# Society Of Nine 2

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NICK CARTER

DOWN CAPACITY; ONE SNIPER SCOPE WITH

INFRA-RED ADAPTER; ONE RIFLE SILENCER;

SIX EXPLODING SHELLS)

I whistled softly. ' 'Reads like the main booth at an

assassin's flea market," I muttered.

"Precisely, Nicholas," replied the Englishman.

' 'Fortunately, the constables felt the same way. What

with the magnitude of this chap's little arsenal, and the

fact that his room was papered with news clippings of

various terrorist attacks and threats, the local chaps felt

inclined to contact our antiterror branch. "

Harcourt paused briefly to pull out his pipe and

tobacco pouch. I used the brief pause to re-review the

list before me.

You can tell a lot about a killer by his choice of

hardware. The weapon itself says volumes. A simple

hand gun or plain rifle say one of two things about their

user: one, he's an amateur, or two, he's expendable.

The scope implies at least a certain concern for surviv-

al; it creates distance. The silencer implies more,

distance and secrecy, and at least enough confusion as

to source and location to offer some hope of escape.

'The fine print woven throughout the listing offered

even greater insight. The rifle: special bore, with cus-

tom tailoring on the sights. Definitely professional.

The rifle had breakdown capacity: a sign of individual

tastes. lhe man felt comfortable with his own weapon,

and was willing to risk transport to use it. Very profes-

sional.

n')e bullets made their own statement. While

weapons talk at»ut their users, shells reveal targets.

lhere are two ways in which the human animal can

suffer from the impact of a bullet. Vital organs can be

hit, and thereby bring on death, or the projectile can

miss the desired organs, but create such internal shock

that the target will perish. Messy, but effective.

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Expl(xiing shells had already terminated several

of my friendships, and at least two other N-rated

killmasters that I had knowm ney have the unique

capacity of virtually exploding upon contact, thereby

taking forty-to-sixty percent more of the human body

with them than conventional shells would. I had per-

sonally watched six people die from what should have

amounted to no more than a shoulder or leg wound.

VOIoever the man 's target was, his death was obvi-

ously very important.

My gaze returned to Harcourt, his pipe churning out

the custom blended aroma of Turkish and vanilla to-

baccos by which I had come to recognize his presence.

His voice, creeping around the pipe stem, was not

without irony.

"l believe the phrase is, 'heavy duty,' what?"

I could only nod in agreement.

' 'There 's something else , Nicholas. The antiterrorist

boys moved in, and gave the flat a rather more thorough

look-see. 'Ihey managed to dig up this. "

Harcourt reached once more into his briefcase and

held up a rather worn, frayed notebook.

"It seems the gent kept a diary, in rather clumsy

code. Easy enough for the crypto chaps to break down.

Let me give you a transcript. "

The notebook found its way back into the briefcase,

and he handed over to me a large sheaf of typed pages. I

scanned them briefly.

'I think you 'II find the bloke was really quite candid

about himself, but more to the point, he seems to have

been biding his time awaiting contact and instruc-

tions. "

"An I.R.A. hit?" 1 asked.

"We thought so at first, so we placed someone in the

flat and waited to see what would creep out of the

woodwork. 'Ihe results were rather surprising. "

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Harcourt pulled out another bundle from the case.

"These arrived the next day, by regular post." He

handed the pile over to me.

It consisted of several shipping documents, all in

seeming order, and a typed sheet of instructions for the

export of a small consignment of religious goods to be

sent to Capetown, South Africa.

g 'The hardware?" I inquired.

' 'Has to be," he nodded. shipper has been

checked. He's not too fussy about the goods he han-

dles, but nothing big time."

ne rest of the bundle amounted to no more than a

plane ticket to Algiers, and another typed sheet of

contact procedures.

"Once the antiterrorist chaps were certain that there

were no immediate domestic concerns, they turned it

over to us. "Ihe South African company to which the

guns are being shipped is, of course, a bogus. Probably

McDaniel himself would take possession of the con-

signment. " Harcourt leaned forward in the chair and)

took a thoughtful puff on the pipe. "We then tried to get

some information on McDaniel himself. Rather an

enigma, that one. He is, of course, Anglo-Irish by

birth, and not without strong affinities for the I.R.A.

cause. But his real emotions seem to cleave to any of)

what he considers to be the world's oppressed peo-

ples. "

'SA freelancer?" I offered

'I would appear so, yes , ' ' Harcourt nodded, another

explosion of smoke curling out from his pipe. "But

that's the first thing that grew to bother me. "

"What's that?"

"Well," he paused, his eyes narrowing, "as you-

well know, Nicholas, most assassins are really quite

identifiable .

by style and execution, if not always

by face. It's their way of signing their work. But

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McDaniels has proved something of a puzzle. His

equipment is quite individual, as you can see .

special bored rifle, trimmed sights, etc. Really quite an

assemblage for someone we can produce no record

on. "

J found myself sharing his confusion. "No make on

him at all?"

' 'Not a jot. Nothing with Interpol or any of our sister

intelligence agencies. Seems the lad is little more than

driftwood that suddenly washed up on our shores. And

that's the second thing that bothers me. With so many

pros on the market, why go with a rookie?"

"Anything on his employer?" I asked.

'Nothing specific, ' ' he answered, shaking his head.

"Our only real link was through the chap doing the

shipping. We rousted him a bit, but all he could tell us

was that the arrangements were made through some

black fellow . .

heavily accented, and by the sound

of it, as South African as the shipping address. "

I had to agree with Harcourt, it was too many loose

ends in a business that usually wraps itself in the tight-

est of knots.

"But why come to us?" I asked. "It looks like a

colonial affair to me. s'

' 'Two reasons, actually. first of all, the colonials get

a bit testy when we poke our noses into their little show.

ney like to think it's none of our bloody business. We

ignore it, of course, but we do try to be discreet.

However, in our attempts to run this little mystery

down, we did stumble onto certain hints that perhaps

you Yanks had something brewing down there. Some-

thing big, by the look of it. "

Harcourt's eyes drifted over to Hawk's face. If he

hoped to catch a glimmer of reaction, he was disap-

pointed. Hawk's features were like an iron mask.

"At any rate," he continued, "it began to lookas if

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it might concern your company more than ours, and we

thought we'd let you know about it. "

"Appreciate it, Harcourt." It was the first sound

from Hawk since the briefing began.

' 'Nothing, really. We chaps have to look out for each

other, wouldn't you say?"

Hawk merely nodded.

'SAnd the second reason?" I asked.

Harcourt reached once more into his bottomless

briefcase. "It rather speaks for itself, " he said, chuck-

ling slightly and handing over a photo to me.

"Wouldn't you say, old boy?"

I looked down at the photograph. ne man in it was

lying in the street, the rather surprised look of death on

his face. And then I saw it. "Ibe look on my own face

could not have been any less surprised.

"McDaniel?" I gasped.

"Indeed, my good fellow," came Harcourt's reply.

"Uncanny, what?"

I had no reply. With the exception of the red hair, red

moustache , and the scar down his face , I was looking at

a perfect double of none other than yours truly.

A carbon copy of Nick Carter!


CHAPTER TWO

I could only stare in stunned silence. If Mama Carter

had a baby boy that no one knew of, I was staring at

him. It was eerie, made even more eerie by the fact that

he was lying dead in a Soho street.

I was hardly aware of Harcourt's departurefrom the

room. The best I could muster were a few grunting

acknowledgments of his polite retreat. It was Hawk 's

own voice, now returned to his position behind the

desk, that finally brought me back to reality.

"Spooky, isn't it?" His teeth were clamped over a

freshly lit cigar.

"At least, " was all could reply. I paused only long

enough to catch my breath. "What's the story?"

Hawk smiled slightly. "l have good news, and bad

news. "

I ncxided. ' 'Let's try the gocxi news first. " I dropped

the pile of goodies Harcourt had laid on me, picture and

all, onto Hawk's desk and sat back for the briefing.

"Well," he growled. "In the first place, there is

indeed a deal going on in South Africa; a real sweet

deal, if we can pull it off. As I'm sure you 're aware, the

black representation issue is South Africa's biggest

hernia. "

Again I ncxlded.

Hawk leaned back into his huge chair. "And, as I'm

sure you 're also aware, the black issue has been Rus-

Sia's invitation for activities in Africa's southern

horn. "

Another nod.

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' 'What I'm sure you don't know, is that recently

we've made some substantial progress; covert, of

course, but very substantial indeed. As Harcourt so

subtlely implied, things are cooking for us. "

"Big?" I asked.

