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  ONE
  The Citroen's powerful engine was little more than a hum
  in the otherwise quiet and dimly lit street. At the peak
  of an incline on the Rue Urbain, the car gently rocked to a
  halt. Behind the windshield, Nick Carter's eyes were like
  darting ingots in the faint glow from the dash.
  They rolled over the row of marine warehouses at the base
  of the hill, then the docks themselves, and the Bay of Mar-
  seille beyond. One yellow streetlight barely illuminated the
  intersection and warehouse parking lots below.
  Far to his left was the open-ended rectangle of the Vieux
  Port, bounded on all three of its sides by cheap hotels,
  pornographic movie houses, raucous, low-life bars, and
  some of the best restaurants in France. The Vieux Port was
  bathed in light, and Carter knew the cacophony of sound
  would be almost earsplitting at this late hour.
  But here, two miles from the Vieux Port, there was a
  deathly stillness broken only by the steady click, click, click
  of the Citroen 's windshield wipers.
  From this distance Carter couldn't make out the black-
  on-white numbers on the plates above the warehouse doors,
  but he didn't have to. Each block of warehouses had a I(X)
  designation, going from one to a thousand. He was between
  the eight- and nine-hundred blocks, and he wanted
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  NICK CARTER
  Gently he tapped the accelerator with his toe, and the big
  car idled forward. Halfway down the hill he killed the lights.
  At the bottom of the hill he turned left and counted 9()(), ,
  902, then cranked the wheel to turn the Citroen into the
  parking lot of The only other vehicle around, parked
  near the was a little Fiat.
  He fed the engine 's dual carbs just enough gas to goose it
  across the lot, then flipped the key. Silently the car slid
  forward , coming to rest directly behind the Fiat, their bump-
  ers kissing.
  Above the door to the warehouse, about twenty feet up,
  were two sets of windows. Ihe dimmest of lights shone
  through their wet panes. Caner guessed small mght bulbs.
  'Good evening, Lutov," he "Allow me to
  introduce myself, the guy who 's been all over your ass for the
  last three weeks .
  Nick Caner, Special Agent, AXE,
  designation N3. You know what that means, Lutov? It means
  Killmaster. ' '
  Smoothly, from experience, Carter filled his hand with the
  9mm Luger he lovingly called Wilhelmina. He checked the
  clip, jacked a shell into the chamber, set the safety to ' 'off, "
  and put his favorite lady in her leather holster under his left
  shoulder.
  From a chamois bag on the seat he withdrew a Czech-made
  Skorpion Model 61. The 61 was a bastard cross between a
  regular blowback submachine gun and a machine pistol. It
  was designed to be fired from one hand or from the shoulder.
  Perfect for this night's work.
  Firing 7.65mm on selective fire, it didn 't have one hell of a
  lot of punch from a distance. But Carter knew the killing he
  would be doing soon would most probably be close up.
  Cradling the Skorpion in his left hand, he pulled three
  twenty-round magazines and a silencer from the bag. Be-
  cause of the little gun's cyclic rate of fire, the silencer was
  only half effective. But that would be enough not to sound
  like World War III and bring half the gendames in Marseille
  down around his neck.
  When the silencer was attached, he slid a magazine home,
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  3
  levered the tk)lt, and set the selector lever on "semi. " Ihe
  other two magazines went into his right coat pocket.
  Again he eyeballed the windows, this time with a smile.
  "Coming now, Lutov. "
  Ivan Lutov was a courier, nothing but a messenger boy. A
  month before, he had been on what should have been a
  routine assignment:' a quick in-and-out deal, Budapest to
  Vienna.
  Lutov hadn 't known it, but he had been made. When he
  sidetracked in and out of Libya, the two CIA operatives who
  had been,irailing his every move got curious. They came
  down orÄ1im in Athens.
  Since couriers rarely go armed, it should have been rou-
  tine. It wasn't. Lutov panicked. He gut-shot one and put a
  slug through the other's left ear.
  Carter was in the area when Hawk called.
  "Langley's boiling, but as you know, N3, they've got
  wraps. "
  "Yes, sir. "
  "This sort of thing should be answered
  in kind. "
  "Yes, sir. "
  Lutov had proved elusive. At first Carter had thought
  Lutov would head directly for the Eastern bloc. He hadn't,
  and so Carter had chased him halfway across Europe.
  Twice—once in Innsbruck and once in Palermo—Caner had
  almost scored, but Lutov had managed to give him the slip.
  Two days before, here in Marseille, the hare had come to
  ground, panting. He got the word out with Carter's descrip-
  tion among the Marseille lowlifes. They had found Carter at
  his hotel early that moming.
  Lutov wanted to meet.
  Sure enough.
  Carter contacted a few lowlifes of his own for firepower.
  By three that afternoon he had the Skorpion, and a one-eyed
  Moroccan with half his teeth rotted away was the proud
  owner of fifteen hundred AXE dollars.
  Carter slipped the Citroen's keys into his pocket and
  levered the car door open. Laying the Skorpion along his
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  NICK CARTER
  right leg, he crunched across the gravel toward the door of the
  warehouse. The rain had lightened now to a fine mist that
  made him squint as he kept constant watch on the windows.
  Nothing. Not a blur, not a movement, not even a shadow.
  Could Lutov be playing this straight? Just a meet to parlay
  a deal?
  No way.
  Carter wasn't surprised to find the door unlocked. Stoop-
  ing to a crouch, he opened it, rolled inside out of the gray
  night behind him, and kicked the door shut. The sound
  echoed like muted thunder in the cavernous old building.
  It took a full minute for his eyes to become accustomed to
  the illumination coming from the ten-watt bulbs l)laced high
  on the walls.
  The place was like a big tin-roofed barn. Stacks of cargo
  were everywhere. Catwalks with cranes and big steel hooks
  lined the overhead like a maze. Another walkway ran all
  around the sides, backed with doors of tiny offices on the side
  just opposite from where he stood flattened against the wall
  by the door.
  Carter didn't like it. The stacks of crates and machinery
  around the main floor could hide an army. And a backup
  force could be behind the doors along the catwalks.
  Like the mist outside , the air inside the big room was filled
  with a mist of its own: dust. It was so heavy Carter had to
  stifle a sneeze when he breathed.
  There hadn 't been a sound since the slamming ofthe door,
  but Carter knew he wasn't alone. He sensed a presence,
  maybe more than one, in the building with him. It was a
  cultivated sense, sharpened by years of wanting to survive in
  a deadly game.
  Silence. Somewhere a faucet dripped. Outside, a dog
  howled.
  "It's your move, Lutov. If I have to come after you, I
  won 't talk. "
  "Up here. I'm not armed. "
  'Then you 're an asshole. Come out where I can see you. "
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  5
  One of the doors opened, and a short, bulky figure, his
  hands high and wide in the air, emerged onto the catwalk.
  "Not good enough, Ivan. Is there a light in that room
  behind you?"
  "Yes. "
  "Switch it on and come back to the rail. "
  The man backed up a few steps, lowered his arm, and light
  cascaded across the maze of steel walkways high above
  Caner. When Lutov regained the railing, he leaned far out
  over it, peering into the darkness below him.
  "I can it-see. you. "
  "Goods/" Carter replied. "You don't have to."
  "Who are you?"
  s 'A man with a gun."
  'Goddamn you, I know that. CIAO"
  "No, just an innocent bystander. You screwed up,
  Lutov. You know the rules. We have to keep the body count
  even. "
  Carter pumped the bolt on the Skorpion. A shell ejected
  and made an eerie sound rolling across the steel floor.
  "What for?"
  "I didn 't know they were yours. I .
  . . I thought they were
  mine. "
  ' 'KGB?" Carter asked, putting an edge of sarcasm in his
  voice.
  "Yes, I swear it! I was making a run for my own people,
  yes, but I was also picking up some retirement. Surely you
  know about such things."
  Carter knew. It was common practice among Soviet opera-
  tives and those in the satellite countries as well-—especially
  those who traveled to the West a lot and got a taste of
  "decadent capitalist living. "
  Somewhere along in their careers they would start thinking
  about retirement in the West. lhe way to do it was to sell
  what they knew or handled. A lot of them sold to everybody.
  A few, like Lutov, only sold to Russian friendlies who
  Wanted to keep track of what their big brother bear was doing.
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  NICK CARTER
  That way, Lutov's conscience was partially clean; he'd
  only sold out halfway.
  "I'm only a postman, you know that .
  . a messenger
  boy."
  "Yeah, I know it. "
  ' 'It was an accident. Hell, I didn't know what was going
  down. "
  In the darkness, Carter smiled. The man 's use of American
  idioms was almost ludicrous, but from Lutov's dossier Carter
  knew they were for real. Lutov had once been an errand boy
  at the United Nations. He'd lasted six years—until Moscow
  started figuring he liked American wine , women, and song a
  bit t(X) much.
  "They're both dead, Lutov. You know the way it is, . .
  fair exchange on body count. "
  "Can we trade9"
  "What have you got?"
  "Something big—Budapest. Maybe six weeks—even a
  month. "
  "Libya thinks it's worth two hundred thousand petro-
  dollars when I get it all. "
  "I'm not impressed. Qaddafi burns that much to cook a
  goat for dinner every night. "
  "Would you be interested if you knew the Baron was
  running the show?"
  Carter's spine tensed and tingled. The Baron was a night
  man—dark, elusive, unknown. He had a good organization,
  and no one in it knew each other or the head man 's identity.
  The Baron and his organization would do anything for a
  price, from petty theft to intemational terrorism.
  Washington had bought from him a time or two, even
  while putting a price on his head.
  AXE had known of his activities but couldnst get proper
  clearance to go after him.
  "I'm interested," Carter said.
  "Come up. I have vcxlka; we'll talk."
  Without waiting for an answer, Lutov tumed and disap-
  peared into the office behind him, leaving the door open.
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  NICK CARTER
  niat way, Lutov's conscience was partially clean; he'd
  only sold out halfway.
  "I 'm only a postman, you know that .
  . a messenger
  boy."
  "Yeah, I know it. "
  ' 'It was an accident. Hell, I didn't know what was going
  down. "
  In the darkness, Carter smiled. The man 's use of American
  idioms was almost ludicrous, but from Lutov's dossier Carter
  knew they were for real. Lutov had once been an errand boy
  at the United Nations. He'd lasted six years—until Moscow
  started figuring he liked American wine , women, and song a
  bit too much.
  "They're both dead, Lutov. You know the way itis , . .
  fair exchange on body count. "
  "Can we trade9"
  "What have you got?"
  "Something big—Budapest. Maybe six weeks—even a
  month. "
  "Libya thinks it's worth two hundred thousand petro-
  dollars when I get it all. "
  "I'm not impressed. Qaddafi burns that much to cook a
  goat for dinner every night. "
  "Would you be interested if you knew the Baron was
  running the show?"
  Carter's spine tensed and tingled. The Baron was a night
  man—dark, elusive, unknown. He had a good organization,
  and no one in it knew each other or the head man 's identity.
  *Ihe Baron and his organization would do anything for a
  price, from petty theft to intemational terrorism.
  Washington had bought from him a time or two, even
  while putting a price on his head.
  AXE had known of his activities but couldn't get proper
  clearance to go after him.
  "I'm interested," Carter said.
  'SCome up. I have vodka; we'll talk."
  Without waiting for an answer, Lutov tumed and disap-
  peared into the office behind him, leaving the open.
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  BUDAPEST RUN
  7
  Carter had a tight feeling in his gut. The trade offer was
  damn gcxxi. In fact, it was practically inesistible. But it could
  be a snare.
  Shifting the hot end of the Skorpion from side to side, he
  moved carefully to the center of the big room. There were
  flights of steel stairs up to the walkway at both ends of the
  room. He chose right, then moved around a load of crates.
  The sounds came from his right . . a grunt and then
  wood scraping against wood.
  He didn't wait for a sighting. He sprayed the top level of
  crates with,three short, staccato bursts from the Skorpion.
  Wood chips flew everywhere just as the crates started to
  topple.
  Carter hurled himself to the side. He was still in midair
  when the heavy crates filled the space where he had been. In
  the next instant he hit the floor himself, rolling and coming up
  on one knee.
  The guy was big, bearded, with a beret on his head and a
  hacksawed double-barreled in his hands.
  Carter squeezed off a burst just as the guy fired. Pellets
  whined off the steel at Carter's feet, and a few ricocheted to
  tug at a pants leg. One slug of the three-shot burst caught the
  man in the thigh. He whirled, dropping without a sound.
  But Carter knew he was still deadly. He could hear him
  scooting along the top of the remaining crates. Carter was
  about to double back around the crates for a better shot from
  the other side when the area for twenty feet around him
  became daylight.
  "Jesus," Carter breathed, whirling around to face the
  source of it, a big sm)tlight mounted on the railing above,
  near the stairs he had almost reached.
  'There! " came a voice, quickly followed by slugs that
  tore into the crates near Carter's head.
  He backpedaled into the darkness. He stumbled into a
  second pile of crates, then lunged into the opening between
  them.
  "He's coming around, Jacques!" yelled the voice from
  the walkway in guttural French.
  Jacques had just dropped from the crates to the floor when
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  NICK CARTER
  Carter rounded the comer. Without breaking stride, Kill-
  master N3 flipped the Skorpion to full "auto" and stitched
  the man from belly to beret.
  Carter leaped over the body and kept running, replacing
  the magazine as he moved. The walkway man—or men—
  tried to nail him each time he crossed an opening, but their
  aim was lousy, and from the spacing of the shots and their
  sound , Carter guessed they hadn 't come equipped. A couple
  of .357s, or maybe .45s.
  No match for the Skorpion.
  Carter skidded to a halt just short of daylight beyond the
  last bunch of crates. Ihey had followed his progress with the
  light. He crouched, gave a banshee yells and skidded the
  Skorpion across the steel floor, right through the center of the
  As lead whined around the clattering gun, throwing up
  sparks, Carter drew Wilhelmina and stepped around the
  comer. Bracing his right wrist with his left hand, he out
  the light with two shots,
  In the brief afterglow he spotted two of them, one on each
  side of the spotlight. He chose right, swinging Wilhelmina
  nose over.
  It was a dead-center shot, nearly straight up. Carter
  his time, fiHng twice with careful precision. Saffron flame
  burst from Wilhelmina's muzzle.
  Both slugs took the other shooter high in the chest. He let
  out a screarn, threw his arms wide, and took a dive down the
  stairs.
  Before the man hit bottom, Carter had holstered the 9mm
  Luger and retrieved the Skorpion. He was already headed for
  the stairs when he saw the flashing figure of the third gunman
  running like hell down the walkway. He was firing wildly at
  where he thought Carter should be. But Carter wasn 't there.
  He was already going up the stairs three at a time, sliding the
  steel stock of the Skorpion back and locking it,
  At the top, he shouldered the machine pistol and steadied it
  over the top step. Back on ' 'semi, ' ' Carter fired a three-round
  burst. The guy spun, fell to his back, and skidded anotherfive
  feet.
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  BUDAPEST RUN
  9
  Carter stood and moved along the walkway. He'd covered
  half the distance by the time the man finally got his feet under
  him. The guy used the rail to pull himself all the way up, and
  then he turned to face Carter.
  It was the same lowlife from whom Carter had bought the
  Skorpion that aftemoon. His one eye was dripping tears of
  pain, and a few more of his teeth were missing from hitting
  the wall.
  Everybody in Marseille, Carter thought, worked both
  sides of the street.
  "I've had it*' the Moroccan said in French, raising his
  right armÄis left was a bloody mess.
  "Yeah, you have."
  Carter stitched a figure eight across his chest without
  breaking stride. The man went over the railing in slow mo-
  tion, doing a flip before he hit the floor below with a thud.
  Ten feet from the office door, Carter stopped. He waited
  several minutes to let his eardrums acclimate themselves to
  the sudden silence before he spoke.
  "You really are an asshole, Lutov. "
  take it there can be no trade now?"
  'VYou know it. "
  ' 'Who are you?"
  . Nick Carter. "
  There was a long silence. Carter grew tired of waiting it
  out. With his back to the wall, he started sidestepping toward
  the light and the room.
  The Skorpion 's muzzle was just edging around the dcx»r-
  jamb when the room exploded with sound. It was quickly
  followed by the unmistakable sound of a falling body and
  metal on metal.
  One told it all.
  Lutov had more guts than Carter had credited him with. He
  lay in the center of the room. A lot of his head was against a
  far wall, and beside him was a Magnum, the muzzle still
  oozing gray smoke.
  Carter wiped his prints from the Skorpion, discarded it,
  and then went to work On Lutov.
  The pockets produced the usual garbage: wallet, phony
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  NICK CARTER
  passport, money from three countries, and two sets of keys.
  One set belonged to the Fiat outside. It was rented. The other
  was a hotel key, attached to a big European-style hunk of
  plastic.
  ' 'Résidence du Vieux Port," Carter mumbled. ' 'Eighteen
  Quai du Port. "
  He pocketed the key and slid Hugo, a pencil-thin, razor-
  sharp stiletto, from its resting place in a chamois sheath
  tonight attached to his right calf instead of to his right fore-
  arrn, its usual spot. Using the stiletto, Carter pried Lutov's
  watch apart. Finding nothing there, he went after the shoes
  and then the lining, hems, and cuffs of the man's clothes.
