently nibbling.

She gazed up at the mirror on the ceiling, and could see

him, her headless man, his legs outstretched, the muscles

of his buttocks taut, his shoulders quivering. Then she

could not see him because her eyes were closed and she

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was rising to him and crying out, her hands pulling at the

hair of his head.

He was relentless, his tongue like a whiplash. She tried

to push him from her as she squirmed in the shrill esctasy

of climax, but his head remained there like a boulder she

couldn't dislodge. Then she shuddered again, her tense

body subsiding, and she writhed slowly to his endless oral

expertise, watching again in the mirror on the ceiling.

Then he was over her, his hips her thighs. She

arched to meet him and they collided in a bone-jarring

thrust.

She made love aggressively, passionately, with complete

abandon. A whimper in her throat rose to a moaning

scream as they burst together and she felt his hardness

going on and on as if forever.

He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and held her,

slowing her to his movement until they rcxie together, each

in perfect time with the other. Despite their frenzy and the

flow that had already soaked her, it took a long time. They

grew comfortable with each other, enjoying the fit. It was

she who started the race, nails deep into the thickness of

his legs, hauling him into her with each thrust.

' Come on," she gasped. Tome on, come on, come

on," bucking each time she made the demand.

Carter tried valiantly to keep up, like a man running for

a disappearing train. He just missed. She was already ex-

ploding in a back-arching groan when he made it, hurrying

the more to finish at the same time. niey ended the jour-

ney together, limp and exhausted against each other.

"Kiss me," she murmured, and they dozed in each

other's arms.

It was about an hour later when Carter was awakened b

the low roar of a boat. He padded to the window and parte

the drapes.

Louis Corot was just piloting a powerful Corsair inbo

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Carter heard the engine die, and moments later Corot

appeared on the pier carrying two bulky cases.

Caner padded back to the beds smiling.

The Prince, under any name, was one hell of an opera-

tor.


SIXTEEN

Carter parked the old Volkswagen •on Lanzone behind

the Basilica di Sant'Ambrogio and walked south through

the maze of alleys. When he found Ziatti he turned in and

headed for the third building on the right.

Luigi Paladonni was a paid enforcer for the Zimbatti

brothers. Two weeks before he had screwed up a job. Now

he was on ice until they could smuggle him out of the

country. Because of his constant contact with the brothers

he was perfect for Caner and company to use for their first

move.

Carter mounted the stoop of 114 with the card case

palmed in his right hand. Inside the case was the metro

detective's badge and the ID Louis Corot has phonied up

for the occasion.

He rang the night 1*11. A stockily built man wearing

only a pair of trousers opened the door a few inches and

peered out at him with sleep-filled, belligerent eyes.

"umat you want?"

Carter held out the badge and let the slanting light from

the hallway fall on it. 'Talk as natural as you can," he said

quietly. "Answer my questions." He raised his voice just

enough to carry into the hall the man. "Do you have

an room?"

lhe man cleared his throat and stared at the badge.

"We're all full up," he said.

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"Think I'd have some better luck somewhere else in the

block?"

"Couldn't say for sure. You could try across the street.

They might have an extra."

Carter lowered his voice to a whisrrr. want some

conversation with the man in number two. You want your

permit tooperate this fleabag still in force tomorrow morning,

you 'II go back to bed and forget you ever saw my face. "

In Italy you don't mess with the police and you don't

mess with the underworld. This man was faced with both

and he wanted no part of either.

His eyes became round and solemn. He nodded slowly

and jerked his thumb in a furtive gesture to his right. "Just

beside me," he said, breathing out the words. "Second

down the hall on the left."

'Thanks, anyway," Carter said loudly, and moved si-

lently past him into the small airless hallway. He closed the

front door and pointed to the stairs. The man needed no

urging. He took the steps two at a time, his bare feet noise-

less on the faded carpet.

Carter waited until he had turned out of sight at the

second-floor landing. The he rapped sharply on the door of

the second room. His breathing was even and slow, and his

hands hung straight down at his sides.

Bedsprings creaked beyond the door and footsteps

moved across the

"Who is it?" a voice asked quietly.

"Paladonni?" Carter said in the same low tone.

"Who?"

U'l don't got time to piss around, man. I got words for

you from Bruno."

"Bruno who?"

"Who the fuck do you think, Bruno. It's time to move.

We got a fishing boat in Genoa gonna take you out to a

freighter. I'm supposed to drive you."

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151

The door opened an inch and stopped. Carter saw one

eye shining softly from the light in the hallway, and below

that the cold blue glint ofa gun barrel.

"Walk straight in when I open the door," the voice said.

"Stop in the middle of the room and don't turn around. Gct

that straight?"

'Okay, I got it, I got it."

"Start walking."

The door swung 01*n. Carter entered the dark room

with the hall light shining on his back. He was a Err-fect

target if the killer wanted to shoot. But he wasn't worried

about that. Not yet.

A switch clicked and a bare bulb above his head flooded

the room with harsh white light. He heard the door swing

shut, a lock click, and then a gun barrel was pressed hard

against his spine. The man's free hand went over him with

expert speed, found the Beretta, and flipped it free of the

holster.

"Lemme look at you now."

Carter tumed slowly and backed up slightly so the full

glare of the bulb hit his face.

"l never seen you before."

"You ain't to," Carter replied.

Paladonni's youth surprised Carter. He was twenty-four

or twenty-five at most, a big muscular kid with tousled

blond hair and sullen eyes set close together in a wide

brutal face. Ihe gun he held looked like a finger of his

huge hand. He was wearing loafers, slacks, and an unbut-

toned yellow sport shirt that exposed his solids hairy chest.