Hawk smiled again. "Christmas dinner," he

beamed.

His joy was infectious. I felt myself smiling even

through the huge question marks in my brain. "Do I get

an invitation?"

Hawk leaned forward, patted the pile of papers I had

placed on his desk. "Looks like you might be the guest

of honor. ' '

' 'fien I better know the guest list. "

"Excellent. " He rose and began pacing the office.

' 'Are you familiar with Joseph Nikumba?"

I searched the file cabinet in my memory bank.

"'Kind of," I replied. "One of the head honchos in the

black movement, isn't he?" Low key, but his name

does creep out in the papers now and again. "

"He's a lot more than that," Hawk said. "At the

moment, at least from our point of view, he's probably

the only key we've got for opening the door to South

Africa. ' '

"He sure keeps a low profile," I offeréd.

Hawk allowed himself a chuckle. "We like it that

way. Actually, keeping him out of the papers has been

relatively easy. He doesn't wave a gun, he's never

killed any Anglos, and he would look ridiculous in

battle fatigues. He's a simple professor. As a result, the

South African press won 't touch him because he won 't

scare the whites, and the international wire services are

convinced he 'd bore their readers to tears. He 's just not

the stuff that boosted circulation rates are made of. ' '

"Pity," I chimed.

"Yeah," added Hawk, plopping himself onto the

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end of his desk, He withdrew the cigar from his mouth,

and picked lightly at the stray strands of tobacco that

were creeping out from its shredded end. He was al-

most nonchalant as he continued.

"What he is, however, is the biggest hope we've

everhad of seeing black rule in South Africa. . .effec-

tive black rule, with the Russians packing for home. "

A wad of tobacco strands found their way emphatically

into the wastebasket.

"l like him already," I said, pulling out one of my

own custom cigarettes. "And exactly how iS'he going

to pull it off?"

'üad you asked that," Hawk said, as he resumed

his pacing. "As you may be aware, the problem with

most black takeovers in African government—peaceful

or not, communist or not—is the blacks themselves.

Or, more specifically, the black tribal structures in

African culture."

Hawk 's energy level was switching into second gear,

as I lit my cigarette.

"When the colonial powers moved into Africa, they

divided up the pie to suit their own interests. Borders

and countries were agreed urx)n, with no concern being

given to the tribal divisions that have existed since time

began. As a result, Africa has become a boiling pot of

tribal rivalries and jealousies, lhe colonial powers

gave these arbitrary divisions names, and called them

countries. And now, no matter which one gains its

independence, its history seems to become one big

contest as to which tribe will control the reins; usually

to the detriment of every other tribe, and usually to the

meddlesome delight of the Soviet Union. "

I nodded my understanding. So far I was getting

African History: 101. "And how does Nikumba figure

Hawk paused in his pacing and smiled; the kind of

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smile I had seen on rare crcasions, usually when I had

pulled some mission from the jaws of defeat into vic-

tory, even if it was by the seat of my pants.

' 'Remarkable individual," he mused, chewing on

his cigar. "Here's his bio." Hawk reached onto his

desk to hand me the folder. I scanned it while he filled

me in.

"Briefly, it runs like this. As I said, he's a professor,

with two degrees: one, a doctorate in social anthropol-

ogy from the University of Johannesburg, and two, a

doctorate in psychology from Oxford. "

I was impressed with the credentials.

Hawks continued. "He has been blessed with a

unique upbringing. His father had gotten an unusually

good missionary education, and found himself in a

small government post in one of those occasional token

gestures the South African government makes to keep

the blacks from bitching too loudly. ms enabled

Nikumba to get a better than average shot at his own

schooling. ' '

S 'And he apparently used it," I added.

"Indeed," nodded Hawk. "But he never forgot

where he came from. His sympathies always seemed to

embrace the black cause, in spite of the fact that he had

managed to escape the worst of it. Early on in his

education, he came to a relatively startling conclusion.

If tribal differences were what was tearing Africa apart,

then tribal similarities just might be what would pull it

back together. "

"Let me guess," I offered. "So he studied social

anthropology, made a broad survey of South African

tribal cultures, and has since come up with a formula of

how to blend them all together in peace and harmony. ' '

S 'Bright boy," Hawk smiled. S 'Ihat is exactly what

he has done. "

I took a drag on my cigarette, allowing the informa-

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tion to filter through my brain. "Nice theory," I said

finally. "But can it really be pulled off in practice? I

mean, that's a lot of cultural material to try to toss into

one stew. "

Hawk paused in his ramblings to perch once more on

his desk. "Not all that many, really. niat's the interest-

ing thing. ' 'There are a lot of local tribal variations,

yes. But they all derive from the same cultural stock.

The majority of black Africans in South Africa—and

I'm referring not just to the country, but the whole of

sub-Saharan Africa itself—are all merely branches of

the same basic tree; they're all Bantu. "

The picture was beginning to clear up. "What you 're

saying is, he studied each of these Bantu peoples, threw

out the differences, and held onto the root similarities

that they all have in common?"

Hawk nodded as I continued.

"The thing I still don 't get is that, if all these tribes

are basically off the same assembly line, why are they

slitting each others' throats?"

Hawk's tone became almost chiding, like a school-

master rebuking a recalcitrant student. "Don 't

minimize those differences, Nick. They may seem to

be minor. . no more severe, say, than the difference

between a Georgian 's mint julep and a New England-

er's clam chowder. But there was a time, not too

God-awful long ago, when that same Georgian would

have blown that New Englander's head off with small

provocation. ' '

I got the point.

' 'Can he pull it off?" I asked.

"He already is. He's done some incredible field

work with some of the more remote tribes, and natives

that were once drying each other's heads for center-

pieces are now swapping tom-toms and tx)wling on the

same leagues. "

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"Well, that's great for the blacks, " I added. ' 'But he

still has to get the colonials to hand over the govern-

mente The cultural differences here are a little more

vast. "Ihe last I heard, a black could get his head blown

off for merely smiling. "

"True," Hawk said. "And that's where we come

in. ' ' He moved around and returned himself to the chair

behind his desk. ' SDo you know anything about

Namibia?" he asked, taking his seat.

I dove once more into the memory bank. Namibia is

the new African name for the country previously

known as South-West Africa. Theoretically, it's an

independent nation, at least as far as the United Nations

is concerned. In 1968, the U.N. issued a charter grant-

ing South-West Africa (or Namibia) full independence,

but the reality is that it is totally controlled by the South

African government.

And for good reason.

Namibia is one of the world's richest gold and

diamond producers.

With that much wealth lying around in the ground, it

was little wonder that the South African government

had risked all manner of sanctions to retain control.

Better to have that kind of wealth flowing into ones own

coffers, than to allow it its own freedom of spending.

I shared my knowledge with Hawk, and he embel-

lished on it.

' S nat is indeed the situation. About a year ago,

Nikumba wandered into one of our South African CIA

branches and asked to speak to the station chief. We

were a bit startled, to say the least, but surprise gave

way to salivation as he laid out one of the sweetest deals

we had heard to date. "

"Ihe smoke was pouring from his mouth like a train as

Hawk moved his energy into third gear.

' 'He was very direct in what he wanted. Black rule in

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South Africa is merely a matter of time. ne only real

question is what kind of government it's going to be,

and who's going to be running the show. Left to his

own devices, Nikumba knows that he 'd probably never

see more than an advisory position in any newly engen-

dered regime. There just don't seem to be too many

social anthropologists running countries these days.

The control goes to the guys in the bushes, with the

guns and fatigues. "

"And Nikumba feels he could do better, right?"

"He can! " Hawk's voice took on that chiding tone

again. '"In the first place, he's the only man on Earth

who could win the support of all blacks, and bridge

their tribal differences enough to forge a real nation,

without violent measures. But on top of that, he is more

than interested in retaining the niceties of life that the

colonials have brought into his African world. "

I ventured a guess. "And that means hanging onto

Namibia? ' '

"Exactly," Hawk nodded, his cigar thrusting to-

ward me in emphasis. ' 'lhere is a pattern to the binhing

of African nations, and Nikumba is desperate to avoid

it. Basically it runs like this: A country gets born, with

one of its noble freedom fighters at the helm. The

blacks are jubilant and optimistic, while the whites get

scared and pack up for greener pastures. With them

usually goes the economic future of the country. Prog-

ress grinds to a halt, the once jubilant population be-

comes restless, the once noble freedom fighter starts

getting testy, and the Russians ooze in to keep every-

b«xly at each other's throats. Suddenly, bang. Before

you can say Patrice Lumumba, there's a revolution,

and the Commies own themselves another hunk of

Africa. Nobody's any happier, of course, but now, if

you complain, your mother turns you in to the KGB. "

Hawk's eyes suddenly seemed to catch fire.