  He worked deftly, like the professional he was. He ex-
  pected to find nothing and was rewarded in kind. Whatever
  the meat of Lutov's trade offer had been—if there had been
  anything at all—was probably in his hotel room.
  Carter wiped the blood from his hands on the man 's torn
  clothing, discarded the Skorpion's remaining magazine
  from his pocket, and made for the door.
  With no traffic it was a fifteen-minute drive up the Rue de
  la République to the Vieux Port. He parked the Citroen in
  front of the Office du Tourisme, where he had rented it the
  day before, and hoofed it the four blocks to the hotel.
  Eighteen Quai du Port consisted of a sidewalk café, the
  hotel entrance, and a small bakery shop. Even at two in the
  moming, the restaurants, cafés, and bars lining the quai were
  going strong. The air was filled with laughter and the ever
  present aroma of chocolate. Carter had always remembered
  the new port of Marseille because of this oddity; it was so
  near the water, yet the smell was ofchocolate rather than fish.
  He paused in front of the glass door leading into the hotel 's
  tiny lobby. To the left was the elevator, to the right a narrow
  counter for registration. The concierge was a tall, balding
  man with metal-framed eyeglasses and a severely trimmed
  gray mustache,
  He looked conservative but bribable.
  Carter preferred not to take the chance. Lighting a
  cigarette, he stumbled through the sidewalk tables and into
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  11
  the interior of the smoky bar. Along the way he hit the
  a couple of tables, and three customers. After
  several slurred apologies, he reached a stool at the bar.
  He ordered a double whiskey, again putting an obvious
  slur to his words, and looked over his fellow customers.
  There were few , if any , tourist types other than himself. Most
  were older, neighborhood denizens, with lined faces and
  worn clothing. In the rear, around a loud jukebox, he saw a
  few rockers in leather.
  Then he syw what he wanted, two at one table, three at
  another: hookers with that look ofcalculated boredom in their
  eyes untifthey spotted him.
  Carefully he looked each of them over in turn until he
  spotted one he thought would fit the bill. He gave her a
  lopsided smile.
  She was on her feet and moving fast before Carter's lips
  finished stretching.
  He watched her maneuver through the tables. She wasn 't
  bad-looking, a dark-skinned Algerian with a nice oval face.
  She had a good figure that looked firm and youthful, with
  high pouting breasts and a flowing line to her belly that left
  none of the charms just under it to the imagination,
  All in all, she was much too much for the bar, butjust right
  for the Résidence du Vieux Port.
  "Bonjour, monsieur. It is a lovely night."
  "It is, " Caner said, matching her French.
  "American?" Carter nodded. "Lnnely American?" He
  nodded agaim ' Three hundred francs. I can get the rcx)rn. "
  Carter smiled. "You're underpricing yourself. "
  She shrugged. "My sisters and I are in a contest. How do
  you say in America? I want to win a scholarship. "
  Carter laughed drunkenly and ran a finger down the line of
  her jaw. "Where can you get a room?"
  "Upstairs. "
  Bingo, Carter thought, and let a smile be his assent.
  "It's another fifty francs, "
  '*Do we have to go through the lobby?"
  Her smile grew broader. It was a common question. "No,
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  NICK CARTER
  back there. "
  I can take care of it. There are stairs . .
  Carter produced a roll and passed her five ten-franc notes.
  She strolled provocatively away, her high-boned, hollow-
  cheeked buttocks straining the material of her dress to the
  breaking point.
  By the time Caner finished the whiskey she returned,
  dangling a key on a hunk of plastic just like the one in his
  pocket. He spotted the number and couldn 't suppress a smile.
  It was 502. The one in his pocket was 508.
  "Let's go. "
  business before pleasure
  "Down here?"
  She nodded, and Carter shrugged. He produced the roll,
  counted off the and passed it to her. She rolled the
  bills tight and, with a motion of her head to follow her,
  moved toward the rear of the bar.
  As she passed the last table before the exit, her arm
  brushed against a man's, and the bills changed hands.
  He was a well-built but overdressed dude who slouched in
  the chair with his legs draped over the table. Carter placed
  him in one quick glance—wide-brimmed hat, well-tailored,
  expensive suit, patent shoes, and a glittering ring on every
  finger.
  In France pimps are called mecs. This guy had mec written
  all over him.
  "The back stairs are this way," she murmured. "It's five
  flights up .
  "I'm healthy," Carter grinned, and he followed her
  bouncy behind up the five flights.
  They were in the room less than ten seconds before the
  zipper down the back of her dress was making a clicking
  sound. She shimmied her hips and shoulders. then her breasts
  and hips, until the dress slithered down around her ankles.
  With a deft kick of her foot, the dress landed neatly across the
  back of a chair.
  "French or straight or both, handsome? For three hundred
  francs you have your choice. "
  *Cigarettes. "
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  BUDAPEST RUN
  13
  "I forgot my cigarettes, " Carter said, patting his pockets
  and moving to the door, "I'll be right back. "
  "Monsieur, I don't have all night .
  He paused.
  She stcxxi hipshot beside the bed, her pretty little face
  telling with a look that she thought he was crazy. Her brown
  skin was like ebony in the room's eerie night-for-day light.
  Her breasts were large, darkly nippled, and firm.
  She was nice. Carter was tempted, but not that tempted.
  He pried an*her hundred francs from his roll and passed it to
  her.
  "Now caw you wait?"
  'It 's your money, " she shrugged, flopping across the bed
  as Carter moved into the hall.
  Pulling on a pair of skintight black driving gloves, he
  moved down the corridor, counting off room numbers.
  Room 508 wasjust like 502, but there was a suitcase on the
  bed, two suits in the closet, and shirts in a drawer. With
  Hugo's help, Carter made short work of them all.
  The only thing of significance was a penciled notation
  inside the cuff of one of the shirts: Carlyle , 17 Rue de Mont
  Parnasse.
  Carter ripped the cuff from the shirt, stuck it into his
  pocket, and began scouring the room. It took ten minutes
  before he found what he guessed Lutov was willing to trade: a
  photo and three typed sheets taped to the underside of a desk
  drawer.
  Lutov was not only forgetful and had to write addresses on
  a cuff, he was also a careless amateur when he tried to do
  more than be a lx)stman.
  The photo was a small Polaroid of a woman about to get
  into a taxi. It was a side view, a head-and-shoulder shot. She
  had a striking profile only Slightly marred by large-rimmed
  glasses. Her hair was black, pulled back severely and
  bunched at the nape of her neck. It was difficult to tell from
  the side view, but Carter's first impression was that she was a
  schoolteacher on sabbatical.
  But he found out differently when he scanned the typed
  sheets.
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  NICK CARTER
  The name was Melissa Lane. Carter read her age, her
  habits, her current place of residence, and her background
  and education. But what really interested him and brought a
  low whistle to his lips was her current occupation.
  If the Baron, the Soviets, and Qaddafi were all interested
  in Melissa Lane, Carter was sure David Hawk, head of AXE,
  would also be interested.
  He left the key on the bed, snapped off the lights, and
  pulled the gloves from his hands as he moved quietly past
  502.
  "Quick
  damn quick," the mec sneered as Carter
  strolled past his table.
  "l am like the rabbit," Carter said with a shrug, and he
  walked into the street.
  In the distance he heard the odd, howling sirens of French
  police cars, and he wondered if they were headed for the
  camage he had left at the warehouse.
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  TWO
  The showroom and the dressing rooms of the House
  of Honoré bubbled with a powerful mood of anticipa-
  tion. Tall, lithe, near-naked models sat before huge, brightly
  lit mirrors, patting and spraying the last wisp of hair into
  place, applying the final bit of gloss to pouting lips, and
  adding just a tiny dab more mascara to already seductive and
  lustrous eyes.
  In the showroom itself, subdued lighting in constantly
  changing colors illuminated the object of all eyes: the long
  runway that stretched nearly the length of the elegant and
  tastefully furnished The aura, too, was subdued, with
  champagne glasses lightly clinking and conversation at a low
  hum.
  Behind a lighted scrim near the mnway's beginning, a
  string quartet played muted Mozart. Tuxedoed waiters
  moved deftly through the assembled buyers, press, and
  well-wishers, taking orders for drinks or anything else the
  well-dressed guests needed.
  •me reason for all this was Honoré de Matin 's new fall line.
  The start of the show was seconds away.
  Only one woman in the crowded room seemed calm and
  completely unconcemed. She sat alone, far to the rear, idly
  fingering the program across the purse in her lap.
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  NICK CARTER
  She was a strikingly attractive woman, clothed in a belted
  navy sheath that fit her tall figure like a second skin. The
  figure beneath the sheath had the clean, tapered hollows and
  curves of a fashion model, which the woman had been until
  five years before.
  Her hair was reddish blond and hung loosely to her shoul-
  ders. It Icxjked totally natural, but on closer examination one
  could see that it had been carefully disciplined into its coif-
  'Mademoiselle . . . " Thewaiterpaused, his eye flicking
  to the adhesive-backed paper name tag placed just atx:we the
  . Carlyle, a drink9"
  swell of the woman's left breast. "
  'Won, merci."
  'Oui, mademoiselle."
  The waiter moved away, and the woman opened her pro-
  gram. A blood-red nail moved slowly down the page, not
  over the description of the apparel but through names of the
  models, and stopped.
  The name beneath the tapping nail was Tanya Lane.
  "How do you feel after your first Paris show, chérie?"
  "Wonderful, exhilarated! " Tanya Lane replied, impul-
  sively kissing Madame de Matin on each cheek,
  "You were excellent and very beautiful. You do good
  thingsfor my son's clothes."
  "Thank you, madame. "
  "You are young and very beautiful. Your success in New
  York is nothing compared to the success you will have here in
  Paris. You have the haute couture Parisian look. I fear
  runway work will not be enough for you, my dear. •me
  photographers will find you, and the magazines will take you
  away from us. "
  Tanya flushed and kissed the woman again. "Never would
  I completely leave you and Honoré after all you've done for
  me by bringing me to France. "
  Tanya Lane was not beautiful in the insipid, very-pretty-
  girl sense of the word. Her very tall, graceful figure, her
  perfect porcelain features, and her jet-black hair and enor-
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  mous dark eyes created a dramatic and dynamic fascination
  in all those who saw her.
  She had wanted to be a model—and , most of all, a Parisian
  mcxiel—-since she had done her first television commercial at
  the age of ten in San Francisco. Now she was nineteen, and
  her dream was coming true.
  '€1 think you will one day soon make your parents very
  proud of you. "
  'SI have no parents. They were killed in a plane crash
  several years ago. "
  ' 'Oh, so sorry, " Madame de Matin replied, a of
  genuine condolence on her face that only the French can
  proFrrIy master.
  wasraisedbymysister, Melissa. . . and, yes, she will
  be very proud of me. "
  ' 'Tanya Lane9"
  "Oui?" Tanya turned. One of the waiters from the show-
  room was holding a silver tray in her direction. On it was a
  folded piece of paper.
  'SA message, mademoiselle, "
  Tanya opened the note, and a card slipped into her hand.
  She glanced at it briefly, then scanned the note.
  My dear Miss Lane:
  Could we possibly have drinks at La
  Madeleine after the show and reception? We are lcx)king
  for just the right face for a new scent. I think you might
  be that face.
  Should you decide to meet me, I urge you not
  to mention our meeting to anyone. I'm sure you know
  that anything concerning the launch of a new campaign
  must be kept confidential.
  Sincerely,
  Alexis Carlyle
  Tanya flipped the card, and a tiny gasp escaped her lips.
  ALEXIS CARLYLE, agent de MATELON.
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  NICK CARTER
  Matelon, she thought, the finest fashion photographer in
  France . . . and he wants to see me!
  "What is it, chérie? Good news?"
  "Wha? .
  Yes, oh, yes," Tanya replied, folding the
  note over the card. "Very good news. I must shower quickly
  if you will excuse me, madame?"
  Tanya slipped card and note into her purse. Then, with a
  rippling laugh of exaltation, she grabbed a towel and ran
  toward the showers at the far end of the dressing room.
  Madame de Matin was never one to deny her curiosity.
  Nor, in her entire life, had she ever had any compunctions
  about how she assuaged it.
  Gently, between thumb and forefinger, she Withdrew the
  card from the note just enough to read MATELON.
  "Ooo-la-la," she muttered just under her breath. "Mate-
  Ion. This girl, she does move quickly!"
  Alexis Carlyle shrugged the light, matching navy jacket
  from her shoulders so that it hung carelessly over the back of
  her chair. With a smile she extended a gold cigarette case
  toward the raven-haired beauty across the table.
  "No, thank you. I don't smoke."
  "Very intelligent of you, my dear. It does seem stupid to
  ruin one's health just to have something to do with one's
  hands. "
  The cool, reddish-haired woman lit a cigarette with
  aplomb, then snapped the magnetic lighter back against the
  case. Tanya watched her every move. This woman, she
  thought, had poise and class. Though she had spoken flaw-
  less French to the maitre d' and the waiter, her English was
  very much American.
  ' 'Are you an American?" Tanya ventured.
  "I was," Alexis replied with an odd smile that didn't
  move any part of her face except her lips. "A long time ago.
  Now, let us talk. You told no one of our meeting?"
  "Not a soul. "
  ' 'Good. I will go directly to the point. Poseidon is coming
  out with a new scent later this year. We are all very excited
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  19
  about it. Monsieur Matelon has the entire promotional cont
  tract, The face that launches the new Poseidon fragrance will
  become known the world over. "
  "Ohhh .
  "What is it?"
  "I think I might faint," Tanya intoned.
  ' 'Now, now, don't get your hopes up too fast, my dear.
  You must be screened by Matelon. There will be at least
  three, perhaps more, photo sessions. We have rented a villa
  in the south to conduct these sessions. They must be done in
  secret, you.'understand. "
  "But all diis secrecy?"
  ' 'My beautiful young girl, " Alexis Carlyle replied in
  a chiding voice, "when Matelon is searching for a new star,
  don 't you think people—-competition—would like to know
  "A star .
  "Yes. Now, can you leave Paris for, say, about three
  Mentally, Tanya went through the bookings her French
  agent had set up for her. "I have one small print job the day
  after tomorrow that my agent has set up. After that, one day
  of the show, and I can be clear."
  "Gcxxi," Alexis said with a nod, pounding her cigarette
  into shreds in an ashtray. "Your agent?"
  "Madame Lumoine. I will have to tell her-—
  "But---
  "Tell Madame Lumoine that you are tired. Tell her that
  you have need of St.-Tropez for a few weeks. "
  Tanya chuckled. "l can't afford St.-TrolEz! "
  "You can now, Tanya. Just the screening photo sessions
  alone are five hundred dollars a day for the mcxiel. "
  Tanya felt as if her knees would turn to water. Five hun-
  dred dollars a day just for a screening session, and that would
  be a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to what awaited
  her if she got the job!
  "l would also urge you not to tell your friends the true
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  NICK CARTER
  reason for your 'vacation. ' Do you have a roommate?"
  ' 'No, the only other people in my building are an old maid
  over seventy and a quaint little man who loves to tell me
  about his children. "
  "Perfect. "
  "But there is my sister, Melissa. She's in the States——in
  New Mexico. Could I tell her?"
  An enigmatic smile slowly spread across Alexis Carlyle's
  heavily glossed lips. "Of course, Tanya. I don't think it
  would present a problem to tell your sister. "
  The chauffeur, a gargantuan man with small, beady eyes,
  placed Tanya's bag in the trunk of the long black 'limousine,
  then held the door for her.
  ' 'Good evening, darling! " Alexis said, leaning forward in
  the seat to kiss Tanya on both cheeks. "Here, sit between us.
  Tanya, this is Nedda Alfree. "
  Nedda Alfree was a short, powerfully built woman with
  voluminous breasts that bulged the front of her black great-
  coat like pillows. The sleeves of the coat were inches too
  short, and Tanya noticed that the woman's bare forearms
  were as heavily muscled as a man 's.
  "Goot day Fräulein , ' ' the woman said, nodding her head
  stiffly.
  "Are you German?" Tanya asked, smiling.
  "Nein, no more. I am a child of de world now. "
  "Pay no atterition to Nedda, darling," Alexis smiled.
  "She thinks the world is going to hell and only she can save
  it. That's why she cuts her hair like a storm trooper's helmet.
  Yuri, let's be off!"
  The big car glided forward, and in what seemed like
  minutes they were on the main highway out of Paris, heading
  south.
  Time and miles flew by. Alexis and Tanya chattered. Ihe
  tanklike woman to Tanya's left rarely spoke, and when she
  did it was in monosyllabic grunts.
  Tanya was in mid-question about the personality of Mate-
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  21
  Ion, when she fleetingly noted a highway sign with the arrow
  to the Cöte d'Azur pointing to the right and the arrow to
  Geneva pointing left.
  The limousine turned left.
  A few miles farther down the highway, Tanya mentioned
  it. "Didn't you say the villa that Monsieur Matelon rented
  was on the Cöte d'Azur .
  near St.-Tropez?"