Young, Carter thought, but a different breed than the

usual human. He was a hard and savage killer.

"What's so special about you?"

'*I'm a cop. If we're stopped on the road between here

and Genoa I can get us through."

"A cop?" he said softly, and took a step back from

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Carter. He went down in a springy crouch, his sullen eyes

narrowing with suspicion. "l don't like this. The whole

deal stinks. I'm the hottest guy in the country right now

and they send a cop to bail me out? You got a badge or

something?"

"I'll take my case from my jacket pocket," Carter said

quietly. "I'll do it nice and slow. You're getting all excited,

sonny. What's the matter? This your first job?"

Paladonni swore at him impersonally. Then he said,

"l'm making sure it ain'tmy last, that's all. Take it out."

Carter opened his case and flashed the badge. He held it

just far enough from the other man's eyes to make it diffi-

cult for sure identification.

Paladonni stared at him, the gun steady in his big fist. "I

like this less all the time."

Carter raised his hand casually—as if he were going to

scratch his chin—and struck down at the other man's

wrist, gambling on Paladonni's momentary confusion and

the speed and power of his own body.

He almost lost his txt.

Paladonni jerked back from the blow, his lips flattening

in a snarl, and the rock-hard edge of Carter's hand missed

his wrist. But it suuck the top of his thumb and knocked

his finger away from the trigger. For a split second the gun

dangled impotently in his hand, and Carter made another

deslxrate bet on himself and whipped a left hook into Pa-

ladonni's face.

It would have been safer to fry for the gun; if the hook

missed, he'd be dead before he could throw another punch.

But it didn't miss. Paladonni's head snapFEd back as

Carter's fist exploded under his jaw and the gun spun from

his hand to the floor. Carter kicked it under the bed and

began to laugh. Then he hit Paladonni in the stomach with

a right that raised him two inches off the floor. When the

big blond bent over, gasping for breath, Carter brought his

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knee up into his face and knocked him halfway across the

room.

"It was your last job, sonny," he said, grabbing the

slack of the sport shirt and pulling him to his feet. "I've got

words for Bruno, Pietro, Antonio, and Carlo and you're

going to be my messenger boy."

"You're nuts, man. You're outta your goddamned mind.

Killin' cops don't mean nothin' to them.... "

Carter laughed again and didn't bother to explain. He

bent Paladonni's arm up into the center of his back and

tx)unced his head off the wall a couple of times.

"You shut up and listen, listen real good. Someone con-

tacts you every night to make sure you're being a good boy

and staying in place. Who is it?"

Nothing.

Carter twisted the arm further until it was right on the

edge of breaking. "Who?"

"Bruno... Bruno calls me hisself, a tx»oth on the

comer. He calls me there every night at eleven."

'Good. I'm putting a list of telelphone numbers in your

pcket. Read those numbers off to Bruno and tell him if

he's smart, he'll start calling them at midnight tonight."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Carter said, and gave Paladonni a hard right

to the kidneys that dropped him to the floor writhing in

pain.

Carter retrieved the revolver from under the bed and

headed for the street.

Bruno Zimbatti was head of his clan by virtue of age

more than anything else. Each of the four brothers was

equally ruthless and on a par in cunning, but it was Bruno

who was the father figure and made nearly all the final

decisions.

He was taller and straighter than a man of his age had a

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NICK CARTER

right to be. He was also less forbidding than a man of his

position should have t*en. His hair was white, but most of

it was still covering his head. His eyes were alive, black

and piercing. His nose was big but not fleshy. The face was

lined, though the flesh was firm and healthy-looking.

"And the nuts are still there," he said aloud, gripping

his crotch as he stared at himself in a large mirror.

"Bruno," came his wife's voice from the top of the

stairs, "come to bed."

He glanced at his watch. It was eleven sharp.

"l have to make a call," he called back up the stairs,

reaching for his private line, the one that had been installed

by his own people, the one that the telephone company

knew nothing about. "I'll be right up, cara mia."

Bruno Zimbatti could hardly know that it would be over

fourteen hours until he would be able to put down his head

for even a catnap.

Carter was also reading the face of his watch in the light

of the streetlamp above the phone booth.

It was 12:15.

Fifteen minutes past the appinted time and the phone

had not rung.

But then Carter had not really expected it to ring, not on

the first time out. Bruno Zimbatti would scoff at Pala-

donni's fright. He would wonder how the blond killer had

been found and wonder why he was still free, but he would

scoff at the idea of anyone giving him an order to call

down a list of telephone numbers at an appointed time.

Carter had expected the reaction, planned for it. Now

phase two of their little plan would go into operation.

He dropped a coin in the slot and dialed the number of

the central police station on the Via Francesco Sforza.

"Centro," a bored voice answered.

"I believe the police are looking for a suspect in an

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attempted murder, a man named Luigi Paladonni."

"Si," the voice replied, alert and wary now.

155

"You will find Paladonni at One-fourteen Ziatti. The

rcx)m is number two."

"And your name, signore?"

Carter paid no attention. "There is a news kiosk at

number six Via Falcone. In the rear alley there are two

garbage cans. The gun Paladonni used in the murder at-

tempt is in one of those cans."

Carter cut the connection and dropped another coin in

the slot. This time he dialed another phone in the

Piazza Santa Maria Beltrade just a block from the popular

nightclub Astoria.

Louis Corot's voice answered on the first ring. "Yes."

"Me. Is little brother Tony still trying to pick up sorne-

thing young and fresh in the Astoria?"

"He is that. Have you had any fresh nothings whispered

in your ear?"

"I have not," Carter replied. "Happy fireworks."

"See you on the Monza road," Corot said and hung up.


833