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' 'Nikumba offered us a way around this. His deal was

simple. America was to throw its complete support

behind a Nikumba-run black African government. Our

commitment was to be total. . . economically, indus-

trially, technologically, and, if need be, militarily. It

was originally hoped that such a strong show of support

from us would help to alleviate some of the white

colonials' fears in regard to a black takeover. "

"Has it?" 1 acked.

Hawk grinned once more. ' 'The man isn 't a doctor of

psychology for nothing. There was a brief period of

resentment over America poking its nose into other

people's business, et cetera, et cetera. But that quickly

gave way to a delightfully heartwarming explosion of

white optimism. Once the colonials realized that life

would be "business-as-usual", at least as far as their

pocketbooks were concerned, they warmed up to both

Nikumba and us with an enthusiasm I can only call

ferocious. ' '

Hawk's earlier phrase flashed through my mind.

• 'Christmas dinner," I mumbled.

"Nothing. Go on."

Hawk popped up, and resumed a pacing flight pat-

tern around the office. "It is Nikumba's belief that by

mollifying white fears, and hanging onto the Namibian

assets, he can avoid the usual cycle of economic rise

and fall that seems to accompany every African re-

gime. "

"And what's the game plan?" I asked.

"At the moment, ' ' he answered, 'it's to keep things

as quiet as possible. We've got the support of all the

people, black or white, who really have a say in things.

It's just a question of how to feed it to the masses. "

I mk a final drag on my cigarette and retired it, as

Hawk continued.

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' 'The basic plan is simple enough: heavy monetary

and industrial involvement in Namibia and South Af-

rica. Several corporations are even now beginning their

moves into these areas .

with some incredibly lu-

crative gold and diamond deals for incentive. It is

hoped that this involvement will reassure the white

population that there will be no black backlash. More

importantly, it is hoped that this will also tie South

Africa and Namibia together in a chain of mutual

economics that will become difficult to sever. "

So far it all sounded feasible.

"From that point," he continued, "it is just a matter

of time until Nikumba is given power. At that moment,

we begin the campaign to have him recognized unilat-

erally. "

In spite of the seriousness of Hawk's manner, I was

forced to chuckle. ' 'Ihat doesn't sound too difficult.

You show me a United Nations representative that

won 't support a black-ruled African government, and

I'll show you a candidate for instant retirement. "

"There's no problem in getting recognition, per se.

V,mat's going to take real orchestration is to get the rest

of the world to recognize South Africa's sovereignty

over Namibia.

g ' lhe immediate benefits are obvious. World recog-

nition of the new black government will release South

Africa from the various trade embargoes and restric-

tions their previous aparthied policy has brought on,

opening them, and Nikumba, to a world economy. If

successful, the retention of Namibia will give them an

almost virtual monopoly on gold and diamonds—a

powerful base, indeed, from which to greet their new

world market. "

g 'Then, at this point," I said, picking up the thread,

"Nikumba will divert the greater portion of this new-

found wealth into Namibia itself, thereby creating a

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surge of public projects and benefits that will both

tighten the economic bond between them, and give

meteoric rise to the Namibian standard of living. "

' 'Ihat's the scenario. It is hoped, " Hawk continued,

'Sthat the economic boon, plus his own charismatic

power over the blacks in all of southern Africa, will win

South Africa a mandate of power from the Namibian

in open election. "

peoples themselves .

It was a sweet deal, indeed. Africa was rapidly

becoming the world 's biggest battleground between us

and the Communist world. To have a foothold in a

country that expansive, and that mineral-rich, was a

coup not to be taken lightly.

I returned my attention to Hawk, but nothing was

forthcoming. He had wandered over to the window at

the far end of the room, and seemed to be staring out in

deep thought. His cigar was poking out from his face,

and I watched about three inches of neglected ash drop

off and splatter onto his shoe, before I allowed myself

to break the spell.

"l take it that's the good news. "

He turned, his cigar readied for more abuse. "Yep.

tlhat•s the good news."

"Let's hear the bad. "

Hawk's features darkened somewhat. "l think

we've got a leak on the negotiating team. "

Ihe words had a mournful echo to them. In the

intelligence game, nothing can deaden you more than

the knowledge that the other guy has a photocopy of

your game planr

"How certain are we?" I asked.

"About ninety percent. "

I winced. "Yeah,"lsighed, "that's prettycertain. "

Hawk moved slowly from the window and resumed

his seat at the desk. "We're really sticking our necks

out on this one, Nick. Any leak could hurt us, and if it's

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as high up as it's beginning to look, it could be deadly.

It would be one thing if just South Africa were in-

volved. We win, they lose. and Moscow chalks it off as

the breaks of the game. 's

take it Namibia is the rub," I said.

"Rub!" Hawk let out with a disgusted sigh.

"Sandblasting is more like it. •me group fighting for

Namibian independence is called the South-West Afri-

can Peoples Organization, affectionately referred to as

S.W.A.P.O. And they're up to their afros in Russian

support. But what makes this so tricky is, this time

we're not playing by the rules. Y'

"Normally, we pick our group, they pick theirs, and

we both sit back to see who wins. But Nikumba wants

us in .

. directly involved, and if Moscow gets mad

enough, they just might do the same thing. "

The full implications were beginning to hit me.

"And because of the United Nations charter, any reac-

tionary move the Russians made would have to be at

least tacitly supported by the world community. "

Hawk nodded his agreement. "Like it or not, world

opinion is behind them, for once. It's a time bomb,

Nick. If we bring in the marines, they can too, and if we

start bumping heads down there, won •t give it a month

till it starts moving out across the globe. "

There was a momentary flash where my belly turned

to ice.

"Our only hope is to keep one step ahead of them,

tiptoe our way through some rather shaky negotiations ,

and wait for Nikumba to win the Namibian mandate. ' '

"And we can 't do that, " I added, "if Ivan's sitting

right in the middle of our huddle, "

"You got it. "

"Any clues as to where the leak is coming from?"

Hawk shook his head. "Not yet. It's been too

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gradual a progression to get a fix on. At first, the

Russians merely stepped up activities in the area. With

something this big, it's nearly impossible to keep an

iron lid on things, and we just assumed they were

working on rumors. But then, very slowly, they began

popping up more frequently, It began to seem like

every time we turned a corner, Ivan was waiting for us.

We could no longer ignore the fact that information was

seeping out from relatively high up the ladder. "

Hawk stubbed out the remains of his cigar and took a

deep breath, exhaling slowly.

' 'And then came the real bad news. Two days ago we

received information that no less than Yuri Berenko

himself has moved into Africa. s'

Yuri Berenko was one of (he KGB's most shining

lights. There were even rumors, solid ones indeed, that

he was next in line to inherit the whole KGB operation.

For Berenko to be called from his desk and put into the

field was the espionage equivalent of the mountain

going to Mohammed.

"It is my considered opinion.' ' Hawk went on, ' 'that

you only bring out the big guns when you know you 've

got a war on your hands. "

"And if he's running someone on our team," I

added, "they 're high up the ladder, without a doubt. "

'And now this " Hawk snapped, his hand slamming

onto Harcourt's files. "We're vulnerable, Nick. All

our strategy is pinned on one man: Nikumba. He's the

only one who can pull the blacks together, and he's the

only one the whites will swing for. Remove him from

the picture, and the whole operation falls apart."

I began to catch his drift. "You think Nikumba may

have McDaniel's target?"'

"l don 't know, " he sighed. ' 'But we can 't afford to

overlook anything going into South Africa at the mo-

mente "

SOCIETY OF NINE

29


29

"Could the Russians have hired McDaniel?"

Hawk ran a tensed hand across his brow before

answering. "Not likely. niey usually handle their own

affairs. They don 't need to go shopping for help. But

it's always a possibility. McDaniels was a British citi-

zen, and should he kill Nikumba, there would be little

difficulty in making it look far more racist than politi-

cal. Moscow could erase both Nikumba and the opera-

tion in one stroke, and there isn 't a damn word we could

say about it. "

An ominous silence descended while both of us

thought. It was as if we were trying to reverse events by

force of will alone. Finally I said:

"What do you want me to do, boss?"

The reality of action seemed to pick up Hawk's

spirits. "Obviously, you are to assume McDaniel's

identity. "

He reached into his top desk drawer and withdrew

two airline tickets. He tossed the first down on my side

of the desk.