  "Did I? I don't remember," Alexis replied coolly.
  "Yes, I'm sure you did. This is the road to Switzerland.
  We're not going out of the country, are we? I mean, I didn 't
  bring my p sport. .
  "You w n't need one, my dear, I assure you. "
  Suddenly Tanya felt the change of mood in the car, She
  sensed something was wrong, and this was magnified when
  she glanced up to see the chauffeur's wide, ugly face leering
  at her in the rearview mirror.
  "Uh, Alexis, I don't think I understand. I think—
  "Nedda . .
  "Ihe German woman's thick arms engulfed Tanya like a
  vise. Her stubby fingers held a towel that she roughly mashed
  over the girl's face.
  Tanya struggled against the powerful woman's grip as the
  car filled with a sickly sweet cxior.
  g The windows, Yuri!" Alexis shouted. "Good God, the
  stench will put us all to sleep!"
  Tanya's legs in Alexis's grasp and her body in Nedda
  Alfree's grip spasmed a few times, then went limp.
  s she breathing? She looks dead .
  ' 'I am a nurse, among many other things, Carlyle, ' ' Nedda
  growled. "I know my job. She will sleep for at least twelve
  hours. "
  The big car gained speed, and twenty minutes later it
  turned off the main highway. After an equal amount of time
  on small dirt roads, often no more than cart paths, Yuri
  Gorgon turned into a narrow lane between two white col-
  A long lane wound through fields gone to weed. Moments
  later they pulled into what appeared from the outside to be a
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  NICK CARTER
  deserted bam. The limo's engine had barely died before the
  wide double were closed behind them and a pair of
  lanterns were lit.
  Two men waited behind a blue and white ambulance. Ihe
  rear door of the ambulance was open, and a gumey rested on
  the straw-strewn dirt floor at the men's feet.
  The limo had barely rocked to a halt when Yuri was out of
  the car and barking orders.
  "Hurry! Get her changed and onto the gurney!"
  Tanya Lane was deftly stripped to bra and pantyhose by
  Nedda Alfree and the two men. When a hospital gown had
  replaced her clothes, she was placed on the gurney , covered
  with a blanket, and strapped down.
  While this was being done, Yuri Gorgon traded his black
  coat for a white one and replaced the chauffeur's cap with a
  white ambulance driver's beret.
  On the other side of the limo, Alexis Carlyle peeled away
  the designer original she had been wearing and donned a
  nurse's uniform, complete with a narrow, peaked cap.
  While the two men transferred the luggage from the trunk
  of the limo to the storage compartrnent of the ambulance,
  Nedda lifted Tanya, gurney and all, as if the whole weighed
  no more than a feather, into the rear.
  When the gurney was secured, she shed her black great-
  coat. Beneath it she wore a uniform similar to the one Alexis
  now wore. To it she added a cap, and then she checked
  Tanya's pulse and respiration.
  "All right?" Yuri asked from the front seat.
  "Fine," the big woman replied.
  Yuri nodded and put the ambulance into gear. As soon as
  the barn 's double doors were opened wide enough, the ambu-
  lance shot forward and sped down the twisting lane and back
  out between the two columns.
  Forty-five minutes laters, a border guard at the Swiss
  frontier climbed into the rear Of the ambulance between the
  two nurses, one thin and attractive, the other fat and ugly.
  He opened the passport and moved it down beside the
  sleeping girl's face.
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  The photographs matched.
  "Fräulein Anna Berg?"
  "Ja,ja, " answered the fat one.
  ' *Fourteen Beiderstrasse, Innsbruck?"
  23
  "Oui, " said the pretty one. "It is a mental hospital."
  "A pity," the guard said, shaking his head. "She is so
  very pretty. "
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  THREE
  Lutov and the three Marseille lowlifes had rated two inches
  of one column in the Paris dailies, and nothing in the En-
  glish-language International Herald Tribune.
  Carter had dropped off the Citroen, trained to Toulouse,
  and, like any other tourist, had rented a Fiesta and driven to
  Paris. Ten hours after the Marseille donnybrook, he'd ccxled
  his report and the Melissa Lane information to David Hawk at
  AXE headquarters in Washington's Dupont Circle.
  He'd also requested a week 's sun and fun before returning
  to Washington. The reply had come back quickly: "Hold for
  twenty-four hours. "
  He 'd held, but it hadn 't taken twenty-four hours; only ten
  hours later a liaison man awoke him in his hotel room and
  ushered him, rx)sthaste, into the Paris office of Amalgamated
  Press and Wire Services.
  In the rear of the tiny Amalga!nated offices off the
  Champs-Élysées, there was a larger room. This room was all
  David Hawk's raspy, growling voice had come through
  loud and clear on the scrambler phone.
  ' 'It might be something and it might not, N3, but Melissa
  Lane is a valuable commodity, so we jumped right on your
  info, ' '
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  NICK CARTER
  "And four days ago Melissa Lane got a telephone call
  from her sister, Tanya, in Paris. Three days ago she got
  another phone call. We don 't know from whom. But hours
  later Melissa requested, and got, a month's leave. By the
  time our caution for more security on Melissa Lane got to
  White Sands, the lady in question was on vacation. "
  '*Is that so (kid?" Carter asked.
  "In a way. She's been at White Sands for almost four years
  and has hardly taken a day off, let alone a month. Two
  legmen did some talking with her coworkers. It seems the
  little sister, Tanya, is a model in Paris. She phoned to tell
  Melissa that she was getting a big break. She was auditioning
  to be the face that would be used to sell a new perfume. For
  the rest of that day and part of the next, Melissa was elated.
  Then the second call came, and she was all nerves, edgy, not
  at all herself. "
  "Maybe little sister didn't get the deal, "
  "Could be. But it could be worse," Hawk said. "In any
  event, it's worth a little legwork." Carter was about to
  remind his superior that he was not a legman, but Hawk
  anticipated that and added, '€1 know this isn 't your bag, N3,
  but we're on it now, and since you 're there I think it wise if
  you follow it up. Use your Amalgamated Press credentials
  and get to this Tanya. Make sure there's no connection
  between little sister's situation and big sister's sudden 'vaca-
  tion.' "
  "You must have people on Melissa Lane, " Carter replied.
  "Have them ask her. "
  "Can't. Melissa is very clever. She gave her watchdogs
  the slip in Dallas. We thought we had heron a Miami flight,
  but when the flight landed she wasn't on it. "
  "Is Melissa Lane really this important?"
  "You read Lutov's résumé on her?"
  "Yes. "
  "Well, it wasn't complete
  double it. "
  Carter copied down what the White Sands operatives had
  been able to glean on Tanya Lane, then went to work.
  From an old woman in the flat below Tanya 's, he learned
  that she had just finished a show with Honoré de Matin. From
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
  27
  the great designer himself, he learned that Tanya's agent was
  a Madame Lumoine.
  they have no sense of responsibility!" the
  "Youth. .
  agent exclaimed. "She does a big show, I have her primed
  for even bigger things, and off she goes for a three-week
  vacation to St.-Tropez! "
  •mat sent needles up Carter's spine that he tried to shrug off
  by reasoning that both sisters just wanted some time together
  away from it all.
  He went Ipack to the House ofHonoré. Honoré was out, but
  his mother,was in.
  "Mon dieu already the press is on to the girl 's success and
  I don 't even know what it is! "
  "Well, " Carter replied coyly, "Idon 't know if it could be
  terrned success . . .
  yet. "
  "If Monsieur Matelon wants to see the girl, it is success-
  ful, whatever it is! "
  It took another half hour of roundabout questioning for
  Nick Carter to find out just who Maurice Matelon was.
  "Do you mean to say, ' ' Madame de Matin declared, "that
  with a pending appointment with Matelon, Tanya went on
  vacation?"
  "Appointment . . . ? "
  Madame de Matin told him of seeing Matelon's card—
  "by accident' '—in Tanya's purse.
  It took several phone calls and a little arm-twisting for
  Carter to get an appointment to interview the great Matelon.
  At last the man agreed to give Carter a half hour over drinks
  at L 'Express.
  Caner had two hours to kill until the appointment. On a
  flyer he went by 17 Rue de Mont Parnasse. Carlyle, Alexis,
  had Apartment 4---the entire fourth floor.
  A answered the bell.
  "Mademoiselle Carlyle is not here, monsieur. "
  she left several messages for me to come
  around this aftemoon. What time will she be back?"
  "Eh," the old woman shrugged, "she is on vacation."
  Now the hackles were really racing up Carter Ss spine; there
  were too many people vacauoning at the same time.
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  NICK CARTER
  At precisely three o'clock, Carter slid into a booth at
  L 'Express. He had finished his second drink and was nursing
  a third when le grand Matelon stopped at his table with a
  flourish.
  Underneath the garish clothes and wide-brimmed hat,
  Matelon was a little man with a Vandyke, baby blue eyes,
  pointy shoes, a lisp, a paunch, and nail polish.
  "You are the reporter, Monsieur Carter?"
  "That's right, sir," Carter replied, rising and extending
  his hand. ' 'Nick Carter, Amalgamated Press and Wire Serv-
  ices.
  "Sit, sit, " the lisp said, touching Carter's with
  his own and getting into the booth. "You have precisely
  thiny minutes. I am very busy today. I'll have a Perrier with a
  slice of lime. "
  In between stops after leaving Madame de Matin, Carter
  had given himself a crash course in The World of French
  Fashion and Cosmetics, skimming a few important fashion
  magazines picked up at a newsstand, and spending a few
  minutes studying the perfume and makeup displays in a fancy
  drugstore. For the next fifteen minutes he hoped he dropped
  enough names and trade jargon into his questions to make the
  interview believable.
  From Monsieur Matelon 's responses, he assumed he was
  succeeding.
  Eventually he managed to get around to the real reason for
  the interview.
  "Our readers in the States are naturally very interested in
  young American girls who come to Paris seeking a career in
  modeling. "
  Matelon emitted a disdainful snort. "I do not know what
  on earth for, Most of them end up being mistress to some
  sheik or starring in trashy films! "
  Caner ignored the remark and pressed on. "We've heard
  the rumor that you are particularly interested in a girl by the
  name of Tanya Lane. "
  One eyebrow shot up, the other lowered, and Matelon's
  high forehead furrowed for only a moment before he an-
  swered. "I have never heard of the girl."
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  Carter slid the most recent photo he had of Tanya across
  the table.
  'Nice .
  . very nice. She has good bones. " Matelon slid
  the photo back toward Carter. might be interested. "
  "But you haven't contacted her?"
  "No, I have not. Who handles her?"
  ' 'A woman named Lumoine. "
  ' 'lhen God knows I wouldn 't have contacted her! " Mate-
  Ion said, his face suddenly flushed. "I refuse to use any of
  that bitch's freople! "
  Carter digested this for a moment, but before he could ask
  another qUestion a shadow fell across the table. A slender,
  dark-haired/young man had woven his way through the
  sidewalk tables and now stood down at them.
  "I'm sorry I'm late, " the young man said. "I hung around
  hoping for a second reading." His finger lightly flicked
  Tanya's picture around on the table.
  "You didn 't get the part, did you, Roddy?' ' Matelon said,
  obvious elation in his voice. "I told you you wouldn't. Dear
  God, they wanted a Belmondotype. . . someone older and
  world-weary! "
  "Well, you've never turned away the young and inno-
  cent," Roddy snapped.
  Suddenly he turned admiring velvet eyes on Carter. "Are
  you an actor?"
  "Reporter," Carter replied, wanting to add, "And I kill
  people," to wipe the smug grin off the kid's face.
  Roddy started to sit down. "Do be a dear, Maurice, and
  order me a drink. I'm simply parched! "
  Matelon dropped a hundred-franc note on the table.
  "Drink it somewhere else. You embarrass me. "
  Roddy shot him a murderous glance and stormed out of the
  café.
  "That young man is outstaying his welcome," Matelon
  said. "l met him through a friend a few weeks ago, and
  already he's boring. Is there anything else, Monsieur Car-
  "Not really, " Carter sighed, pretty sure now that every-
  body 's 'vacation " wasn 't a coincidence. Matelon was about
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  NICK CARTER
  to rise when Carter decided to take a chance. "Monsieur
  Matelon, you wouldn't happen to know a woman named
  Alexis Carlyle, would you?"
  "ButofcourseVwould, dear boy. Shewasamodel. . . I
  used her quite often, years ago. She's out of the business
  now, though. The fast lane of modeling wasn 't fast enough
  for Alexis. She wanted to make it all, and make it fast . .
  and she did. At least I gather she did. She lives extremely
  well. Odd you should ask about Alexis . .
  "It was at one of her soirees that I met little Roddy. "
  Rodney Bucknell moved along the sidewalk away from
  L 'Express. By the time he reached and turned a comer, the
  mincing steps had become more like the powerful strides of
  the athlete he was. Ihe hips no longer swayed, and the
  shoulders grew straighter and seemed to expand in the tight
  sweater he wore.
  Three blocks from the café, he turned into a telephone
  exchange.
  "Local," he said to the girl behind the center desk.
  ' 'Booth three, monsieur, on the left. "
  "Merci."
  Rodney dialed the number from memory, waited two
  rings, and dialed again.
  "Rodney Bucknell, Paris. "
  "Your number?" Rodney gave the voice the number of
  the exchange and his booth. 'Two minutes."
  Exactly two minutes later, the phone rang and Rcxlney
  grabbed the receiver.
  'Bucknell?"
  "Yes."
  "Hold, please. "
  A moment later a second voice, speaking cultured French
  only slightly laced with a German accent, came on the line.
  "The Baron here. Go ahead, Rodney. "
  Just the voice sent a chill up Rodney's spine. He had never
  met its owner, but he knew the man's power.
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  "The tall gentleman with the hard eyes—the American
  who was at the House of Honoré?"
  "Yes."
  'He is with Matelon now, and he has a picture ofthe girl. ' '
  "Do you know his name or affiliation?"
  "He claims to be a reporter."
  "I doubt it. Keep following him and inquire discreetly of
  Monsieur Matelon as soon as you can what the American
  wanted. "
  "Will do. Anything else?"
  "Yes. He was also seen at Mademoiselle Carlyle's. If he
  returns {here, Idll him. "
  Rodney'S knuckles went white where they were clasped
  around the receiver.
  'VAre you still there, Rodney?"
  "Yes. "
  "Did you hear what I said?"
  "Yes, Baron. You said kill him. "
  "That 's right, Rodney. I 'm sure you can handle it. I mean,
  it's not something you haven't done before, is it?"
  "No, Baron, it isn't."
  "Good. Stay in touch. "
  The phone went dead in Rodney's ear.
  Damn , he thought,/ should have told him. do this one , I
  want my evidence file back. . . all of it.
  As long as the Baron had the file of evidence he had
  accumulated on Rodney Bucknell's past contract killings,
  Rodney was the Baron's lackey.
  Rodney wanted that file back. He wanted to be no one's
  lackey.
  Carter checked his watch. It was one in the moming.
  Across the street only two lights burned, both on the third
  floor of 17.
  From all his running around Paris, a pattern had emerged:
  Tanya Lane was gone. . . poof, disappeared; Melissa Lane
  had also disappeared.
  Carter was pretty sure Alexis Carlyle was somehow in the
  middle of it. That was why he now stood in the shadows of
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  NICK CARTER
  Rue de Mont Parnasse at one in the moming.
  He already had enough to call Hawk with a theory, but he
  had decided to run one more check just in case he could add a
  tidbit or two.
  The check was on Alexis Carlyle's flat.
  After a quick look right and left, he stepped into the street.
  The sound of his heels on the old cobblestones sounded like
  thunder in his ears until he made the opposite sidewalk and
  then the stoop of Number 17.
  He rang Apartment 4 with his right hand while he maneu-
  vered the pick in his left. Impatiently he bounced from one
  foot to the other, as if he were waiting for the buzz that would
  let him in.
  Instead, the tumblers made a clicking sound under the
  pick's pressure, and he was inside, the door closing sound-
  lessly behind him.
  He pulled off his shoes and, bypassing the elevator, went
  up the stairs two at a time. The door to Apartment 4 had three
  locks. It took twenty seconds longer to open the three than
  Nick had expended on the one downstairs.
  Alexis Carlyle did indeed live extremely well, considering
  what he had leamed after leaving Matelon that afternoon.
  The former model had had no visible means of support for the
  last five years.
  The foyer was large, and it opened onto a huge living room
  adorned with gilded moldings, Oriental rugs, and expensive
  paintings and tapestries.
  Holding a small penlights Carter spent three minutes doing
  the grand tour. He found a guest bath, a music room, a
  library, a kitchen and pantry, a maid's room, two guest
  bedrooms, and a master suite.
  On the surface there wasn't a single thing in any of the
  rooms that shouldn 't have been there. In the enormous walk-
  in closet of the master suite he found enough furs, daytime
  outfits, and evening wear to costume a Hollywood spectacu-
  lar about fabulously wealthy women and the fashion indus-
  try,
  All in all, la Carlyle either had a very rich or
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  BUDAPEST RUN
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  she was an industrious lady into something that paid a hell of
  a lot more than mcxieling or mistressing.
  Back in the library, Carter went methodically through the
  desk. He slipped an address book into his pocket to check
  later, along with a few matchbooks from the center drawer.
  Matchbcx)ks have a way of tracing peoples' haunts and
  habits.
  From the desk he went to the bookcases. The moldings
  seemed solid, as did the panels behind the books. He was
  about to vacate and do a rerun on the master suite, when his
  light fell båck across the desk top.
  From the other side of the desk it had appeared to be
  nothing more than a plastic paperweight. From where he
  stood now, shining his light, he could see a tiny, clear plastic
  window. Flipping it over in his hand, he found the circuit dial
  and activating bar concealed in its bottom.
  Screwing his brow into furrows of concentration, Carter
  visualized the exterior of Number 17, front and back. He
  could see no garage or doors that would have been a garage.
  But in his hand he held a very elaborate electronic garage
  door opener.
  There were five circuits on the dial setting. It took him
  nearly twenty minutes to go through each of them on the
  walls of the library.
  Nothing.
  ne music room used up another ten minutes. Nothing.
  "Bingo! ' ' he whispered twenty minutes later in the master
  bedroom as one wall in the walk-in closet slid away. Behind
  the wall was a space about four feet deep, ten feet high, and
  another ten feet wide.
  And the space wasn't empty.
  It was what every arms merchant would covet as a sample
  case. *Ihe common manufacturers, such as Beretta, Win-
  chester, Browning, and Ruger, were all represented. But
  there was also no lack of exotics. Caner's fingers trailed over
  an Ingram M-II machine pistol, a case of Soviet 9mm
  Stetchin pistols, several AK-47 assault rifles, a few Galils,
  and even a fair sampling of grenade launchers.
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  NICK CARTER
  "Well, well, " he said to himself, continuing his search,
  "m 'lady Carlyle could start a small war right here in Paris
  from her own sun lu)f. "
  A file folder contained enought "end-user" certificates
  and other documents to ship arrns all over the world. A long
  list from the same file was in code.
  Carter was willing to bet Wilhelmina against a five-franc
  note that the list contained names, addresses, and telephone
  numbers of illegal arms suppliers and merchants all over the
  globe.
  But what had all this to do with Tanya Lane?
  And then he remembered Lutov's mention of the Baron.
  The Baron had his sticky fingers in anything and everything
  that turned to profit.
  There was a lot of profit in military hardware.
  Carter closed the panel, replaced the electronic device in
  the library, and headed for the large front room. He was
  across the king-size Persian rug when he heard the unmis-
  takable sound of a key being turned in the door.
  Quickly he backpedaled and slid into the darkness of the
  library as the door swung open and the front room blossomed
  into light.
  "Alex, it's me. Are you home, darling? I just got in!"
  Carter pulled his hand away from Wilhelmina and tracked
  with his eye through the crack between the door and the
  door frame.
  It was a woman, blond and fairly attractive if one liked
  tall—very tall—model types. She was expensively and taste-
  fully dressed, right down to a pair Of knee-high, soft leather
  Gucci boots.
  "Alex, are you here, darling?" the woman called,
  dropping two bags and making the cape she wore float behind
  her as she moved across the room.
  She wore ultra-chic, huge-lensed tinted glasses, and her
  long blond hair swirled around ber face, partially shielding
  her features, But watching her, Carter thought there was
  something familiar about her face.
  As she drew near the hall and library door, his mind
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
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  clicked over the only two options that occurred to him. He
  could wait, hoping she would go on past the library, then
  slither out the front door. Or he could step out, act nonchal-
  ant, and say that he was a house guest of Carlyle's.
  All options went to hell when the woman drew even with
  the library door. She suddenly threw herself sideways, with
  about ten times more strength and agility than any female
  should own.
  A very powerful shoulder mashed Carter between the door
  and the w l. Instinct brought his hand 'up, fingers curled,
  wrist taut. omanornowoman, he meant to plant the heel of
  his hang- gainst her nose.
  The bloy never landed,
  Whoever she was, her instincts were equal to his, and her
  parrying speed was like lightning. Two hands with a grip like
  steel caught his wHst. She dropped to one knee, pulled, and
  Carter went flying.
  He came up rolling, Wilhelmina in hand. *Ihe woman was
  incredible. Deftly she flicked a wall switch. The sudden
  harsh light made Carter hesitate a fraction of a second.
  It was long enough.
  The woman took one step and was airborne. The heel of
  one boot connected unerringly with Carter's right wrist.
  Wilhelmina shot across the carpet, and a savage pain shot up
  his arm.
  He barely got his head out of the way of the other boot. As
  it was, the stacked heel clipped his ear, buming like hell. On
  the way by, she tried a neck chop, missed, but managed an
  jam that caught Carter squarely on the cheek. His head
  went around, and his body followed.
  Awkwardly he spun until his back slammed painfully up
  against the edge of the door. He saw the woman execute a
  perfect twist and rolL She came down on her boots like a cat,
  legs and skirt spread wide. Beneath the slit in the skirt a
  silenced Walther was strapped against a highly muscled
  thigh.
  This, Nick thought, is no woman!
  A quick scan up with his eyes told him he was right. The
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  NICK CARTER
  glasses were gone and the wig was slightly askew. Behind the
  very carefully layered makeup, Carter recognized Matelon 's
  little friend from L'Express, sweet Roddy.
  The Walther was just coming up as Carter launched a lamp
  from a stand by the door. The young man 's shot was off, but
  not by much. Nick felt it go by his head and slam into the
  wood behind him.
  Before Rcxidy could swing around for another, Carter
  covered the distance between them and chopped down onto
  the forearm of the hand holding the gun.
  Carter knew how painful the blow was, but there was no
  evidence of it on Roddy 's face as the gun fell to the Poor. And
  a guttural oath in French was all that escaped his lips as he
  threw his shoulder into Carter's midsection, effectively
  blocking a second blow.
  Carter managed to wrap his arms around Roddy's, and
  together they rolled across the floor. Two pairs of arrns and
  two pairs of legs wildly tried to find a purchase as they
  slammed into the desk.
  Carter had a good forty pounds on the other man, but
  Roddy more than made up for it with speed, agility, and
  training. It was the training that told the tale. Whoever Roddy
  was, he was no amateur. He had killed before with his bare
  hands, and probably more than once.
  At last Carter got his own powerful fingers into the other's
  throat. He found the windpipe, but before he could apply
  enough pressure, the heavily calloused edge of Roddy 's hand
  slammed into the side of his own neck.
  "You are dead, my friend," Roddy growled, the hand
  swinging up for a death blow.
  "Not quite," Carter hissed, blocking the powerful blow
  with a forearm. He jabbed at Roddy's face with stiff fingers,
  going for the eyes, but the face tumed.
  Carter missed, but he managed to rake the left eye with a
  nail. This brought the first real squawk of pain from Roddy,
  who turned away with a yell.
  Caner shook Hugo from its sheath on his right forearm.
  Before Roddy could turn to face him again, Carter brought
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  his arrns down over the young man's head. He held the
  stiletto by the hilt with both hands, the pint at Roddy 's face.
  Deftly , Carter slipped a full inch of the pencil-thin blade up
  one of his nostrils.
  Roddy froze.
  "Twenty questions time," Carter growled in his ear,
  slowly probing with Hugo until blood ran freely, matching
  the color of Roddy's lips. "Who is the Baron?"
  "I know no baron,"
  "Then whp put the contract on me?"
  Carter th ghthe detected a smile through the bloody lips.
  "Matel
  e thinks you 're a pest. "
  'Bullshit„v Carter said, moving Hugo another quarter of
  an inch up the nostril.
  "Impasse," Roddy said, bringing his hands up to grip
  Carter's wrists.
  Once again Carter was amazed at the smaller man's
  strength, His grip was like steel. Carter could almost sense
  the aura of sinewy power in the man 's forearms as he reso-
  lutely began to pull the blade from his nose.
  Carter applied pressure with his chest on the back of the
  man's head, but his neck was like a small bull's. Carter's
  hands and the stiletto continued to move forward.
  There was nothing for it.
  Carter tensed the muscles in his legs, Using his superior
  strength, he fell forward, driving Roddy's face toward the
  and Hugo into his brain.
  carpet .
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  "What did you do with the body?"
  "Stuffed it behind the closet panel with the artillery. "
  "Rather like leaving a calling card, isn't it, N3?"
  ' 'Exactly. That's what I wanted it to be," Carter said,
  casting a quick sidelong glance at the effect his calm rendi-
  tion of a killing and its aftermath had on Ginger Bateman. To
  her credit, the lady had only flinched once in the telling. Ihat
  was when he had described in lurid detail the final end of
  not-so-sweet Rcxidy on the tip of Hugo's blade.
  ' 'Hmmm," David Hawk said, washing down a last bite of
  filet mignon with Burgundy and pushing his plate to the side.
  Carter hadn't too surprised when he had returned to
  his hotel from Alexis Carlyle's apartrnent and found the
  cryptic message from Hawk: "White Sands nervous. Wash-
  ington boiling. Tlink we had better put a lid on this. Taking
  Concorde. "
  By the time Carter had showered, changed and dictated his
  report to a high-clearance Amalgamated staffer he sum-
  moned to the hotel, the call had come from the Pierre.
  "We're here, Nick, at the Pierre, Suite Seven-twelve."
  "Bateman is with me.Have you eaten?"
  "No.
  *'Good, I'll order."
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  40 NICK CARTER For David Hawk to drop everything at Dupont Cimle and jet to Paris, the Melissa Lane affair had to be very serious business. To bring his beautiful, leggy private secretary, Ginger Bateman, into the field with him was unheard of. Caner had taxied directly to the Pierre and had arrived an hour earlier. As the three of them enjoyed a cream of aspara-gus soup, filet mignon, potatoes, and an endive salad, Carter delivered an oral version of his report. When he was finished, he placed the typed report by Hawk 's plate in case the AXE chief wanted to review it. In the folder with the report was the encoded list be had already assumed to be arms suppliers or, perhaps, buyers. Alexis Carlyle's address book had already been passed along to two crypto people in the AXE center behind the Amalga-mated offices. Now Hawk pushed his bulk away from the table, lit a very smelly cigar, and picked up the typed pages. "What do you think, Nick, besides this?" he asked, rat-tling the papers. Carter shrugged one shoulder and sipped from his glass of Burgundy. *Could be the two sisters just want some privacy, a little time by themselves." "But it looks like more." Carter nodded. "A lot mom. 1 think Alexis Carlyle is tied up with the Baron. She sports the kind of wealth he can provide. Tanya Lane is obviously gone ... lifted? I don't "But it appears that way." Again Carter nodded. "It does. I guess it depends on how important Melissa Lane is. We can already assume that Moscow or one of the satellites wants her, and evidently she's valuable enough that Lutov thought Libya—and God knows who else—would be interested enough in his informa-tion to pay for it." "Bateman," Hawk barked. Ginger Bateman leaned her tall torso toward the briefcase at her feet. The scooped front of her dress fell away to reveal the twin, bulging arcs of her very ample breasts. Caner glanced once, swallowed, and shifted his eyes to
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN 41 concentrate on his wine. He and Ginger had been friends for years, as close friends as two people in their business could be. A couple of times they had been within falling distance of a bed, but nothing had come of it. Not because Nick hadn't wanted to, but because Ginger had been wise enough to back off. "I'm not just a wide-eyed little girl from Atlanta in the big city, Nick," she had drawled. "I've been there and back, and I don't want to worry more than I do when you walk out the door. I let yo bed me down, 1get involved even if you don't. I don't wart to get involved with anybody who has only a fifty percent chance of seeing next Friday." Ginger wan a smart lady then, and she still was. She was also very alluring in a seductive yet understated way. Now, as she rummaged in the briefcase, the fragrance of her per-fume filled Carter's nostrils. mat, combined with the woman's own elusive aura of femininity and businesslike precision, stimulated and excited him. It always had, and he was petty sure it always would. He put it down to man's weakness for the forbidden, and he continued to stare at his wineglass. Ginger carne up with a smile under her mane of dark hair and passed Carter a thick, bound folder. "That's Melissa Lane . . . the whole story." Carter nodded, opened the folder, and digested Melissa Lane. In a nutshell, she was quite a woman. She had been a child prodigy in math and physics. So much so that she was graduated from MIT at the tender age of seventeen with more honors than Boy Scouts have merit badges. Straight from graduate school she went into the aerospace industry in Califomia. It W. immediately evident to her employers that, youth or not, man or woman, they had mom than a prodigy under their wing. They had a genius. In the years following her initial employment, she en-gineered breakthroughs in several fields that had been puz-zling other geniuses for several years. In no time she out-stripped all her peers in the field of radar and missile tracking
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  NICK CARTER
  design. She eventually went on to designing the missiles
  themselves.
  When she began to delve into fuels and propulsion, the
  U.S. military complex stepped into the picture. All too
  quickly the Pentagon realized that they had not only a poten-
  tial gold mine of inventive genius in Melissa, they also had a
  source of potential disaster should her mind and its contents
  fall into the wrong hands.
  Carter stopped, whistled, shook his head, and lit a
  cigarette.
  "Powerful stuff, eh?"
  His eyes flickered up to meet Ginger's, and he nodded.
  "Sounds like one in a million."
  "More like one in ten million, "Ginger said. "I feel sorry
  for her. There's no way, being who she is and knowing what
  she knows, that she could have a life of her own."
  "I'm just getting to that part," Carter replied, and he
  returned his concentration to the file.
  When Melissa Lane began to do research on electro-
  magnetic fields as a source of space propulsion, the govern-
  ment could no longer stand idly by. When her theories really
  started producing results, she was quietly hired away from
  private industry and relocated at the White Sands Missile
  Range in New Mexico.
  At White Sands her experiments could be carried on under
  the strictest security.
  Since arriving in New Mexico, Melissa had accumulated
  every conceivable material comfort and possession. This was
  done either through government perks usually poured on
  someone of her status, or through her own salary, which was
  considerable.
  She was a bit temperamental, but then most geniuses are.
  To make up for being watched and guarded around the clock,
  the Pentagon did everything possible to keep her happy and
  make her life problem-free.
  Now, Carter thought, looking up at last from the folder,
  something had happened to make Melissa slip her watch-
  dogs, even the beefed-up 1-up guard ordered when Carter hap-
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  "You're right," he said, looking at Ginger. ' 'It sounds as
  though she was practically a prisoner. "
  "Exactly," Hawk said, expelling a cloud of smoke and
  leaning over the table toward Carter. e That's why this whole
  mess gets very sticky. We can 't exactly chain the woman to a
  laboratory table, and we can't have operations sitting on her
  stcx.)P or sleeping with her. She's a human being, and she
  needs some life of her own and some degree of privacy. "
  "So we can't bust into her vacation unless we know that
  she or her ligle sister are in trouble," Carter said, grinding
  out his cigarette:and immediately lighting another.
  'Right," Hawk growled. "We can suppose the other side
  is trying to get to Melissa through Tanya, but there's damn
  little we can do until we're sure. "
  Carter tried to fight Hawk's acrid smoke with his own,
  then mused, "Looks like we have two choices. Keep an eye
  on Melissa until they contact her, and/or find the little sis-
  Ginger flipped a notebook in her hand and brought Carter
  up-to-date.
  "After she slipped the team in Dallas, some high-level
  army intelligence types got on it. They traced her to Mexico
  City, but by the time they checked her out there, she had
  already slipped again. "
  Hawk picked it up. "It took a day and a half, but they
  finally found out how she did it. A clerk at Air France
  identified her by a photograph. "Ihe clerk moonlights as a
  cosmetics saleswoman. She remembered the Lane woman
  because her makeup was all wrong for a blonde. "
  Hawk ncxided. ' 'She traveled under a Swedish passport in
  the name of Inga Heldstrom. "
  Again Carter whistled. "It's all very well planned if they
  had a passlx)rt waiting for her. "
  "It sure as hell is," Hawk growled. 's 'Inga Heldstrom'
  flew to Paris. We've got our Paris people working on it now,
  but so far nothing."
  Ihe rap on the door was sharp and commanding. Ginger
  left the room, and seconds later she retumed with a tall,
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  NICK CARTER
  sandy-haired man named Michaels. Carter rememt*red
  meeting him briefly in the Amalgamated offices.
  He was young, with a low-grade field rating. But any
  grade in AXE would be fairly high in any other service.
  ' 'I think we 've got a lead, sir. A clerk in a gift shop at Orly
  remembered her because she seemed so nervous and had
  forgotten to buy any francs. Her only purchases were a road
  map of France and a city map of Perpignan. '9
  The man paused, smiling for dramatic emphasis.
  "Get on with it, Michaels," Hawk barked. "Because
  of the road map, you checked the rental car agencies,
  and .
  "Uh. . . yes, sir," Michaels said quickly. S 'She rented a
  Peugeot four-door sedan. I have the license number. "
  ' 'Do we have a man in Perpignan?"
  "No, sir, but we've contacted the French authorities.
  They've been told it's a security matter. "
  "Good. Get back to me the minute you hear."
  "Yes, sir. '
  "Michaels?" The man did a three-quartertum at the sound
  of Carter's voice. For a second Carter thought he was going
  to click his heels. "Anything on the Carlyle woman 's address
  book yet?"