' 'First, you are to go to New York and visit Willie

Geis. I'm sure that by the time he's finished with you

you 'II look more like McDaniel than McDaniel did, As

far as the man himself, the diary should provide you

with all the background you may need. His employers

are as ignorant of him as you are, so there shouldn 't be

any hang-ups on that score. "

The second ticket jumped from Hawk's hand to

cover the first. "From New York you Sil head to Lon-

don, and from there you 'II pick up McDaniel's itiner-

ary, just as it was given to him. "

"Some contact must have already been made. Is

there any danger of my being blown to the hiring

agent?"

Hawk shook his head no. "Not likely. The diary

indicates that the actual hiring was handled in one

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meeting. Both parties seemed equally concerned over

their own anonymity. The contact was very brief, and

all business. Put enough of the old English into your

accent, and I doubt that anyone will spot the switch. "

' 'So be it. "

I stood up and collected the various items littering

Hawk 's desk. I paused to stare once more at the photo

of McDaniel. The similarity was just too coincidental.

*Ihe first nagging glimmer of doubt began working its

way into my system. Hawk must have sensed it.

he murmured. "Track this

"Be careful, Nick,"

down as far as it goes. If it looks like it'll hurt us, do

whatever you have to to wrap it up. But if it doesn't

affect us one way or the other, get the hell out as fast as

you can. "

I nodded my agreement and headed for the door.

Hawk's voice halted me.

"One more thing. I think we'll find our leak very

quickly. But keep your ears open. If McDaniels was to

become involved in this whole affair, you may hear

some information that will help us to narrow down our

suspects. "

' 'Both ears and both eyes will be wide open, I assure

you, " I replied grimly, shutting the door behind me and

heading for the airport and Willie Geis, the nagging

doubts growing in my brain.


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CHAPTER THREE

By the time I reached Algiers, those nagging doubts

had grown into a bundle of raw nerves that J found

impossible to shake. Not even the biting comfort of the

alcohol in my last swallow of tea could still the churn-

ings in my gut.

I knew the waiter would be heartbroken•

J turned and scanned the cafe to see if he was nearby.

thought occurred that maybe one more of his spe-

Cial brews might just drown my nerves, but I then

thought better of it. Ihis was no time to be dulling

whatever edge my senses retained.

I got my thoughts and my eyes back on the street, end

was rewarded immediately.

When she first turned the corner, I shot up in my

chair. She looked for all the world like Pam MacMa-

hon. •ne hair was the same dark mantle, the features

equally classic, and the body just as elegant.

But then the differences became apparent. I relaxed

back into my chair and gave this approaching madonna

the interest she deserved.

Her features were fuller than Pam •s, very Caucasian,

but the rich darkiess of her skin hinted at a drop or two

of black blood in her ancestry. Her breasts were smaller

than Pam 's, but still ample. They were incredibly firm,

and showed themselves defiantly beneath the yellow of

her silk blouse. Her legs, too, were fuller. with the kind

of rounded, muscular definition that implied they could

wrap themselves around you, and never let go.

J found myself reaching a conviction. Arab women

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may be mysterious, and the imagination may be

stimulating, but seeing is better.

She was very near my table when our eyes locked.

As with the young Arab girl earlier, she held my gaze;

there was no retreat. But unlike that earlier encounter, I

experienced no surge of adrenaline. She was not my

contact. It wasn't in her eyes.

Hers were ripe-olive color and expressive, not mar-

bles,

I disengaged myself and turned to try to find my

waiter. I located him at one of the far tables and was

about to motion for his attention, when I felt a tap at my

shoulder. I turned around, prepared for anything but

what greeted me.

Above me, in all her glory, stood the madonna.

Her voice was as full and rich as her figure. ' 'Sorry to

trouble you, but I seem to need a match." As she

spoke, she thrust up the box that held her cigarettes. It

was an ordinary box of English Ovals, with one excep-

tion. There was a blank space, without printing, about

one and a half inches square, on its face.

"Ihe madonna had just initiated step one in the recog-

nition process. It took a second or two to pull myself

together before I could offer my part.

"Yes, of course," I muttered. , "No bother at all,

luv. "

I pulled a matchbook out from my coat pocket, and

fired up one of the matches. I was careful to carry the

matchbook up with me when I lit her cigarette. She

studied it quickly. Glued to the front of the matchbook

was the missing square from the face of her English

Ovals box. Her eyes returned to my face and showed

their acceptance.

"You're sure it's no bother?" she breathed.

I returned the matches to my pocket. ' 'Only slight,

luv. But if you'd allow me to buy you a drink, I'm.

SOCIETY OF NINE

33


33

certain it would be more than compensated. " My ac-

cent was pure Yorkshire pudding.

She nodded, smiled, and made her way around to my

table.

It was done. To anyone watching, it was a simple

encounter; to us, it was the beginning of the game.

She seated herself across from me, and wasted no

time in getting on with it. Her face held a winning

smile, but her voice and attitude were all business.

"I take it there was no problem in the shipment of

religious articles?" Hei accent was definitely colonial.

"None, luv. But then, I wasn't hired because I make

mistakes, now was l?"

Her face registered slight imtation, but the smile

held firm. "l really wouldn't know," she cooed.

g *Shall we get on with it?"

"Whatever you say, luv. " I got the distinct feeling

she didn 't like me.

She reached into her purse and pulled out an en.

velope. She slipped it onto the table, her eyes darting

nervously around the café.

"Take this, she said, inching it toward me. "Inside

you'll find instructions, a hotel key and a plane ticket.

Also some money. "

I leaned onto the table to collect her offering. As

discreetly as possible, I slipped it into the inside pocket

of my sports coat.

She continued. "You are to spend tonight in the

hotel. In the morning you are to check out, and make

the flight indicated on the ticket. I shall also be on the

flight, but you are not to acknowledge me. Once at your

destination, you will follow the instructions as indi-

cated, to your hotel. I will be in the adjoining room.

You will then be given further orders. "

"And just where is it I'm going, luvy?"

broke through her smiling

A momentary glare

NICK CARTER

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facade. Her voice was icy cold. "South Africa.

Capetown, to be precise. ' ' Suddenly her eyes leaped up

and her voice took on a tone of casual friendliness.

S *And I'll be staying in Algiers until tomorrow. How

atX)ut yourself?"

The sudden appearance of the waiter explained the

change.

"As a matter of fact, I 'II be departing on the morrow

•also. Perhaps we could share our final evening to-

gether, what? Might I buy you a drink?"

"I'd love it. What do you recommend?"

I looked up into the waiter's face. His mouth was

twisted in an idiotic grin, and his right eye kept flutter-

ing in what I could only assume was a series of ap-

preciative winks. He was undoubtedly convinced he

had found the reason for my earlier case of nerves.

"l say, luv, why don 't we let the waiter bring us two

of his special teas. "

He gave me a hasty thumbs up, and raced off to fill

the order.

I leaned in closer over the table, and gave her my best

leer. ' 'Well now, that doesn't sound like such a bad

idea at that. What say we turn the town a bit tonight?

It'll give us a chance to get to know one another.

Ihis time the glare totally defeated the smile. "l

think not!" "Ihe ice was back in full force.

I studied her for a moment. *Ihe idea of spending the

evening with her had obvious advantages; but my real

interest was in getting some answers to the questions

rolling around in my brain. She was the first question.

Her attitude was all business, but underneath it all was

fear. It showed in her constantly darting eyes, and in the

shake of her hand as she puffed on her cigarette.

She just dtdn 't read pro.

Again I went for her eyes. Soft. Much too soft. "Ihey

SOCIETY OF NINE

35


36

were timid, almost doe-like, and they were helpless to

hide the cauldron of fear bubbling away inside her.

It was time to give it another try.

'iLook, luv, just because we're doing a bit of busi-

ness, it doesn 't mean we can't work up a bit of fun too,

does it?"

There was venom in her reply. "Look, Mr.

McDaniel. The people I work for require your services,

and as much as I detest it, I am to be an instrument in

furthering that desire. But the desire is theirs, Mr.

McDaniel, not mine, and I think it best that we have as

little to do with each other as possible.

' 'Now, luvy .

'And if you call me luvy one more time, I'm going

to take my foot and relocate your balls. "

It wa.s my turn to switch on the ice. "Do that, dearie,

and I will personally take that gorgeous leg of yours and

tie it into knots. "

A stare-down ensued, and the certainty of my threat

was clearly established. Fear, once again, inhabited her

eyes. The mood hovered slightly through the reappear-

ance of our waiter and on into several sips of tea.