  ' 'Not yet, sir, but we've brought in two more people so we
  can do an all-nighter, around the clock, if it's necessary. "
  "There is one thing, " Michaels continued, "on the prints
  you brought in. "
  The agent produced a notebook and flipped it open.
  ney Bucknell, born 1958. Uh, that would make him twenty-
  five . .
  . quite -remarkable, considering—"
  " 'Considering what?" Hawk rasped, not trying to hide the
  impatience in his voice.
  *Considering we found out from the French and German
  authorities that he has been suspected of being a contract
  killer for the last nine years. What we gleaned from under-
  world sources is that Rodney Bucknell only took the very
  biggest and most dangerous of hits. If all the background we
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
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  have on him is true, Mr. Carter, I'd say you were lucky to
  come out on top in a man-to-man with this guy. "
  "No, Michaels, " Carter replied dryly, "not luckier, just
  deadlier. "
  . of course. Will there be anything else?"
  "Uh,yes. .
  "That's all," Hawk said, waving the agent into retreat
  with the magic wand of his cigar.
  The moment Michaels was gone, Hawk turned to Carter.
  "If it is Perpignan, you'll have to get right on it. I 'II set up an
  H.Q. here d, with the French, blanket as much as I can to
  locate the unger sister. "
  "I d if she's still in the country, " Carter said.
  "So do I/but it's the best we can do until you can get to
  Melissa and gain her confidence that we can handle this a lot
  better than she can. When we get the word, you'll
  Bateman with you."
  "Huh?" Carter gasped, darting his eyes to Ginger in
  disbelief.
  *Hawk seems to think Melissa will be more approachable
  by a couple or a woman. Admit it, Nick, you do look a little
  mean. ' '
  "Only when I smile, " Carter growled, trying to hide his
  anger.
  Ginger Bateman was one hell of a secretary, and she had a
  fantastic mind for remembering and assembling facts. She
  was also the perfect right arm for David Hawk in that she
  could aid in the formulation of plans, and she could issue any
  order—hers or Hawk 's—and be sure it would be carried out.
  But she was a far cry from a field agent.
  He was about to say as much to Hawk when the big man cut
  him off.
  "There's another, very good reason why Bateman is going
  along, N3—"
  "Sir," Carter interjected, avoiding the glare in Ginger's
  eyes, "if I may suggest . .
  Sally Marshall is in Geneva.
  She could be here in an hour. And right here in Paris there •s
  Monique Faiure. ' '
  - "l know that, Nick. They're unacceptable."
  ' 'But—
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  NICK CARTER
  The phone at Hawk's elbow cut Carter off.
  "Yeah. . . Hawk here."
  Carter listened to Hawk's grunts and monosyllabic an-
  swers with half an ear as he dug in his pockets for his lighter
  and came up with the books of matches he'd lifted from
  Alexis Carlyle 's middle desk drawer.
  There were four of them and they ran the gamut.
  "DO you need a light?" Ginger asked.
  "Got one, " Carter replied, selecting one of the books.
  It was from the Rococco Club in Perpignan.
  *Good, good, ' ' Hawk's voice boomed again. "Have a car
  brought around right away, and have another man pack
  Carter's bags and bring them here. Also, get twåfirst-class
  seats on anything that flies into or near there. "
  Hawk slammed the receiver back on its cradle and
  bearned.
  "It is Perpignan, or at least close. 'Inga Heldstrom'
  checked into the Hotel Pont Blanc at Canet-Plage about two
  hours ago. That's a resort beach near Perpignan. '
  "I know it, " Carter said, still unable to remove the surly
  quality from his voice. He left the Paris matches on the table
  and dropped the book from the Rococco Club back into his
  pocket. "Sir, I wonder if we could be alone for a few
  moments," he said, his eyes practically pleading as they
  found Hawk's.
  "You mean, about Ginger?"
  . well, yes, sir. "
  "Nick, you are one stubborn bastard, do you know that?"
  "Yes, sir . . . yes, sir, I do know that. There are times
  that I am stubborn. As for being a bastard . . . well, I fry to
  live up to that at all dmes. "
  "Bateman .
  "Show the stubbom bastard the pictures. ' '
  Again Ginger dove for the briefcase. This time she came
  up with three eight-by-ten glossy photographs.
  One was a head shot reminiscent of the Polaroid Carter had
  found in Lutov's Marseille hotel room. This one was face
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  47
  front and unsmiling, but the hair was still pulled back se-
  verely, and she wore the same lightly tinted glasses.
  The second and third were both full length, one in a
  tailored suit, the other in an evening dress. The latter showed
  Melissa Lane to her best advantage. The woman had a seduc-
  tively voluptuous figure.
  Carterlooked up and immediately saw why Ginger was his
  traveling companion. She had pulled her thick mane of black
  hair back from her face and held it coiled at the nape of her
  neck. She also put on a pair of large-lensed, pink-tinted
  sungl
  ' 'We'evep wear the same size shoes and clothes, ' ' Ginger
  said.
  Carter nodded.
  He had to admit it. From any kind of distance, Ginger
  Bateman was a dead ringer for Melissa Lane.
  Vasily Korshakov burped loudly and slid the flask of
  vodka back into a desk drawer just as the communications
  room officer stepped through the door.
  s 'Yes, Major, what is it?"
  "Scrambler phone, sir, through the Vienna booster. "
  "So? Can't you handle it?"
  "No, sir. The message carne through coded Budapest
  Run, sir, Budapest Run is for your eyes and ears only, sir. "
  Vasily Korshakov mumbled an obscenity in Russian under
  his breath and herded his bulk to his feet. He was a huge man,
  fifty-eight years old, with a square jaw, a face going to pudgy
  fat, and iron-gray hair cut short and bristly.
  Vasily Korshakov was a colonel in the KGB. He had been
  a colonel for sixteen years, and he would probably still be a
  colonel two years hence, when he retired. For the last year he
  had been attached as an advisor to the Hungarian secret police
  in Budapest. Actually, he functioned as control for illegals
  and freelancers in nearby Austria.
  Vasily Korshakov hated the job and the Hungarians he was
  forced to work with. But then he had hated the Bulgarians and
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  NICK CARTER
  the Rumanians when he had been stationed among them.
  Korshakov paused before the door of the communications
  room, implying by his pause what he expected. Clenching his
  jaw until a white line appeared along its ridge, the young
  Hungarian major opened the door for the Russian colonel.
  "Yes, ' ' Korshakov barked into the phone handed him by
  an orderly.
  "To whom am I speaking?"
  "Colonel Vasily Korshakov . . . and you?"
  ' This is the Baron, Colonel. I believe my current project,
  the Budapest Run, has fallen under your control. "
  "Yes, yes," Korshakov replied impatiently.
  He didn't know the face or the identity of the man on the
  opposite end ofthe line, but Vasily Korshakov hated him too.
  The Baron, whoever he was, sold his services to the highest
  bidder. Unlike Korshakov, the Baron would one day retire,
  very rich, to a villa in southem France. Vasily would be lucky
  to have a two-room apartment in Moscow upon his retire-
  ment.
  "We have run into a snag or two on this end, " the Baron
  continued in what sounded to Korshakov liked a bored tone.
  "Cover on the project may have been blown. "
  "We are not responsible for your people, Baron, " Kor-
  shakov said loftily. "We are paying you for a result: the
  woman entering Hungary of her own free will. "
  There was a moment 's hesitation, and then the voice came
  back, sharp, clear, and as raw as serrated steel.
  "Listen, you pompous ass, if I didn 't have to contend with
  your amateur lackeys—"
  "Do not speak to me like that, you hireling! I am a colonel
  of the KGB, and—"
  "And you have failed on practically every mission as-
  signed you," came the harsh reply.
  Korshakov 's jaw clamped shut, and beads of sweat popped
  out on his forehead. Unfair, he thought, this was unfair! How
  did this man, whom he didn't even know, know so much
  about him?
  ' 'But you won't fail on this mission, Vasily Korshakov,
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  THE BUDAPEST RUN
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  because you won 't be given the opportunity to think. I will do
  the thinking, and the commanding .
  "I am aware—"
  'You are aware of nothing! For instance, do you know at
  this moment the whereabouts of your courier, Ivan Lutov?"
  "I can check the computer."
  "Don •t bother. Lutov is currently resting peacefully in the
  morgue of a French State Security hospital outside Marseille.
  I am not sure yet, but he could be the source of our project
  cover bein blown. "
  Damn ovforafool, Korshakov thought, his entire body
  now b ed in sweat.
  'SListen„and listen carefully, Korshakov. I want every-
  thing Moscow has on a man, an American, named Nicholas
  Carter. He has been made by one of my people posing as a
  reporter for Amalgamated Press and Wire Services. I want
  his full file, and I want it fast. Also, I need everything on
  Budapest Run—passport, visa, and the Swiss deposit
  voucher for the second payment—delivered to the Vienna
  drop, all within seventy-two hours. Is that quite clear, Col-
  onel?"
  "Quite clear. "
  "Good. You know how to reach me. Don't fail me,
  Korshakov. My employers in the KGB are more powerful
  than your relatives in the Politburo. "
  The line went dead. With a shaking hand, Korshakov
  passed the instrument back through the opened slot in the
  soundproof glass to the orderly. It took several moments
  before he could control the perspiration gushing from his
  pores and ease the trembling in his limbs.
  At last he was under enough control to step from the booth
  into the larger room. Loudly he barked for the major. In
  quick, staccato sentences he gave the man orders.
  "Use the direct hot line to Dzerzhinsky Square and have
  my car brought around. "
  A half hour later, Vasily Korshakov, dressed in civilian
  clothes, was drinking vodka in a small nightclub on the Hess
  Andras. Twenty feet in front of him, an olive-skinned , dark-
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  NICK CARTER
  haired beauty was bathed in the amber glow of a spotlight. In
  a husky, rasping voice she breathed Hungarian lyrics into a
  microphone.
  She was billed throughout Germany, Hungary, Austria,
  and France as "Margaret. " Her real name was Hillary
  DuFarve, and she was a high-ranking foreign agent in the
  employ of Libya's secret service.
  Otto Von Petrie replaced the gold-plated telephone on its
  antique cradle and gazed across the wide veranda roof at the
  fog slowly settling over the Vienna Woods.
  Colonel Korshakov was a fool and a coward, but that was
  why Von Petrie had requested he take over Budapest control
  of the project. Von Petrie had dealt tcx) often in the past with
  pompous Russian KGB officers that he couldn 't completely
  control. Korshakov could be controlled, and more than any-
  thing, Otto Von Petrie, the Baron, wanted to be in complete
  control of everyone and everything around him.
  The tinkling of ice in a glass brought his gaze around to the
  bedroom. Through the door, on the huge canopied bed, he
  saw Alexis Carlyle's naked body.
  At thirty-five, Alexis was much older than the women with
  whom Otto Von Petrie usually dallied. But then Alexis Car-
  lyle had become much more than a mere dalliance. Her lust
  and her greed made her a perfect disciple of the Baron.
  She had worked for him for nearly five years. A year
  before, he had let her into his inner circle. Now Alexis, Yuri
  Gorgon, and Nedda Alfree alone knew the real identity of the
  Baron. And all three of them were completely within his
  control: Alexis because of her insatiable desire for more and
  more wealth; Nedda because of an almost pathological sense
  of loyalty; and Yuri because it was only with Von Petrie that
  the giant could exercise his sadism and killer desire to the
  fullest.
  In the bedrooms Alexis rolled to her side, placing her glass
  on a bedside stand. When she rolled back, her breasts seemed
  to dance under Von Petrie's gaze. Her long, tapering legs
  came open as she stretched, arousing Von Petrie for the
  second time that evening. Her hair was the red of a soft
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  BUDAPEST RUN
  sunset, flowing down to frame her face and neck,
  51
  Moving toward the bedroom, Otto Von Petrie undid the
  sash of his robe and let the garrnent fall from his body. By the
  time he reached the side of the bed, he was erect.
  lhere was no preamble, no kiss, no thought or mention of
  love. None was needed.
  Von Petrie placed one knee on the bed and fell forward.
  "Guide me!" he growled.
  She did, arching her body at his entrance, more out of habit
  than need.
  Beside er ear, Von Petrie's thin, cruel lips curled into a
  smile. S was moving beneath him just right, just as he had
  taught hewShe had been ready, but then she always was.
  nat was why Von Petrie now trusted her so much. Alexis's
  love of money was her only joy in life.
  Otto Von Petrie was the source of that joy, so Alexis
  Carlyle would remain loyal to him no matter the conse-
  quences or the acts she had to perform to keep him happy.
  He smiled again. The game they played rarely changed,
  but he always loved to play it. It seemed to feed his belief that
  all men and women were the same: the truly lower form of
  animal.
  Alexis bolstered his conviction that there was no morality
  left in the world. Indeed, she was the epitome of the ' 'every-
  one has his price " credo that made Otto Von Petrie's world
  go around.
  The sheets were cool beneath Alexis 's naked shoulders as
  she writhed automatically beneath her lover and gazed up at
  the ceiling. Painted there, in deep, rich colors, was a very
  elaborate, intricate scene of cupids and bare-breasted
  women. But even if the ceiling had been pure white, she
  would have looked at it with the same concentration.
  Alexis was dead from the neck up when she was in bed
  with a man.
  As Otto reached his peak, her arms and legs locked around
  him. A sobbing moan came from the depths of his throat.
  "l love you, Otto"'
  After a moment, Von Petrie pushed himself up and looked
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   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 52 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER down at her face, and smiled. Alexis's reddish hair flowed over the pillow, and the white curves of her shoulders and breasts gleamed with his perspiration. "Very good, my dear, " he said, rolling from her to the side of the bed. ' 'Would you like some champagne?" 'No, thank you, ' Alexis said, wondering how men could switch off so quickly after such a climax. A muted buzzing sound interrupted them. It came from behind a panel on the side of the room. Von Petrie was instantly on his feet and moving. With a brush of his fingers, the panel slid up to reveal a powerful high-frequency transmitter and receiver. Von Petrie placed a set of earphones over his heÅd and then adjusted out the static that greeted him. "WPQL 1000 calling Home . . . WPQL calling Home. ' Von Petrie squeezed the send button and leaned forward to speak directly into the microphone. "You're Home, WPQL 10. Go ahead. Over. " s 'A caller," came the reply. " "The number?" Von Petrie jotted the number down on a note pad. "Anything else?" 'Nothing." "Thank you," Von Petrie said. 'Out. ' He put the receiver back on 'Swam" and closed the panel. Then he moved back into the living room. He chose one of three phones and dialed a Vienna number. "I have a call to Budapest. Will you patch me through?" "Of course. " Von Petrie read the numbers, heard the clicks making the connection, and then the ring. Colonel Korshakov himself answered. ' This man , Carter. He is a very prominent agent ofa deep Washington group. i' "How deep?" Von Petrie asked, furrowing his brow. "Very, very deep. . . perhaps the deepest. Some of their agents have Killmaster designations. Nicholas Carter has been one of their top men for years. He is highly trained and C] [D 88 a P P Page 52 (65/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 53 very experienced. We believe Amalgamated Press and Wire Services is a worldwide front for the agency. " "Damn," Von Petrie hissed. "My man said he used his own name. If his agency is so deep, why wouldn't he use a cover?" " 'Perhaps he wanted you to know he was in the game, Herr Baron. " Von Petrie didn't fail to recognize the slightly satisfied tone in the other's voice. He chose to ignore it . . for the time being. "And the iother matters?" "The reqGired papers will be delivered at precisely eight o'clock, 'three days from now, at the prearranged Vienna drop. " ' 'Very good. " "Uh. . . Herr Baron, can we expect the lady in question that same evening?" S That, Colonel, is none of your business . . yet. " Von Petrie broke the connection, donned his discarded robe from the floor, and returned to the bedroom. Alexi s? "You'll be leaving for Perpignan in the morning. " "Very well. " "And, Alexis, you'll be picking up Yuri and taking him with you . . just in case. " '"In case of what?" '*In case Rodney Bucknell has met his match at last, " Page 53 (66/211)
  
  
  
  
   Глава 4 ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. Carte/ fitted the binoculars to his eyes and followed Melissa Lane's progress as she exited the front entrance of the hotel and crossed the wide boulevard to the beach. 'There she goes, right on time." "Third day in a row," Ginger Bateman said, her voice close to his ear. "It's a pattern." Slt sure as hell is, ' ' Carter mused aloud as he watched the woman go through the ritual of renting a chaise and mattress from a beach boy. They had been in the Pont Blanc for two days and two nights. Either he or Ginger had been on Melissa Lane day and night since they had an•ived. Anyone watching her go through the I I A.M. to 3:00 P.M. ritual on the beach, as she was doing now, would assume that she was just another tourist, a very attractive single woman on vacation, soaking up the Mediterranean sun. It was the hours she spent off the beach that shot holes in that theory. Melissa Lane hadn 't left her hotel room except for those four hours each day on the beach. She took all her meals from room service, and even ordered gin and tonic sent up at the cocktail hour. 55 Page 55 (68/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 56 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER It was now* fairly obvious to both Ginger and Carter that when the rendezvous and contact came, it would take place on the beach. "Should I go down?" Ginger was standing at Carter's side, so close that her soft breast in the barely-there bikini top was pressed against his arm. It was close enough for him to catch the flavor of her: a pure fragrance of silken perfume that wafted from her glossy hair and her radiant skin so abundantly displayed in the brief suit. Carter had never seen Ginger in swimwear in all the years he had known her. The first time, two days before, had been a shock. "Something wrong?" she had said. "Yeah, everything. We have a two-room suite asMr. and Mrs. John Hastings. I don 't know how long we're going to have to stay here, but it 's going to get more and more difficult for Mr. Hastings to sleep in the sitting room with Mrs. Hastings in the bedroom. '9 "We'll manage. " The round-the-clock surveillance on Melissa had helped take the edge off their proximity, but it hadn 't stopped Carter from thinking. What would it be like to really take a week-long Mediter- ranean vacation with Ginger Bateman? "I asked if I should go on down. " He lowered the glasses from his eyes and swiveled his head. Their faces were hardly two inches apart. Caner forced his eyes to remain above her neck, ignoring the full, rounded curves and dark hollows of her magnificent body. "Yeah," he croaked. "Go on down. Move in today. i' For the past two afternoons, Ginger had approached Melissa Lane with idle conversation. It had appeared com- pletely innocent: two American women on vacation in France, one with a husband whose business kept him too busy to spend time with his wife, the other single and alone. Page 56 (69/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 57 Both women were about the same age, idling the midday hours away on the beach. It was a natural. Melissa had stayed aloof the first day. On the second, she had warmed a little. This afternoon, Carter figured that her loneliness, her fear, and her frustrations would make her welcome Ginger's attempts at friendliness. Ginger pulled a white terry cloth beach robe over the bikini, grabbed a shoulder bag, and made for the door. "And, Ginger . . "Lay on the big-sister act. You know, something's trou- blink her, w ld she like to talk about it . . . you know the bit. "l know." The doorélosed behind her, and Carter brought the glasses back to his eyes. He hit Melissa Lane briefly, then checked the beach all around her. There was a family of four, three young girls sunning topless, an older man reading the finan- Cial section of a Paris paper, and the usual assortment of beach boys and vendors milling among them. It was all just a normal beach scene, but Carter had the gut feeling that whoever the Baron 's contact was, he—or she-— was very close by. The perspiration that gleamed on Melissa Lane 's body was caused as much by her inner tension as it was from the sun 's warm rays. This was the third day she had dumbly carried out their instructions and come down to the beach to swelter and wait. How much longer would they put her through this torture? She had done everything they had insuucted. The flight to Mexico City, and from there to Paris, had been hell. The drive from Paris to Perpignan had been numbing. And now this interminable wait was gnawing at the already raw edges of her nerves. *lhere was no doubt in Melissa's mind now that they— whoever they were—spoke the truth. Tanya had indeed been Page 57 (70/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 58 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER kidnapped. A few telephone calls to Paris, and then the photograph slipped under her door here at the Pont Blanc, confirmed it. The picture was of her younger sister in a hospital room. She was obviously heavily sedated, and the issue of a Paris newspaper across her chest gave Melissa the date of her kidnapping, But what did they want? She had offered money, and her only answer had been a curt, "In time you will be told. Just follow our instructions exactly as you receive them. " That was precisely what Melissa Lane was doing, and it was driving her crazy. She was beginning now to have doubts. All her life she had been an intelligent, rational, logical person. This sudden threat to Tanya had thrown her off-balance. Without thinking rationally, Melissa had blindly left the States, doing exactly as she was told. Now Melissa was wondering if she shouldn't have con- tacted her superiors first. Melissa shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up. It was the pretty brunette who had befriended her these last two days, Ginger Hastings. Was she the one who would be passing on the next set of instructions? And if she was, why in God 's name didn •t she get on with it? "Hi. Husband working again today?" ' 'Lord, yes. I don 't know why he bothers to call these trips vacations. All he does is work. Warm today. " "Very," Melissa replied, watching the other woman re- move her bra and settle back on the chaise. "Ooo-la-la . . magnifique . . ooo-la-lal ' ' Both women's eyes rolled upward to the railed walkway separating the beach area from the boulevard. An old man in a dark suit, a beret, and carrying a cane was smiling down at them with a mischievous glint in his eye. Ginger smiled at him and waved, curling her fingers in his direction. She made no attempt to hide the swell of her bare breasts from his approving stare. 'Ooo-la-la," he repeated, and throwing Ginger a kiss Page 58 (71/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 59 with his fingers, he strolled on down the promenade to take in the rest of the sights. 'Ahh, the French," Ginger giggled, rolling over onto her stomach. ' God love 'em." Melissa tried to smile in agreement. She couldn't. Her mind was on other things. She studied the paunchy old man reading the paper not far from them. Was he the one? Or was it one of the three young girls, or one of the vendors? Damnit! Who was it, and why didn't he come forward? 'Melissa? "Yes." "Are y u in some kind of trouble?" . . 1. me?" Melissa studied the other woman's dark, l' • id eyes. lhey told her nothing. "No, not at all. Why do ypu ask?" Ginger shrugged a bare shoulder. "Just wondering. You seem nervous. I get the feeling you'd rather be anywhere right now than sunbathing on the beach. " . I guess I'm just bored," Melissa replied, half meaning it. Ginger jumped on the remark. "No wonder, the way you stay in your room. We haven't seen you in the dining room once. " Melissa's mind clicked over and over, looking for an answer to her strange behavior while on a supposed pleasure trip. "l . . I've had a bit of a bad experience. I guess I just don 't want to be around people. " "Not good enough," Ginger said, rolling up on one el- bow. "I'll tell you what—have dinner with my husband and me this evening. " "No, 1— "I insist. I 'm sure, between the two of us, we can cheer you up. " A ripple ran up Melissa's spine. What did this woman mean by that? There was only one way for Melissa to be cheered up: to find out what these horrible people wanted, give it to them, and make sure Tanya was all right. ' 'It would be nice to have some company and a real meal Page 59 (72/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 60 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER for a change," she said impetuously, adding, "and to be cheered up. " "Good! Ginger said. "Meet you in the hotel lounge for drinks around seven, and then we'll find some quiet out-of- the-way place, okay?" Melissa hesitated. She could read nothing in this beautiful brunette's tone or her eyes. 'Madame Hastings? ' ' "Yes . here. " It was the young beach boy who had arranged the lounges for them. "Telephone, madame. You can take the call there in the cabana. " "Thank you. " Ginger snapped the hooks on her bikini bra, tugged on her beach robe, and stood up. "Be right back!" she said and smiled at Melissa. Melissa nodded and watched the other woman plod through the sand toward the cabana. She was about to roll over and let her back get some sun, when she noticed the beach boy still standing there, gazing down at her. "Your cigarettes, mademoiselle. " He placed cigarettes and matches on the tray stand beside her chaise. "I didn't order any . . "They were ordered for you, mademoiselle. " he said; then walked away. Melissa 's mouth was suddenly very dry, and the perspira- tion on her skin turned to ice: With a trembling hand she lifted the pack of cigarettes and turned them over and over in her hand. Nothing. Then her eyes fell on the book of matches: Rococco Club, 14 Rue Pont Neuf, Perpignan. With a nail she flipped the cover open. The inner part was plain except for a scribbled message in felt pen: Quickly she dropped the matches into her bag, gathered her towel and robe, and slipped her feet into a pair of yellow espadrilles. She had already started up the steps toward the walkway when Ginger called out to her. Page 60 (73/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN "Melissa—you 're leaving early today?" "Yes, 1 . the sun. It's just too hot. " "All right. See you tonight!" 61 Melissa froze. "Uh, not tonight, Ginger. Perhaps later in the week. " ' 'But— "Something's come up. Sorry. " Before Ginger could say anything else, the woman was hurrying across the boulevard. Odd, she thought. Nick wasn't on the phone. In fact, it wasn't anyone. And now Melissa takes off. Something's up! She be to gather her own things and suddenly spied the cigarette on the stand. She grabbed them and stood to call out to • elissa that she had forgotten her cigarettes. And th@n she remembered. Not once, in all the hours she had spent with Melissa, had she ever seen the woman smoke. Carter crumpled the pack of his custom blends and ripped the cellophane on a new one. When he had the cigarette glowing, he shifted his cramped position on the front seat of the rented Seat. From where he sat he could see the front entrance of the hotel two blocks away. On his left, a light breeze whipped the sea into slow-breaking waves against the beach. Between the Seat and the hotel entrance, tourists and locals walked off their dinners on the broad boardwalk along the beach. Through one of the two big bay windows of the hotel lounge, he could see Ginger's anxious face. Nervously she was scanning the hotel entrance between sips of her drink. Carter smiled. Ginger was sharp. It was no lead-pipe cinch that tonight was the night, but the coincidences on the beach that afternoon—the cigarettes, the phony phone call, and Melissa Lane's sudden change of mind about dinner—all added up to a good guess that she had been contacted. And since the contact obviously hadn 't stayed long enough for any lengthy amount of information to be passed, Carter guessed Page 61 (74/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 62 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER she had been set up for a meet. Idly he wo;ried the book of matches in his hand with his thumb. It was the same book of matches that he had lifted from Alexis Carlyle's Paris apartment. Matchbooks, he thought again, do indeed have a way of tracing a person 's haunts and habits. He had a pretty good hunch that if there was a meet, it would take place at this Rococco Club. But he couldn 't be sure, not completely. That was why he had set up this elaborate tail, using both himself and Ginger. He was about to check his watch, when one of the hotel 's wide glass doors swung open and Melissa Lane stepped out. She spoke to the doorman, and his arm shot up, motioning for a taxi. Caner's eye flicked to the lounge window. Gin er's face was gone. Good girl, he thought, twisting the ignition key to bring the little car's engine to life. The blond wig had barely disappeared into the back of the taxi when Ginger moved from the shadows of the lounge entrance twenty feet away. Unhurried but moving at a steady pace, Ginger walked the half block to the second car Carter had rented that afternoon, a black Peugeot. The taxi carrying Melissa Lane was just pulling away as Ginger slid into the driver's seat of the Peugeot. Carter didn 't hear the engine kick into life, but he saw the exhaust, Sec- onds later Ginger was moving through the gears, rapidly gaining on the taxi, making no attempt to lay back. Carter forced himself to wait, narrowing his eyes as the two sets of lights moved up the boulevard. The taxi turned right. Ginger followed. He put the Seat in gear and still waited. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the phony telephone call hadn 't meant that they had made Ginger. Maybe they just wanted to get her away from Melissa long enough to pass the word. Then a gray Mercedes four-door with two men in front pulled out of the alley beside the hotel. They moved fast, and Carter held his breath, Page 62 (75/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 63 When the Mercedes made the same right turn, Carter floored the accelerator and let out the clutch. The little car whined through three gears, and he made the same turn. Three blocks ahead he saw the Mercedes making a left. Tires screamed from Carter's right, a side street. Out of the comer of his eye he saw the driver of a battered old sedan shaking his fist in the air. Carter smiled but didn 't bother, yet, to turn on his lights. He made the left and poured on the gas. A sign, N120, flashed past, and a few feet further, another: Perpignan 18 Kms. Well, he thought, already half my hunch is right. The styeetlights of Canet-Plage disappeared, leaving only moonlight and the beams of the cars in front of him to light the highway. The began to climb steeply through vineyards dotted here an there with clumps of cypress and olive trees. To his left was the ocean, to his right low, rolling hills, About a mile ahead there was a junction, N 120 would veer right to Perpignan. A narrow two-lane would veer left, back to the beach. At the top of a rise, Carter halted. He could see all the way to the junction and the bouncing headlight beams of the thre cars approaching it. The taxi barely paused for the stop sign, then turned right. Ginger, in the Peugeot, came to a full stop, pulled out a few feet, and then swerved to the left. In no time she was through the gears and hurtling for the beach. The Mercedes also stopped , and Carter could imagine the perplexity of the driver. At last he made his decision and opted left, no doubt to make sure Ginger wasn 't going to double back and end up on his tail following the taxi. Carter waited until he could no longer see the Mercedes 's tail bearns, and then he made the Seat's engine sing. He barely braked at the stop sign and swung right. A mile laterhe rounded a curve and came upon the taxi rumbling along behind a truck. Page 63 (76/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 64 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER He snapped on his headlights and settled back to light a cigarette.. By the time the two men followed Ginger back to the Pont Blanc parking lot, he and the taxi would be in the outskirts of Perpignan. Carter pulled up five car lengths behind the taxi, near the cathedral square of Perpignan. He watched Melissa Lane pay the driver and then nod as he waved his arms, obviously giving her directions. When he was sure this was the end of the line, Carter swung out around the taxi and found a parking space near the end of the block. By the time she walked past him , Carter was out of the car and crossing the street. She moved quickly, her heeli making a staccato clatter on the cobblestones, her chin high, eyes scanning the street names set into signs embedded in the sides of the buildings. Suddenly she stopped, dug in her bag, and looked from the object in her hand up to a street sign. Carter followed her gaze and pursed his lips in a smile. The sign read Rue Pont Neuf. He slouched in a doorway near the corner, lighting a cigarette as Melissa moved with purpose down the center of the narrow alleyway. When she stopped and rang the bell, Nick knew without lcx»king that it would be Number 17. An Amazon with enormous breasts beneath a tight sweater opened the Standing at her side, an immense Doberman stared intently at Melissa. The two women exchanged words that Carter couldn 't hear, then Melissa stepped inside. The door closed quickly behind her, and Carter distinctly heard a bolt snap into place. The Club Rococco door was marked only by a single yellow bulb above it. For two blocks down the alley, Carter counted eight other bulbs similarly illuminating other doors. From past experience he knew that behind each of those doors was a private club. But not totally private. If you weren't North African or black, and you looked as though Page 64 (77/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 65 you could afford the drinks, you could gain entrance. But Carter wondered about waltzing right in behind Melissa Lane, and especially doing it solo. He strolled slowly by the door and on past two others. By the time he covered the full two blocks, many of the doors had opened and people had exited, only to make for another yellow-lighted door and gain admittance. For fifteen minutes he watched, and the pattern was the same. He had just about decided to try Number 17 when two girls, both young and well dressed in suede and high-heeled boots, entered the alley behind him. They were laughing gayly at something one of them had just said and were obviously* o t for the evening. excuse me thar, ma'am . . They stopped, their faces staring quizzically at this strange man strutting toward them with his thumbs hooked in his belt and a lopsided grin on his face. "Either one o' you little fillies speak American?" "Oui. English," said the taller of the two, a striking redhead with a lean, hollow-cheeked face made even leaner by the careful application of