The silence seemed more devastating to her than the

words.

"All right," I finally muttered. ' 'If luvy ain't your

favorite word, give me a name to play with. "

She stared for a moment. "Robin," she said, a

choke catching in her throat. "Robin Brenton.

'All right, Miss Brenton. If you don't feel like being

chummy, that's your tea cake. I can do very nicely

without friends, but I get just a bit nervous when I'm

without answers. So far, your mates have kept me a

trifle too much in the dark as to what I'm about, and I 'd

like for you to shed a little light on the picture."

Her eyes were darting again.


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She was beginning to get to me. Once the game had

started, my own nerves had mercifully steadied, as they

usually do, with action. But now they were returning,

and in greater force than mere sympathy to her own

fears could explain,

My own eyes began traveling as I spoke. "Well? Do

I get some answers?"

"You know as much as you need to," she replied

mechanically. "You will be duly informed of what is

necessary, when it is necessary, and not before. In the

meantime, you are to keep your questions to yourself,

Mr. McDaniel.

"Ducky," I sighed.

For the moment, it seemed best to lighten up. In spite

of my earlier boast, it was definitely important to gain

this woman's friendship. Without it, getting answets

would have to become a gruesome prospect, and she

was just too Vulnerable and pretty for that.

I allowed some warmth into my voice. "I'd ask one

thing of you, if I might. "

She relaxed the slightest bit. ' 'What would that be?"

"Call me Liam," I smiled. "You see, my fatherhad

to be one of the stuffiest bastards that ever crawled off a

potato farm. He got himself a fancy education in Dub-

lin, and became headmaster at a little school in War-

wick. And from that day on, he wouldn't allow for

anyone, not even his own children, to call him anything

but Mr. McDaniel! It kind of stiffens my bowels every

time I hear it."

A hint of a smile crept across her face, and J trans-

fered my own gaze out into the street for fear of

chasing it off.

And that's when I spotted him.

"All right .

Liam," she sighed. "l imagine I can

SOCIETY OF NINE

grant you that much. "

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37

38

I turned back to her, my grin firmly in place, but my

voice hoarse with tension. '*Keep talking! "

"What?" she stammered, confusion now replacing

the glimmer of amusement.

I laughed out loud before repeating myself. "I said

keep talking, about anything! Just keep talking, and

keep smiling. "

It took a second, but finally she obeyed. She began a

line of chatter about this being her first visit to Algiers,

and what she had been doing with her time. I kept up a

veneer of smiles and you-don 't-says, but my mind was

nowhere near her conversation.

I had already spotted the man on the far corner, and

now I had to try to determine if he was solo, or if he had

company. Each mechanical response to •her talking

took my eyes in another direction, until I had covered

the entire street and café,

There were two of them, at least in sight. The one

against the building on the far corner, and the other two

tables away, near the entry door to the inner part of the

café.

And now I had the answer to my question: S Why

have my jitters returned? It had nothing to do with her.

lhere is something unique about being a survivor in the

"spook " business. You learn to use your guts almost

as much as your eyes and ears. You can almost feel an

enemy near you.

And you can almost always smell a KGB man.

That the two of them were KGB was beyond doubt.

nere is a drab, humorless rigidity to them that defies

disguise or concealment. There is a grayness to them

that covers them like a tan covers a native islander. It 's

hereditary. Conjure in your mind one image of the


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U.S.S.R., one single landscape or cityscape that you

feel most typifies the place.

I'll give you ten-to-one odds, the sun isn't shining.

I now knew they were there, and I knew who they

were, but I still had to determine why. I knew for a fact

they hadn't been tailing me, so that only left the

madonna, I was relatively certain she was an amateur,

and they make easy targets for professional shadows.

ne only other option was that they were the lady's

playmates.

' 'Keep smiling, Robin," I said. s 'It seems we have

company. "

S • What! " Her head started to move.

' 'Don 'l look," I hissed. "Just answer me. Are they

friends of yours?"

"Certainly not! " Her vehemence and surprise were

genuine beyond a doubt.

"Well, they seem to have followed you here, and it

looks as though we'll have to lose them, wouldn 't you

Fear was creeping back into her eyes. ' 'How?" she

asked.

S'First of all, relax. Keep smiling, and then excuse

yourself. 'lhere is bound to be a bathroom inside, and

you •re suddenly going to need it. And don 't be afraid to

let the tables near us hear about it. "

The smile jumped back onto her face. "And just

what the hell am I going to do in the bathroom?"

' 'Nothing, my dear girl. Once you get inside, you are

going to find us a back door. If there is one, you send

out the waiter and wait for me. if there isn't one, you 'II

just have to stall a bit, toss on some powder, and come

back out looking about one liter more relieved. We'll

devise another ploy if necessary. ' •

She did as she was told, and disappeared into the

café.

SOCIETY OF NINE

39


39

40

I watched the goon at the table, and he did nothing.

Quickly I checked the street. Goon number two was not

as cooperative. He immediately made a beeline across

the street and around to where he could check the back

of the building.

It was beginning to look like a little rough stuff

would become necessary. I was definitely prepared.

My three dearest friends were with me. Wilhelmina,

my 9mrn Luger, was tucked comfortably under my

jacket; Hugo, my pencil-thin stiletto, was nestled in its

chamois case and hugging the right forearm beneath my

shirt; and Pierre, a tiny but very lethal gas bomb, was in

its usual position as the third member in the Carter

family jewels.

Suddenly I heard McDaniel's name called, and

turned to see the waiter standing in the doorway. He

called out to me that there was a phone call, and I

thanked him. took a quick swallow of tea in order to

give the waiter time to vanish.

Robin had done her job well.

Having watched his buddy disappear with Robin's

departure, I was sure the goon at the table would not let

me out of his sight. He would have to be neutralized.

I had no idea of how proficient either of them was

with his hands, but at least I could test them out one at a

time.

I also had surprise on my side. I knew they were

blown, and they didn 't. Goon number two would most

assuredly spot us out back, but I was sure I could either

shake him, or take him. The first chore was to retire

number one.

I got up and began making my way toward the café's

interior, making damn sure I walked right past my

mark, About two steps away, I faked a stumble, driving

into him, and pounding him gently on the back of the

neck with the side of my hand.


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A one-way ticket to dreamland.

His body slumped and his head hit the table. I gave a

quick look around. Nobody had noticed it. To keep it

that way, I reached over and borrowed an empty bottle

from a nearby table. I placed it in front of him, right

next to his half-empty glass.

I was sure he would be left quite alone to sleep off his

apparent drunk.

I quickly moved inside, and spotted Robin back in a

corner around the bar. 'Ihe atmosphere inside was dark

and smoky, but I fought the stinging in my eyes, and

checked the interior for reinforcements. 'Ihe place

looked clean.

I joined Robin, following her down a narrow passage

that smelled like one thousand years worth of falafel.

She showed me the door, and I motioned her to wait.

Slowly I eased it 01kn. I found myself looking out

into a narrow alleyway. Everything in the direction of

the opening looked clear. I then turned back and

glanced through the crack on the hinged side of the

door.

Number two goon reporting for duty, sir!

I returned to Robin. "All right," I whispered. "One

of our playmates is still with us. With any luck, his

orders are just to follow, and I'm sure we can shake

him. If things do start getting rough, I want you to hit

the ground and stay there until further notice. Got

She nodded. "What about the other one?"

"Sleeping quite peacefully, thank you."

She grabbed my arm with a strength that startled me.

"Is he dead?" she gasped.

I gently loosened her grip. "No, but he'll have one

hell of a headache when he wakes up. "

Relief poured over her.

SOCIETY OF NINE

41


41

"Shall we?" I said, and took her arm as we moved

out through the door.

We made directly for the clear end of the alley. I kept

my eyes intent on the opening before me, but I tuned

my ears in behind. Number two was on us, and he

wasn 't being subtle any more. His pace was picking up

rapidly. The sound of his footsteps were being joined

by a second, and along with it, the crackle of static that

told me someone had a radio communicator.

It was obviously going to become necessary to break

heads.

I released my grip on Robin. and turned to face my

pursuers. There were indeed two of them, and much to

my surprise they came to a dead stop when faced. The

reason why became immediately apparent.

From behind me I could hear the squeal of tires. I

turned back around, and caught sight of a dark blue

Citröen. It had nosed itself into the alley, blocking any

hope of escape in that direction. ne driver was the first

to pile out, but it was the second man in the car, the one

on the passenger side, that got my attention, His exit

was much slower, but then he had his hands full.