makeup. "American?" "Non, monsieur. We are French, " "Ah mean, ah'm an American. " Quizzical looks again passed between them, then they all laughed. "Are ya 'II goin ' t' one o' these here clubs?" "Olli, monsieur.' "Well, seein' as how they's all private and I ain't no member, I wonder as how I kinda might tag along inside with "But, monsieur, all you must do is knock, Anyone can go in. "Is that so? Well, in that case I will, but . Carter pulled a thick wad of bills from his pocket. "What say we all go in and I'll buy you gals a little drink?" The tall one relayed his words to her blond friend. "Why not?" the blonde replied in French. "We didn't go out tonight to spend our own money." Page 65 (78/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 66 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "My friend says that would be very nice, monsieur. " "Good, good! " Carter roared and moved between them. He took each girl by the elbow and propelled them down the alley. "Here, monsieur, here, " the redhead said, motioning. toward one of the doors they had already passed. ' 'Nah, honey, I got me a hankerin ' fer this place called the Rococco Club. " Both of them stopped dead in their tracks. "Non, mon- sieur. ' "Why not?" "The Rococco Club, that is . . . it is a club for ladies. " "Well, darlin', that's all the better!" Before they could object further, Carter had them in front of the door. His knock was answered instantly by the Ama- zon and the dog. "Olli?" she said, her eyes growing wide when she saw Carter. "An American, Elise, " the redhead said in French, twirl- ing her finger at the side of her head. "He has probably heard of the club. He has tons of money. " Elise shrugged and stepped aside. The Doberman looked at Carter and then up at his mistress oddly, as if he weren't sure she was right in the head. When she snapped her fingers, he moved to the side, albeit grudgingly. "Now that's right neighborly of ya, ma'am," Carter drawled, and in they went. Inside, it was intimate. A bar lined one whole wall on both small levels. They entered on the top level. Below, there was a postage-size dance floor and a few tables. Every stool on the upper level was taken, by women. "You see what I mean, monsieur?" the redhead whis- pered. "Ah shore do. Let's sit down there at the end of the bar. ' He spotted Melissa Lane as they moved down to the lower level. She was sitting alone, nervously sipping a drink, ina booth meant for two near the far end of the bar. Several of the well-dressed women sitting at the lower bar Page 66 (79/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 67 gave Carter quizzical looks mixed with mirth, but they soon returned to their own conversations. "Here," he said, "I'll jest stand. You two jest sit right down and have anything yer little hearts desire. " From his standing position he had a clear view of the booth where Melissa Lane sat. Between nervous sips ofthe concoc- tion in front of her, she darted her eyes around the bar, searching each face. Once her gaze fell on Carter, but her expression remained blank and her eyes quickly moved on. A twin of the woman with the Doberman leaned her elbows on the bar and drooped an eyelid. "What is he doing in here?" she asked the girls. "He is a rich American, " the redhead answered, "who has prob ly beard that you and Elise bare your breasts every night. y u know Americans!" the woman said, flicking a glance at Carter and lowering the comers of her mouth. s let us have champagne! " The woman nodded, smiling at last, and moved back down the bar. Carter plastered a dumb smile on his face, as if he hadn 't understood a word they had spoken, and lit a cigarette. Moments later, two bottles and three glasses were set in front of them. "Monsieur?" the redhead said, smiling coquettishly up at Carter. "Yeah, little lady?" "You must pay her now . . . six hundred francs. " Eighty-five bucks, he thought. If the AXE accountants could only see this! He produced his roll, counted out the money, and added a fifty-franc note. "That's fer you, little lady. " 'I told you so, ' ' the redhead grinned to the bartender, who shrugged and moved away. Carter poured, toasted to the good life, and drank. It was terrible champagne. For the next twenty minutes he bored the redhead with inane conversation about his oil wells and cattle ranches in Texas. For a few minutes she interpreted for her friend, then Page 67 (80/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 68 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER gave up. *Ihe blonde obviously didn't give two hoots in hell about Texas. Several women entered and others left, but no one ap- proached Melissa Lane. Carter was starting to wonder if this was the rendezvous after all/ when the front door opened again, and the newcomer got a louder and more exuberant welcome from chesty Elise. Caner made her at once. The description was perfect. Ihe newcomer was Alexis Carlyle. After effusive kisses between herself and Elise, Alexis moved down to the lower level. Twenty pair of eyes besides Carter's watched her progress toward the table where Melissa Lane sat. She, was a striking, commanding woman, dressed in a black trench coat, black stockings and boots, and a black silk scarf knotted at her throat. Without the boots she was tall, but with them she was right at Carter's six-two. "What?" Carter replied to the redhead's whisper. "That woman is Rococco's owner, She once was a very successful Parisian model . very rich! " "She's shore got a pretty playmate over there. " 'That woman I do not know, " Words were exchanged at the booth, and Carter noted that Melissa's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Her lips began to tremble , and Carter thought he saw her shoulders follow suit. She looked to be on the verge of hysteria, but not for long. Carlyle slipped into the booth and moved her hand across the table to cover Melissa's. The expression on the younger woman 's face quickly turned to excruciating pain. and Carter saw why. Alexis Carlyle's long, blood-red nails were biting deeply into Melissa's wrist. It didn't long for Melissa to regain her composure. From there it was all intense conversation, their heads close together, Alexis Carlyle did all the talking, with Melissa doing a lot of nodding. By the time the talking was over, tears were running profusely down Melissa •s cheeks. From the look on Alexis Carlyle's face, Carter guessed she was thoroughly enjoying Page 68 (81/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN the other woman's agony and discomfort, 69 When an envelope was produced from Alexis Carlyle's black shoulder bag and pushed across the table, Carter guessed the meeting was about to come to a close. From his m»cket he produced another two hundred francs and laid it on the bar. He then took the redhead's hand, brushed the back of it with his lips, and said in perfect French, "You and the evening have been charming, my dear, but now I must return to my hotel and my wife who is expecting our tenth child. Until we meet again, adieu. " He made for the door. Elise quickly opened it for him and told him with a look that she was glad to see him go. The Doberrnan t ld him with a low growl not to come back. At theco erbe slipped into the same doorway he had used before, waited. Minutes later Melissa emerged, looked up and down the alley, and then headed his way. She passed him without a glance. There was no sign of hysteria now, nor of tears. Her features were set in hard lines, and her eyes were cold. It was as if the life had gone out of her. Carter followed her into the square around the cathedral. When she stepped into a cab, he paused and debated. The big question was what was in the envelope. The big answer was that there was little doubt now that big sister Melissa and little sister Tanya were in the middle of one hell of a lot of trouble. Tanya was the bait, and Carter was pretty sure the payoff the Baron wanted forher return was what Melissa Lane had in her head. He wondered what the next step would be. If there was going to be an interrogation, there had to be a place. Should he stay with Melissa, or . . Just as the cab started to pull out, Carter bolted forward. "Excuse me, monsieur, " he asked the cabbie in French. "Are you going near Polshard?" "Non, monsieur. Canet-Plage. " "Merci , ' Carter replied, and stepped back from the cab. As scx)n as the driver turned the comer, Carter sprinted to a Page 69 (82/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 70 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER phone booth at the head of the alley. From there he could call Ginger at the Pont Blanc and keep an eye on the door of the Club Rococco at the same time. He'd made his decision, and it was along the lines of "a bird in the hand" . the bird being Alexis Carlyle. A weary-voiced operator answered the Pont Blanc switch- board, and Carter barked out the room number. "Me. How'd you do?" "No problem. " "Did you get a decent look at them?" "Decent enough. The driver was a big moose . . . dark complexion with a beefy , pushed-in face. The other one was the same beach boy who called me to the telephone this afternoon. " "That was the beach contact. Did they make asw move on you?" *No. They did look a little perplexed when I parked the car and came back into the hotel, but I don 't think they figured out the game. " "It doesn't look like it," 'Carter replied. "They never showed up here . but Alexis Carlyle did. " "Whoopdee-do, they're moving!" "Right, and I think it's time we did the same. " Carter relayed everything he had seen transpire between the two women, down to Melissa's tears and the exchange of the envelope. "What is in it is anybody's guess, but I'd say it's definitely the next step in their plan. " "What's ours?" "Gamble, " he said. "Go up to our lady scientist's room, let her know who you are, and make the pitch that we can handle this better than she can." "How rough do I get?" "As rough as you have to," Carter said grimly. "Scare hell out of her if you musts but get her to cooperate. And most of all, find out what she's been told to do next. " "And you?" "Another gamble. I'm going after Alexis Carlyle. " Page 70 (83/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 71 Light flooded the alley from Number 17, and the black- clad lady in question emerged. "Got to go, luv. Lean on Lane, I'll do the same with this hard. " one . Page 71 (84/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. SIX The villa as on the beach side of the coastal road that led south out Canet-Plage to the foothills of the Pyrenees and the Costå'Bryva of Spain. Carter watched from a distance, made sure of her turn in, and then sped on past. Beyond the villa's drive, the road narrowed and began to climb. In several places the asphalt was eroded, and the little car shuddered as it hit pothole after pothole. To his left, the mountain dropped straight into the ocean. On the other side, the cliffs rose vertically to disappear against a midnight sky. He had almost given up finding a wide-out in the road, when the tires squealed around a hairpin turn and the beams of his headlights fell upon a sign announcing a scenic view lookout just ahead. Carter cranked the wheel to the left and seconds later came to a halt with the nose of the Seat inches from the guardrail. From beneath the seat he extracted a small Beretta. It was only a 7.65, but up close it would pack almost as much punch as Wilhelmina, and it weighed only a little over a pound. He locked the car, slid the Beretta beneath his belt in the small of his back , and moved to the guardrail , Gazing back in the direction he had come, he could barely make out the lights spilling from the seaward side of the villa. 73 Page 73 (86/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 74 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER It was a little over a mile away. About half the distance would have to be covered on the road. There the cliffs had an easier slant to the sea, and trees would give him handholås to walk along the cliffs. Carter took off at a trot, checking the loads in Wilhel- mina's magazine as he ran. Ten minutes later he was crouched in a thicket of oleanders just to the side of the tall iron gates that guarded a paved drive that led down to the stucco and red-tiled villa. It wasn 't the kind of place that would be listed in the Guide to Great Homes of the World, but it was about a hundred and fifty grand on the good side of a dump nevertheless. In the open garage, Carter could see the rear end of the little Jaguar Alexis Carlyle had driven from Perpignan like a woman possessed. Parked in the circular drive directly in front Of the villa 's entrance was the gray Mercedes Ginger had lured away from him earlier that evening. That meant the woman had com- pany; at least two men, he thought. And then a little ripple ran up his spine. Could one of them be the Baron? And if not, could there be a third man already inside, who was the Baron? Probably too much to hope for, he mused, but definitely something to look forward to. Entering by the front was obviously out of the question, so Carter backed off a bit and angled around to the side. The high iron fence ran all the way from the road to a cliff that jutted over the beach. The cliff face was sheer and about a fifty-foot drop to the beach. There was access to the beach by wooden stairs, but the iron fence crossed about thirty yards short of the rear veranda and patio. Carter could see a gate, but he was fairly sure that it was locked and, like the front gate, controlled electronically from the house. Taking his time, he moved back around the front and to the opposite side. A row of carobs ran down the length of the fence, but most of them were too short or planted too far away to do any good. And then he saw it: a tall willow about eight feet from the fence. Its tallest limb was the main trunk itself. It was small, Page 74 (87/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 75 but a willow was strong, and Carter knew they were very flexible. He was about to move through the carobs, when light flooded the front drive and voices reached his ears. Quietly he moved back to higher ground and parted the heavy under- growth. The moose Ginger had described and the beach boy were standing beside the gray Mercedes. He saw the woman's shadow across the steps. She was speaking in a muted voice. He couldn 't hear her words, but there was no mistaking the venom in her tone. ' 'Yes, yes, Alexis, but we have to sleep sometime, " the giant said in guttural German. Caner c ldn't hear the woman 's answer, but it was obvi- ously s enough to put both men in the car and squealing tires tow the gate. It opened just in time, and more rubber was spent as the Mercedes hit the asphalt and headed in the direction of Canet-Plage. Carter stifled his elation with movement. No matter how tough Alexis Carlyle could be, he would much rather tackle her alone. Just as he had thought, every branch of the willow, no matter what size, held his weight as he climbed to very near the top. Once there, he began to rock back and forth, back and forth. He was swinging ten feet in either direction when he suddenly released his grip. He cleared the spiked top of the fence by three feet and made no sound when his feet hit the soft turf on the other side. He moved with the speed of a panther across the twenty yards to the villa, and then, with the same animallike agility, clambered up the heavy bougainvillea vines that covered it. In seconds the cork soles of his shoes hit the floor of a second-floor terrace. Carter's right hand moved inside his coat and came out with Wilhelmina. Instinctively his fingers checked the maga- zine catch, pushed off the safety, and worked the ejector. Slowly he eased into the light pouring through the glass- paneled French doors. It was a bedroom tastefully and expensively decorated, Page 75 (88/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 76 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER right down to a canopied bed draped with satin. The other furniture was heavy, inlaid stuff that looked as though it had been lifted from Versailles. •The door to the left was ajar. Through it Carter could see the top of some stairs. There was another door to the right. It too was open, and there was a shaft of light coming through from the room beyond. He guessed it was the bathroom. He was just about to enter when Alexis Carlyle glided into the room from the hall door. Now she was dressed in white; a satin nightgown clung as if wet to every curve of her ample body, and over it, a gauzy, translucent peignoir, open in front, wafted like a lacy train behind her. She had a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a concentrated frown on her hard but beautiful •fei\tures. Her lips were taut red lines, and she nibbled on the lower one with even, white teeth, Carter watched her pace for several moments, wondering which course of action would give him more information: moving in now, or waiting. His answer came with the ring of a phone on a bedside stand. She went for it like arcat would pounce on a mouse; so much so that half her drink spilled across her bodice, further molding the sleek satin to her jutting breasts. Whoever was on the other end of the line was saying something that served to agitate her further. "Damn! In my own apartment?" Carter smiled. They had evidently found Roddy. ' 'She has the tickets. I've sent Yuri and Petrie back to the hotel; they will watch her until she 's on the plane. But what do we do about this agent? . No, no one suspicious. . . and no men. There was one woman, a Ginger Hastings, but she seems harmless, and no one else has contacted her. " There was a long pause while the other person on the line spoke. Through it all, Alexis nodded but didn't speak. * STomorrow night? Yes' I suppose I can catch the Page 76 (89/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 77 afternoon flight, but is it necessary? . . . God, I hate Coun- tess Von Riggen, she's such a cloying bitch. . .Yes, I'll be there. " There was another long pause during which her face be- came quite flushed with obvious anger. I love you. " "Yes, 1. . There was a healthy slam, receiver to cradle, and the glass came to her lips. Carter watched her throat work until the glass was empty. As she started toward the door, he entered. "Stop right there and turn around. " She did, slowly, as cool and with as much aplomb as if Carter had just asked her the time. Her icy eyes took him in from head toe, barely pausing at the 9mm in his hand that was point directly at her belly. "You, a man, monsieur, with a mistreated face and nothing in yaur eyes, neither gaiety nor despair. I would say you have gone beyond both, and that tells me that you are afraid of nothing. Therefore you are no common thief. " "Not a thief, " Carter replied, also speaking French and using all his will to keep his surprise from registering on his face. "Then you must be the man Carter, " she said in English. "Nick Carter," he said and nodded. "Let's talk. " She raised the glass in her hand. 'VI must do something about this. " She whirled on the heel ofone satin slipper and headed for the door. Carter squeezed off one shot. The slug missed her shoulder by inches and shredded a hunk of the oak doorjamb. She didn't flinch but continued to the door and turned. 'Either you are a very poor shot or a very good one, and you don •t intend to kill me, only frighten me. This you cannot do. " Carter fired again, putting a neat hole in the satin directly between her legs. Alexis looked down and then back up, laughing scomfully. "Bravo! Now I really need a drink. Join me?" Deciding to play it her -way, he followed her down the stairs. They went through a room-size foyer into a den that Page 77 (90/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 78 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER ran the length of the villa. In the center of the room was a gushing fountain surrounded by monstrous plants and heavy furniture similar to what he had seen upstairs. The ceiling was beamed with oak, and the floor was pink and white marble. On the farside—covering half the wall—was a glass- and oak-paneled bar. As Alexis moved toward it, she spoke over her shoulder. "Since you are American I suppose you want whiskey. " "Scotch . neat. Is there a weapon behind the bar?" "Yes, a Walther PPK. I'm quite good with it. " "Put it on top of the bar . . slowly, by the barrel. " She did, smiling, and then began to fix the drinks. As she poured, Carter moved to the bar himself. He clicked on Wilhelmina's safety and set it beside the Walther. "Since I can't seem to intimidate you, we might as well stan even. " "Fair enough, " she said, handing him a drink and letting a mirthless smile spread across her full lips. "But you do intimidate me, Monsieur Carter . . in adifferent way than you intend. Come, sit! " Carrying her glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, she crossed to a huge sofa covered in muted green velvet, sat, and patted the space beside her. Carter chose an antique but sturdy2100king chair opposite the sofa. SSMon dieu, maybe you are afraid of me? " Carter matched her cold smile. "Lady, there's no 'maybe ' about it. Who's the Baron?" "Which one?" Alexis replied without a blink. S There are titles all over Europe . . . several of them are barons. " "You know the one. 'Y "You have beautiful shoulders. I would guess you are very virile. " "Where is Tanya Lane?" 'VI know of no one by that name." "You met her sister tonight . . in Perpignan. " "Did I? Perhaps. You see . . I meet a lot of women. ' She refilled her glass and drank half of it. "What does the Baron want in exchange for Tanya?" Page 78 (91/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN "Could we talk about something else?" 79 "We could make you a deal. I'm sure you have no loyalty beyond money to the Baron. How much?" A hollow laugh, followed by the gulping of more gin. "Suppose I am who you think I am. Look around you. This is mine, all mine, and only a tenth of what I own. " "And how do you make your money?" "Lovers," sheshrugged. "I have several rich lovers . . men and women. My monthly retainers are probably twice what you make in a year." "Probably, but I represent a much more powerful com- pany," "I do bt it. She poured yet another glass and drank. Carte ipped his own drink and sighed. "If we can 't make a deal 'II have to use other means to get the information I want:" / "Yes. " She looked at him evenly for a long moment. "Hmmm, yes, I believe you would. And what if that doesn't work?" 