I bet myself eight to five he was a Russian. nere was

just no mistaking a Kalishnikov AK47.


CHAPTER FOUR

There were two possibilities. Either they would take

us alive, or we'd be fertilizing an oasis somewhere

south of Algiers.

I decided the worst, and made the guy with the

Kalishnikov my first concerm

"Robin?" nie word slid quietly out of the corner of

my mouth. There was no response. "Goddammit,

Robin! Don't disappear on me now! "

I was relieved to hear a whispered return. "I'm still

here. "

She was frightened, but the voice was steady enough

to give me hope.

'S You 've got to do me a favor, luvy." It worked. On

the word "luvy", she shot me a look. If she could still

be pissed about that, she was still in the game.

I continued. "Sooner or later they're going to want

to take us for a ride. Personally, I'd rather not go. So

I •m going to have to persuade the chap with the

rifle—"

Ihat was as far as I got. I felt a pair of hands pound

into my back, propelling me toward the Citroen. Robin

joined me, her motivation for doing so no less gentle

than my own.

"Oh, my God!" Robin's voice was beginning to

whimper. I could not afford tc lose her now.

Fortunately, our escorts were maintaining a safe

distance behind.

"Stay with me, damnit. just need a second or two,

42

SOCIETY OF NINE

that's all. Do something .

anything .

their attention for a few seconds, "

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that's all. Do something .

anything .

their attention for a few seconds, "

43

but get

"But .

what?" *Ihe cracking in her voice was

making me feel anything but confident.

I never got a chance to answer. lhe hands behind me

returned, propelling me the final two or three feet to the

front of the car. Just as quickly, I was spread across the

hood and searched. Wilhelmina was removed in-

stantly. I had never expected to be able to hang on to my

gun, but I was hoping that whoever claimed it would

tuck it away.

No such luck.

It remained in the man's hands, quite ready to use.

'Ihat would have to be my second object of concern.

Pierre was out of the question. A gas bomb allowed

too many seconds for reaction, was too awkward to get

at. Also, it could just as easily Robin and myself

with it.

It become vital that I hold onto my stiletto, Hugo.

ne first man, having found my gun, had moved

backward to cover me, while the Citröen's driver

finished the search. Before the driver could reach my

forearm, I drew my right hand into a fist and flexed

every tendon and sinew in my arm.

I held my breath.

The beauty of Hugo's design is that he is pencil thin.

He is mounted with two objectives in mind. First, to

rest very carefully between the large tendons of my

right wrist and forearm, and thereby disappear when

they are tensed. Secondly, with the appropriate angling

of my wrist and the gentlest nudge of hip or third object,

he will slip quietly and quickly into my waiting palm.

I was tensing for all I was worth, and to my great

relief the driver passed right over Hugo.

Hurdle one had been cleared.

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Now I needed my diversion. The driver stepped

away from me and I rose up from the hood. I turned to

face Robin, carefully measuring the distance between

myself and the Kalishnikov as I did so. She was being

searched by the jerk who had been tailing her. He had

just completed a quick survey of her purse and was in

the process of tossing it to the CitrÖen 's driver, when I

turned.

The driver held onto it.

I made a quick mental thank-you to both men. At

least one pair of hands would be occupied when I went

into action.

nat is, if I went into action.

My quick perusal of Robin left me less optimistic.

The man searching her was spending far more time on it

than he had to. The leer on his face was anything but

subtle as he gave the areas beneath her skirt a far too

thorough examination. She was beginning to crack.

Tears welled in her eyes and her cheeks were quivering

visibly.

I threw my mental radio into high gear, and silently

screamed for her attention.

"Ihe amateur telepathy must have worked, because I

got it. Her eyes jumped over to mine, just as the man

began working his way up the outside of her blouse. I

nodded ever so slightly, hoping she would understand

that now was the time to move.

Her eyes closed tightly, and tears began to spill as the

searcher cupped her right breast. His gesture was ac-

companied by guttural grunts of laughter from all the

onlookers.

I gave Kalishnikov a quick look. He had stepped

back, ever so slightly, He had his eyes riveted on me.

All my chips were on Robin. It had to be now, with

Ivan's hands all over her tits.

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45

fien, suddenly, she moved. Ivan was just getting

ready to make his considered appraisal of her left

breast, when she hauled off and slapped him. The

shock of her blow, more than the power, sent him back

about two steps.

I used the moment to begin a careful inching toward

the rifle. My mental broadcasts were still on full

charge. Good girl, keep it up. Keep it up!

The surprised look on Ivan 's face gave way to a slow

smile. He moved back to her, a study in gestured

forgiveness. But no sooner had he reached her, than he

let go with a slap of his own.

It shook her to the bone. She rocked back on her

heels, while inched one more step toward my target,

praying that she wouldn 't let down now, that she would

stay mad.

She hauled off and belted him again.

Good girl! I had gained another inch.

There was no delay this time, no smiling faqade

before contact. With a fury that made my heart skip, the

Russian slammed her again, then grabbed her upper

arms with a foree that should have broken them and sent

her sailing against the far wall of the alley. Her head

bounced sickeningly off the white stucco.

And still he continued. He caught her on the rebound

and sent his palm twice more into the soft flesh of her

cheeks. Finally his honor seemed satisfied. He stepped

back slowly and awaited what could only be her inevi-

table collapse.

'Ihe bout had provided me with my final two inches,

and Hugo was now nestled securely in my palm.

My right hand sailed out, and released Hugo. There

was no room for error, and Hugo came through like a

trourrr. He found his way into Kalishnikov's neck and

sailed clean through, severing the windpipe as he went.

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A look of horrified shock spread across the man's

face. My left hand came over and grabbed the rifle. I

gave it a hard jerk. but there was no resistance. His

body had already surrendered to the numbing reality of

death,

It was time to move on.

My second concern was the goon holding Wilhel-

mina. Moving targets make for difficult aiming, so I

danced off to my left, pulling the Kalishnikov into

firing position as I went. My back slammed into the

alley wall, bringing me to a halt. There wasn 't enough

time, with four men to deal with, to allow myself the

luxury of careful aim. So I merely began blasting away

in the general direction of my target.

No contest.

To the man 's credit, he had managed to get Wilhel-

mina up to operating level, but the first of my volleys

cut him in half like a weed.

There were two choices left, and I had little time to

think. Instinct carried me instantly toward the man who

had battered Robin. On the one hand, there was an

incredible desire on my part to return the treatment in

kind he had given her; and on the other hand, I was still

operating on my previous observation that the driver's

hands were busy holding Robin's purse.

By the time I faced number three, he was already

digging into his coat for his gun. Another burst from the

Kalishnikov sent him sprawling backwards, the bullets

nailing his hands to the inside of his jacket.

As he fell, I mentally blessed Robin. Not only had

she given me the diversion I needed to act, but she had

gotten herself down and out of the way, all at the same

time. I would have to thank her. But that was for later.

Still one to go.

I turned for the finale, but the driver, by now, had

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47

been given too much time. I had pinned my hopes on

Robin 's purse slowing him down, and now I would pay

for it. Number four was just a cut above his buddies.

By the time I turned to greet him, there was no

scramble. He was waiting for me, and he was moving.

Unfortunately I only caught the merest glimpse of it

because the next thing I saw was Robin 's purse hitting

me square in the middle of my face.

I fired blindly, hoping to get lucky. But luck had run

out. A well-placed foot smashed into the back of my

hand, sending the Kalishnikov flying. While my other

hand tore the purse away, there came a second foot,

equally as well-placed, driving itself into the middle of

my body.

I hit the ground with a force that was less than

comfortable. Whatever tiny amount of air that had

remained in my lungs was gone, on contact. A tiny

voice in the back of my head was screaming for me to

move, but my body just couldn 't cooperate. I lay on the

ground, fighting for air, and did my best to raise myself

up, but my best only got me as far as my elbows.

By then, it was too late anyway.

While my mind was screaming, his was operating.

By the time I had gasped the first soothing intakes of

oxygen, I was staring into the muzzle of his gun. The

moment seemed to stretch itself out for an eternity.

While I struggled to regain a regular pattern of

breathing, he just smiled, awaiting the sadistically ripe

moment when he could bring my efforts to their point-

less demise.

'Ihe gun cracked.

My eyes clamped shut and my face twisted into a

grimace as I awaited the burning surge of pain that

would transport Nick Carter into immortality.

It didn 't come.

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I reopened my eyes and watched the driver collapse,

a giant beret of red where the left side of his skull used

to reside.

That was my first surprise.

The second was to flip myself over and see Robin,

Wilhelmina still smoking in her hands, lowering the

gun and staring in horror at what she had just ac-

complished.

I made a mental note to myself. Never underestimate

the creativity and courage of an amateur, particularly

when his life is threatened.

The gun slipped from her hand as she continued

staring blankly at where her target had once stood. I

rose up quickly and retrieved Wilhelmina, then moved

to where Robin stood. The gunfire was bound to have

gotten someone's attention, and a hasty retreat was

definitely in order. The last thing I needed was for

Robin to panic.

I was now standing directly before her. but her eyes

were boring clear through me, intent on the memory of

the driver's death at her own hands. Her breathing was

becoming labored, and the echo of a cry was working

its way into her throat.

My first impulse was to slap her, but the visible signs

of her previous battering dissuaded me. A rather novel

idea struck me. If violence was what was setting her

off, perhaps gentleness would be shock enough to bring

her out of it.

On impulse I held her face, and pressed my lips onto

hers.

ney were hard and unyielding, but I pressed on for

several seconds. Finally I released her. She stepped

back a pace, and caught her breath. Her eyes blinked

open and closed a few times, then finally focused

clearly on mine.

"Sorry," she whispered.

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I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good girl. You were

onderful. Now I need you to do only one thing, Go to

e car, pack yourself neatly into the passenger seat,

d just sit. Do you understand me?"

She nodded. "I 'II letyou know if the keys are in it. "

She was thinking; a very good sign. "Excellent," I

•nned, stroking her face in gratitude. S 'Now scoot,

e haven't much time!"

She was gone in an instant.

As quickly as I could, I searched each of the four

en, retrieving Robin 's purse and Hugo in the process,

Yith the exception of two matchbooks, the search

(ielded nothing out of the ordinary. The matchbooks

emselves might not have created interest, were it not

r the fact that they were both the same, yet each had

me from the pockets of two different men.

ney were lettered in Arabic, and I was struggling to

pake sense of the scrolling, when Robin's voice

eached me.

' 'They keys are in it. I think I hear sirens!"

She was right; the sirens were distant but approach-

g. J pocketed the two matchbooks and raced to my

sition behind the wheel. The car staned instantly,

I gunned it back out of the alley. With the first

arring surge of movement, Robin 's eyes closed again,

ut all else remained composed.

I slammed into first and charged off, not slackening

until the relative anonymity of one of the larger

Pulevards had been reached. *Ihen I maneuvered the

ar into the normal flow of traffic.

Only then did Robin's eyes reopen.

Once on the road, my mind filled with questions. I,

Liam MacDaniel , was obviously not working for the

ussians. Then, who was I working for? And who was

supposed to kill; and why; and where?

I looked over at Robin. She was staring out the

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window, clutching at her blouse to keep it closed. She

appeared normal , but the slackness of her body and thel

blank look in her eyes told me that she was numb. She

was in shock. Interogations were obviously better left

for a later time.

"mere was one matter, however, that could not be

tucked on the shelf. I was forced to break the silence.

i' 'I owe you my life. I know what you did back there

was difficult, and I wish there were some way I could

make it seem like it all makes sense. But I can't. I'm

just grateful you did it.

Silence.

"Look, Robin, I know the best friend you've

right now is your solitude. But there is one thing we 've

got to talk through."

Still no response.

I sighed and continued. "We've been blown, my

love. You •ve been tailed, I've been spotted, and some;

body seems to want both of us as guest of honor at a

grave digging. Your hotel is no doubt under surveil-

lance, your room has no doubt been searched, your

plane reservations, no doubt duly noted. And for all I

know, everything in the envelope you gave me is, right

now, being swapped for gossip by every housewifei

over every picket fence in North Africa. "

Finally she stiffed. "What should we do?"

I logged a 'thank God' into the mental books.

"In the first place, we're going to have to find

alternate lodging, Any suggestions?"

She shrugged. "I've never been here before. "

' 'Ducky, " I groaned.

*'Wait a minute," she added. "But I do know some.

one! An Arab girl. She was an exchange student ir

Johannesburg. She was from Algiers. 's

"What was her name?"

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51

There was a moment's pause for thought. "Adjana!

Adjana Mousif! "

I began searching the street for any place that looked

like it would hold a phone book.

' 'Let 's just hope she never got married, ' ' muttered.

"Why? You interested in her?" Her question was

followed by a burst of giggles.

I just glared at her before asking. ' 'Is she about your

Another burst of giggles. "My, you are interested,

aren't you!"

The human psyche has many ways of dealing with

extreme tension. Her giggling was beginning to worry

me as much as her silence.

"Look," I said, as evenly as I could. "You can't go

back to your hotel, and you're going to need fresh

clothing. nat is, unless you want to dilate every pupil

between here and South Africa."

She flashed a quick look down her blouse. "Yes.

. or was, at any rate. "

She is about my size . .

"Good. Now, is there anything back at your hotel

that you can't afford to give up?"

She thought a moment. "Just one thing that I can

recall. "

She barely got it out. "My douche bag," and the

giggles were back in full force.

I let it go as long as I could stand it. "You know

something?" I said, "l think I liked you much more

when you were morose. "

'Ihe giggling subsided and she turned to glare first at

me and then out the window. It was about this time that

I spotted a phone stall and pulled over. "Let's see if

Mademoiselle Mousif is listed!"

Just before she got out, she-turned and looked at me

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for a moment. "She hasn't gotten married," she said.

"And it wouldn't pay to be interested. " There was a

slight pause, and then a wide grin split her beautiful

face. "She's gay!" she and with that she

departed for the phone.

I merely shook my head as I stared after her. And

then I remembered the matchbooks.

I took them out and studied them once more, but no

matter how hard I tried, I could not make out the

characters of the lettering. It was just so many delicate,

Arabic sweeps over cardboard.

I reached over and opened the glove compartment. I

was in luck. A map of Algiers lay tucked in the bottom.

I pulled it out, and began scanning the street. A quick

glance at Robin found her dialing the phone. A good

sign. Meanwhile, my rearview mirror filled with the

light of an approaching bicycle, complete with Arab

rider. Allah be praised.

I leaned out the window and flagged him down. His

English was poor, but good enough to communicate. I

showed him the matchbooks. ' 'Can you tell me where

these are from?"

His black eyes twinkled and his throat erupted in a

hearty chuckle as he looked at the logo on the cover.

"Oui, oui, monsieur, I know of it! " he cackled. "It is

Ihe Bakery of Heavenly Delights!"

' 'lhe Bakery of Heavenly Delights?" Surely he was

kidding.

"Oui .

a very special place, monsieur. You

would like it! " He was nearly falling off his bicycle in

his memiment.

I asked him to show me where it was, and he did so,

his. helpful finger tracing out a path on my map. I

thanked him and sent him on his way a few dinar richer,

his shoulders still twitching with laughter as he peddled

SOCIETY OF NINE

away, waving his adieus.

lhe Bakery of Heavenly Delights.

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Surely, I was once more in luck. If the matches had

read Café or Night Club or Bath House. I might have

been Convinced to scrap them. ftese are places one

makes a special effort to travel to, across town if neces-

sary, because they appeal to specific tastes or needs or

interests.

The Bakery of Heavenly Delights.

One does not usually travel across town for a donut,

or for coffee. and two never do. Two drop next door for

those items, and it was my sincerest hope that that was

what our twin friends had done. I had an outside chance

of locating the enemy.

And I intended to follow it through.

The matches found their way back into my pocket,

just as Robin was piling back into the car.

"She's only about a mile from here," she said.

"And she's thrilled to death to give us roof and rob-

ing. "

Her spirits were obviously elevated.

' 'Jolly good show," I breathed, and pulled the car

back out into the mainstream of traffic.

There was a pause. ' 'I'll need to contact my people.

Alternative plans and all. "

I gave no reply.

"I'll need to do it alone. "

I looked over and smiled. "No trouble, my love. I

have a few errands of my own to run. Unlike your

lovely self, my belongings are currently residing at the

American Express office. It shouldn 't be too much risk

for me to claim them. "

A more relaxed silence carried us the mile to our

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destination. I stopped the car, and waited for Robin to

exit. She crawled out, but paused and leaned back in

through the open window.

be careful." Her face was almost

"Liam

childlike as she spoke.

' 'Does it really matter?"

She froze, then turned and moved toward the tiny

house.

I remembered I owed her. "Robin! "

She turned and halted.

"l'hanks. You, too. "

She smiled, then disappeared through the door.

It was time to gather my bearings, and time to pay a

visit. Robin would make her call in peace and secrecy , I

would retrieve a clean shirt and toothbrush from

American Express, and, in the meantime, try to locate

the particular pile of camel dung from which our four

gadflies had arisen.


CHAPTER FIVE

The Bakery of Heavenly Delights turned out to be a

dive, a whorehouse, with a powdered sugar and honey

facade.

It was located a few blocks from the wharf section of

town. ne smell of the Mediterranean scented the air

like perfume. I had taken up surveillance from an

alleyway directly across, and it hadn 't taken me long to

figure out how the place worked.

Within the space of one hour, I had watched three

merchant seamen, two Italians, and one Turk and

numerous locals enter the establishment and receive a

room key. Ihey would then exit and move down to the

next doorway. It was a weathered wooden slab, per-

petually open, long ago torn from its ancient hinges.

Through this opening I could watch the men climb a

rickety flight of steps to the second floor, where I was

certain they would match key to door, and await their

pleasures.

Seconds after they would disappear, the bakery door

would open and out would step one of those 'heavenly

delights" the bakery was so proud of producing. In

minutes she would join her newfound confection-lover

in his upstairs abode.

I observed that the bakery had a varied inventory,

indeed: chocolate and vanilla, thick tarts with lots of

stuffing, and slim, delicate ladyfingers, old goods that

had been on the shelf for years, and freshly baked buns,

barely out of the oven. In the latter category were two

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ladies that might have matched twenty-one years be-

tween them.

niere had even been one boy; adolescent, and beau-

tiful, but with the eyes of a war-weary soldier.

I found myself cursing my luck. Kismet had failed

me again. My two Russian buddies would do little more

than cross the street for the 'Bakery" end of the busi-

ness, but for the "Heavenly Delights" they would be

willing to cross the globe for all I knew.

I was about to write the whole project off as a source

for any clues, when Kismet suddenly seemed to jump

back on my side.

A man entered the bakery. I hadn't really gotten a

good look at his face yet, but his bearing and manner

made him completely out of place. There was nothing

about him that fit. He didn't display the over-anxious

eagerness from months at sea, nor did he carry the dust

of a long, lonely caravan that would bring him to this

particular oasis.

His dress was simple enough: plain brown slacks,

and a sports coat, with a simple turtleneck sweater

beneath. Nothing exceptional in itself, except that he

didn't look at home in his own clothes. His posture and

carriage spoke of suits—years of them—and the best

money could buy. His clothing was humble, but the

body beneath was arrogant; too used to giving orders to

bend to the will Of a few threads of cotton.

It wasn 't until he had re-entered the street, his key in

hand, that I understood why.

I had only seen a few pictures of the man, and never

one that was recent. It was probably that fact that

enabled me to recognize him. I knew his age to be

around forty-seven, but he was trying to pass for ten

years younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was dyed

blonde, but the overall effect was that of a great shock

SOCIETY OF NINE

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57

of silver. On his face was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses

that did little to hide the icy coldness behind those eyes.

Suits were definitely this man 's normal armor, and

power his usual sword; the kind of absolute power you

can only get in a Communist state.

J was staring at Yuri Berenko himself, next in line to

run the KGB.

I watched him vanish up the stairs, and waited to see

who would be joining him. Whoever it was, they

wouldn 't be casual. Berenko was no dabbler; he didn 't

have to be. If Berenko wanted diversion, he could order

it, courtesy of Moscow, and la carte. He didn 't need

to creep around the backstreets of Algiers to find it.

My suspicions were quickly confirmed.

Out from the bakery stepped a most atypical 'Sde-

light. " She was black, and incredibly beautiful. She

wore a multicolored dashiki that seemed to swallow up

her birdlike body. Her face was carved in ebony, a

study in arrogant defiance, and topped by a native

hairdo, generously laced with colorful beads.

She was an African princess. plucked from the lush

gardens of the rain forest, and as much at home in this

North African strip of sand as a pearl in a pigpen.

I watched her follow the yellow brick road up to the

waiting Berenko, her walk measured and haughty, No

sister of the night, this one. Definitely a class act.

I waited a few minutes more to see if anyone else

would join the party, but no one arrived. I held myself

in check for a moment, trying to make sense of what

appeared to be the most outrageous of fortunes.

Berenko would no more wander the streets unes-

corted than would the President himself. •mre had to

be watchdogs somewhere. And yet the street was an

empty as a cutthroat's souL

I made a quick mental review of all who had entered,

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searching for details I might have previously over-

looked.

Nope. niere was nothing .in the replay to give me any

indication that the previous occupants were anything

but what they seemed.

Berenko was solo, except for the girl. At least from

the outside. Inside might be a different story, but if

there were any rats hiding in the rafters, they were on to

Robin, not me. The only goon who would know my

face would be the slob i had put to sleep in the café.

I would just have to hope that he was still napping.

'Ihis was too golden a prospect to ignore. I needed to

know why the Russians were tailing Robin, and what

their intentions were in general. I saw no reason not to

go straight to the top. If there was information to be

had, no one would have it like Berenko.

I moved out into the street and made my way toward

the open door. i moved as casually as my pumping

heart would allow, my ears tuned to the first hint of a

*'Nyet!" • but none was forthcoming.

I entered the door and paused. Still nothing. I re-

moved Wilhelmina from her home inside my coat and

started climbing up the stairs. *lhere was an occasional

groan of age as my feet hit certain of the ancient steps,

but I ignored them. Those treads were too used to

constant traffic, as were the people who preceded me,

to worry about silence.

I made the second level, and checked out the cor-

ridor. It was all doors, both left and right, and nary a

Commie in sight. I sighed in relief.

And then I muttered a silent oath.

Things were just too easy. Having fate on one's side

was one thing; having her ready to hop into bed with

you was another. I always get just a little frightened

when events move too smoothly.

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59

I waited a few minutes longer, but in spite of my

longings, chaos simply refused to rear her ugly head.

I moved cautiously into the hall, stepping from door

to door, listening for the telltale signs that would locate

Berenko. I heard groans, and gasps, the gentle strains

of leather on flesh, the bored drone of a young boy's

voice, the light taunting •of the adolescent girls who had

already lost the laughter of their youth.

And then I found them; calm and conversational , the

only intercourse being short bursts of German as they

talked over the fate of the world. The door was just a

little too thick for me to pick up more than a word or two

at a time, so I opted for entry. Cautiously I tested the

latch, fully expecting it to be locked.

Fate was not only in the sack; she was hot to trot, and

on the pill!

I burst through the door and slammed it behind me. I

threw my back to the wall, my feet dancing left and

right, while Wilhelmina searched the room for re-

sponse.

All I got for my efforts was the astonished stares of

Berenko and his lady. They were sitting on the bed,

fully clothed, and embracing no more than their indi-

vidual reasons for being there.

I centered Wilhelmina square between Berenko's

-eyes.

"Bring them out, now!" I barked.

'The two looked at each other blankly.

"Bring who out?" said Berenko.

At the moment, I wasn't even sure myself. room

was devoid of reinforcements, with four blank walls,

and not even a closet to break the monotony. There

were, however, two large windows.

buildings was of typical Mediterranean design;

huge and square. with a central open courtyard. Across

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this court, I could see the windows of the rest of the

building.

If Berenko did have company, they would no doubt

be occupying one of those overlooking rooms, and

would have done so long before the hour had begun

when I took up my vigil.

"Both of you," I snapped, using Wilhelmina for

emphasis, "up against those windows. Take one each,

face it, jill it, and keep your hands up in plain sight.

Berenko was the only one to rise. 'Ihe girl merely

stared at me. I gave her a clear view down Wilhelmi-

na's barrel. "Move!" I shouted.

Quietly, Berenko repeated my instructions to the

girl, in German. She nodded, stood , and moved into the

right-hand window, while Berenko filled the left.

The pointed way in which the verbal exchange was

done was not lost on me.

I approached the two, feeling relatively secure that

no one across the court would take any pot shots with

the boss in the way.

I gave them a quick search for arms. I liberated

Berenko•s Walther and tucked it into my coat pocket.

'Ihe girl was clean. Satisfied that I was the only one

carrying persuasion, I drifted off to my left and placed

my back against the wall containing the windows.

"Okay, back to the bed, both of you!"

Berenko turned and escorted the black beauty back to

their original positions on the bed, while I gave the wall

behind me a quick scan.

To my right and slightly above me, stood a huge

crack in the wall heavily stained by time, or whatever

particular delight had struck the fancy of some prior

-occupant.

I turned back to my roommates.

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