'II kill you and find someone else who will tell me what I want to know. " Carter watched her reaction very closely. Her eyes flared wide and a little more liquid from the glass in her hand spread across the white satin. "I think you mean it. s' "I do, lady. Believe it. I killed Rodney Bucknell in your apartment when he wouldn 't answer my questions. I shoved the point of a stiletto up his nose and asked him questions. When he wouldn't answer them, I shoved it on up into his brain. And then I shoved him into your closet . the one where you keep your little cache of arms samples. " There was a glaze over her eyes now, and Carter couldn 't tell whether it was from all the gin she had consumed or from the impact of his story. Setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of her, she stood. "Don't go near the bar," he wamed. 'I 'm not. ' ' She moved to the end ofthe sofa and flipped up Page 79 (92/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 80 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER a panel in its ann. Her fingers worked, and music filled the room. She adjusted the volume up a few decibels and then turned to face him. 'Must you? ' ' Carter asked. 's 'French cabaret music bores me. " "It calms me. " She stood with her feet spread wide, her eyes closed, an Odd smile of pleasure floating across her lips. Suddenly she breathed deeply , making the satin grow taut over her breasts. She polished off the last of the gin in the glass and, at the sarne time, reached up with her free hand and sensuously cupped each breast in turn, then rumpled her hair with the same hand. "You're right, I do work for the Baron, Monsieur Car- ter," she murmured. "But I don't know-who he is. No one does. " "All right, I'll buy that . for now. What about Tanya Her eyes opened. There was a flinty, feline look in their depths. The glass dropped to the floor, and she began to sway toward him lithely. "Just what do you plan on giving me in return for be- traying the Baron, Monsieur Carter?" "Whatever you ask . . within reason, " Carter replied, trying to fathom this new twist. "1-00k at me! ' ' Alexis commanded, jutting her breasts and arching her pelvis toward him. "I'm a mature, sensual woman. I've made love with many men. . . but no man has ever satisfied me. How much of a man are you, Nick Car- ter? "That music is awfully loud. "It's warm in here . . very warm." The peignoir slipped from her shoulders. A second later the satin nightgown joined it at her feet. She stood directly in front of him now, the light from the chandelier above them dancing over her smooth, dazzling body. "I don 't feel like playing games, " Carter said, his voice husky. "That's a pity. I guess you're not as virile as you look. I'll Page 80 (93/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN just have to cool off another way, won't I?" "How's that?" 81 "With a swim, " Alexis said gleefully, and turned from him. Like a gazelle she leaped for the glass doors heading out onto the veranda. By the time Caner reached her she had wrenched the door open and taken two steps onto the deck. He managed to grasp her wrist and turn her around. To his surprise she didn 't struggle. She did just the opposite, in fact, melting into his arms and flattening her lush body against his. Caner could feel the heat of her firm breasts against his chest and her thigh eagerly massaging his groin. Because of her height s barely had to tip her face upward to mash her lips against "Ihekis ontained more brutality than passion, and rather than aroGsinæ him, the thigh was rubbing his crotch raw. But she wouldn't let up, even when he tried to disengage himself. The kiss went on and on. She wrapped her free arm tightly around his neck and forced her tongue between his teeth. Unconsciously, Carter's hand slid down her back until he was cupping the taut roundness of her buttocks. "Yes, yes she whispered into his mouth. Then suddenly it was over. She still clung to him, holding him, but the kiss was broken. "I would kill you too, you know," she said loudly. "I have no doubt of it, " "If I could reach one of those guns on the bar I would gladly empty it into your belly!" She was almost screaming now, yet laughing at the same time. There was a cunning glint in her eye, and Carter felt her thigh move away from his groin: Suddenly he sensed her intent and turned to the side just in time to escape the knee she had intended to cripple him with. She was a big woman, strong, and he knew there would be a bruise on his thigh from the blow. Too late he tried to grab her free wrist. She evaded him and managed to struggle the other one free. At the same time she maneuvered her leg between his, Page 81 (94/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 82 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER planted her hands flat against his chest, and shoved with all the strength in her big body. Carter lurched backward, paused in mid-flight, and then sprawled into the room. As he fell, he heard the sound of Alexis's hysterically screaming voice over the blaring sound of the stereo. "Elise, kill him! Shoot the bastard, Elise! Empty both guns into him . kill him, kill him.'" Carter's mind clicked like a computer. Elise. . . from the club. . . they hadadate. . . that's why the loud stereo . , . couldn't hear Elise's carorthe door opening. He lit on his side and rolled as fast as he could toward the sofa. He spotted Elise near ths bar, the Walther in one hand, Wilhelmina in the other. He was pawing the Beretta from the small of his back when the room exploded with sound. He felt the heat of the slug go past his face just as he brought the Beretta up and Elise squeezed off two more rounds, both wild. Crouching for a millisecond behind the sofa, he threw his arms one way to misdirect her fire, then took two steps in the opposite direction and stood up. His first shot caught her in the left shoulder and slammed her against the bar. She cried out in pain as the red spiotch above her gigantic breast grew. "Kill him, kill him!" Alexis Carlyle was still screaming. Wilhelmina had fallen to the carpet, but the woman still held the Walther. Biting her lip until she brought blood, Elise brought the muzzle back up to firing line. "Don 't, " Carter hissed, lining up the Beretta at the same time. The Walther kept coming up. He pumped two slugs—rapid-fire, dead center—between her breasts. The Walther hit the floor. Elise 's hands came up to claw at her bloody chest, and then she fell, face forward, onto the carpet. There were no words from Alexis now, just ear-piercing screams. Carter rescued Wilhelmina and made for her. ' 'You son of a bitch, you killed her! " Page 82 (95/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 83 "Just like I said, " he replied , making a lunge for her naked waist. Like talons, accompanied by another shriek, Alexis brought her nails down into each side of his neck. The pain was instant, and it was aggravated when she clawed forward. Carter released his hold on her waist and tried to grab her wrists. She was quicker, much quicker, than he thought. Again her knee came into play, this time against his chest. At the same time she whirled and dashed for the veranda. Carter was on his feet in an instant. Without a pause she flipped a switch by the rear door and leaped down the wooden steps that ed to the beach. The sw ch bad been for the gate. Carter saw it swing open just bef she reached it. He dropped to one knee, pocketing the Befettzyand swinging Wilhelmina up. He slapped his right wrist int(f his left hand and squeezed off two shots. Sparks blossomed from the concrete pillar beside the gate. Alexis didn 't even pause; she just bolted through the gate and flew down the steps. Damnin he thought, she knows I want her alive! Then she was on the beach, a white specter fleeing toward the water. Carter took the steps three at a time. By the time he hit the sand she was already flat out in a dive. "Don't!" he yelled. "You'll never make it!" There was a heavy sea running with foam and whitecaps as far as he could see in the darkness. To his right and left, breakers slammed against jutting rocks, sending their spray high into the air. Alexis's head and arms broke the surface about twenty yards out and she started stroking. "Stop . . you're crazy!" Carter cried. But she didn't stop. He had no choice. He wanted her, and he wanted her alive. Right now she was the only one who could tell him where the Baron was holding Tanya. Quickly he stripped to his shorts and dove in after her. He had lost sight of her in the blackness, but he set off toward the last place he had spotted her. Page 83 (96/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 84 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER She was either twing to kill herself or get away; he didn 't know which. And even if she got away, he thought, how far would she get naked? The tide was tugging toward the rocks to his right. He let it take him, and then he saw her. She had obviously done the same thing and was already close to the rocks. "Stop! " he shouted. ' 'The waves will wash you onto the rocks! They'll cut you to pieces! " Alexis paid no attention but kept up the powerful, steady crawl that took her closer and closer to the rocks. Then she seemed to pause, treading water, looking back at him. Carter could see her pale face just above the surface, and it looked as if she were smiling. Suddenly a wave hit. It lifted her up, higher and higher. She was heading right for the rocks. And then she was gone. Carter turned and, letting the waves help him, stroked for shore. Seconds laters he pulled himself upright on the sand and sprinted along the beach back toward the rocks where she had disappeared. He was almost there when he suddenly saw her among the trees halfway up the cliff. "How in hell And then he knew. Halfway out on the shelf of rcK*ks was a smooth, flat plateau. She had simply let the wave lift her and deposit her right on top of it. From there she dove into a pool of calm water and made it easily to shore. He sprinted back to the steps, pausing only long enough to grab Wilhelmina and his clothes. His bare feet hit the wooden deck of the veranda just as a car came to life in front of the villa. One leap took him over Elise's bloody corpse, and he yanked the front door open. Naked or not, Alexis was heading somewhere. The tail- lights of a little Mercedes sports coupe were already through the gate. She swerved the car to the right, and within seconds the powerful roar of the engine was fading in the distance. Carter didn 't have much hope, but he checked the Jaguar. No keys. Page 84 (97/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 85 Quickly he ran back into the house and found a telephone. "Pont Blanc. " He gave his room number, and when it didn 't answer he asked for Inga Heldstrom•s suite. There was no answer there either. Page 85 (98/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Nick Renews automatically with continued use. SEVEN n/oved through the lobby as fast as he could without drawing too many stares. The elevator was on the fifth floor. Hé took the stairs three at a time to the fourth floor and moved down the hall to his and Ginger's suite. He rapped first, a signal they had devised so there would be no surprises, and then entered. He needn 't have rapped. There was no Ginger in the sitting room, bedroom, or bath. Reaching for the phone, he made a fist of his hand and decided to check in person. The time for games was over. Back in the hall he climbed again, this time to the top floor, and looked for 705. His knock brought no response. "Miss Heldstrom? he called, knocking again , louder this time. Still no answer. The third key he tried from his special ring worked. He stepped inside, levering Wilhelmina from her shoulder hol- ster at the same time, The room was in blackness. Carter spun inside, flattening himself against the wall and kicking the shut. Cautiously he felt along the wall until he found the switch for the overhead light. Simultaneously he clicked it on and dropped to one knee, scanning the ro»m with the deadly end of Wilhelmina. The rcx)tn was a tomb. Silence. No one. Nothing. 87 Page 87 (100/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 88 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER The bedroom was another story. Ginger lay facedown, half on, half off the bed. Beside her head was the telephone, its plastic cover knocked off and split. There was blood on one side of it. "Jesus," he gasped as he gently pulled the matted hair away from a now clotted gash at the base of Ginger's skull. It had bled fairly badly, enough to run down the back of her neck and do a pretty good job of dyeing the top half of her blouse. He felt her pulse; it was erratic but steady. Carefully he rolled her over and pressed his ear to her chest. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Cradling her in his arms, he retraced the stairs to their suite. Very gently he stretched her out on the bed, then grabbed the phone. "Desk." 'This is Hastings in four-twelve. My wife has had an accident—slipped on the bathroom rug. We need a doctor at "Right away, monsieur. " A sighing groan came from the bed as he hung up. "Ginger, can you open your eyes?" Another groan and they blinked open. Carter held up a finger, and moved it back and forth in front of her eyes. The pupils followed. "Can you talk9" "Of course, " she groaned. "Who am 1?" "Nick Carter. " "Who are you?" "Ginger Bateman. " S 'Where are you?" "In bed. "I know you're in bed, damnit! What city are you in?" There was a slight hesitation before she spoke again. "Canet-Plage . France. " "Good girl, What's your mother's first name?" "Mildred. all the stupid questions?" she asked, Page 88 (101/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 89 trying to rise and then falling back to the pillow with a gasp of pain. "To make sure you 've got your faculties, gorgeous . . that you 're not bonkers, " Carter said and grinned. "I'm not bonkers, you bastard . . . but Iam gorgeous," Ginger said, trying to return his smile. Her hand raised to tentatively touch the gash at the back of her neck. "Ouch! What happened?" "You got conked with a telephone." "Melissa . "You mean she did it?" he asked incredulously. Ginger nodded, the movement bringing another gasp of pain. "Don't m e, just talk. " "I went Oher suite and laid iton the line, told her we knew about T a and wanted to help her. At first she broke down and cried. Then, afterl got her calmed down , she got rational and even angry. She said there was no way we could help her or Tanya. If we interfered, Tanya would just disappear. " "Did she give any hint of what instructions she had been given by Alexis Carlyle tonight?" 'Not directly, but I saw the end of an airline ticket sticking out of her bag. And she did give me an odd answer to one of my questions . . . " "What was it?" ' 'I asked her if it was her research material they wanted in exchange for Tanya. She laughed right through her tears and said, 'Hell, no—they want me. . . allofme!' And then she got mad and scared again. She told me to leave and not try to see her again. " "And that's when you applied the screws. " "Right. I told her we'd have to put her in protective custody. Was I wrong?" "No," Carter said, shaking his head. S 'That's just what we would have to do. What happened then?" "She agreed and asked me if I'd help her pack. I followed her into the bedroom, turned my back, and wham, the lights went out. I guess you were right . "About what9" Page 89 (102/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 90 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "I make a pretty lousy field agent, huh?" Carter squeezed her arm and brushed his lips across hers. "Don't worry about it. I screwed up pretty good myself tonight. " "What happened?" He opened his mouth to speak, then quickly clamped it shut. "Ihe vision of Elise's bloody chest rose up before his eyes, and his ears rang with Alexis Carlyle's hysterical shrieks of "Kill him, kill him!" 'SI'II tell you later. " He moved across the room to where his suitcase lay open on a stand. "I've already called down- stairs for a doctor. As soon as he gets here, I'll call Hawk in Paris. " He stood, bouncing a small leather case in his hand. Inside it was a telephone mouthpiece, and inside the qnouthpiece was a special electronic voice scrambler. Five minutes later the doctor—a short, squat, heavyset man with Charles Laughton jowls and twinkling eyes carne rolling into the suite. At his heels was a very nervous night manager. "She's in there," Carter said, nodding toward the bed- room. "Took a nasty knock on the back of the head. " The doctor gave a short bow and, without a word, rolled on into the other room. The night manager wrung his hands and chewed his lips. ' 'We are so very sorry , Monsieur Hastings, so very sorry. If there is anything . Carter held up his hand. "It's all right . . all our fault. You have nothing to worry about. " Relief flooded the little man's face. Carter could almost read his thoughts behind the watery eyes. Thank God . , . they are Americans, end Americans are always suing somebody! Carter gave a slight cough. 'Ihere is one favor I would ask, though," he said. 'Anything, monsieur! ' ' "I have to go out for a very few minutes. Would you ask the doctor not to leave until I return?" ' 'Of course, of course"' Page 90 (103/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 91 ms time he took the elevator. "lhere was no public phone in the hotel lobby, but he found one in a small café a block Soon the phone was ringing in David Hawk's suite. "Nick." "One minute, " Carter knew that Hawk was doing the same thing he was doing: unscrewing the regular mouthpiece and replacing it with the scrambler. "I'm on," Hawk said. "Same here. " In minu detail, Carter went through the sequence of events th had occurred since he and Ginger had arrived. as finished and Hawk spoke, there was genuine When care and yorry in the man's voice. "Perhaps I shouldn't have put her on the case, after all that's happened. ' "Don 't worry, sir, I think she's okay, " Carter reassured him. "There might be a mild concussion, but the doctor's with her now. If it's any worse, I'll get right back to you. " "Well, it looks like everything's in the cooker. We'll put somebody on every airport in Switzerland and Austria. But I imagine Melissa Lane won't be taking a plane now, not if she's hardheaded enough to brain Ginger to keep us out of it. " "Austria and Switzerland?" Carter asked. "Yeah. We got a break . . . a small one, but at least a break. A border guard at the Swiss frontier recognized Tanya from a photograph. She was out cold in an ambulance. He doesn 't remember the name, but knows it wasn 't Tanya Lane says he thinks it was a German name. Also, he remem- bers that one of the nurses said the girl was a mental patient. " "Did you have the other sides checked? Austria? Ger- many 'Of course we did, ' ' Hawk replied, iritation in his voice. "Nothing, at least none of the customs people remember. But then, things go out of Switzerland a hell of a lot easier than they go in." Page 91 (104/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 92 (105/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ⓘ 92 NICK CARTER Carter agreed. "So Tanya could be in Switzerland, Ger- many, or Austria, and Melissa could be heading for any of the three. But maybe I've got one thing . . . "Shoot." "Get somebody to check on a Countess Von Riggen. That was the name Carlyle used on the phone. It sounded like there is some kind of a 'do' at her place tomorrow night." "I'll get right on it. What's your room number at the Pont Blanc?" "Four-twelve, but don't bother. If Ginger can travel, I think we'll hop over to Spain later tonight. My guess is that Alexis's boyfriends will go by the villa and clean up the mess I made, but just in case, I think it's safer if we're out of France." "Barcelona?" Hawk asked. "Right. We can fly out of there if Von Riggen means anything. We'll be at the Oriente, on the Ramblas.'" "Check with me if you don't drive straight to Barcelona." "Okay." "And, Nick . . ." "Yes, sir?" "Take care of her . . . all right?" "Will do, sir." Back in the hotel, Carter took the elevator to Melissa Lane's floor and let himself back into her suite. He wiped the phone clean, repaired it, and then went over every room. In the bathroom wastebasket he found an envelope con- taining what was once an enlarged photograph. Now it was torn into seemingly hundreds of tiny pieces. Carefully he gathered them all up in a pillowcase and hotfooted it back to his own suite. The doctor was finishing a drink in the sitting room when Carter entered. "How is she?" he asked. "Good, considering. It was a nasty gash and required six stitches. But it should heal without any problem and leave only a small scar. That's what women always worry about," he said with a tired smile. "Her hair will hide it." "Nothing more serious than that?'"
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now p. Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 93 ' 'Concussion, " the doctor replied, ' 'but very mild. Noth- ing more than you could get yourself banging your head into a door." 'Thank you, doctor. By the way . . . can she travel?" "l've given her a sedative, but she should be fine by morning. Morning might be too late, Carter thought, and he reached for his wallet. The doctor chuckled and nodded his head toward the still white-faced night manager who stood nearby. "It's been taken care of, monsieur. ' Carter thanked the doctor again, and when he was gone, he turned to e other man. "Will you have our bill ready immedia y, and send someone up for the bags. " "B , monsieur . . the doctor— "I know what the doctor said," Carter barked harshly. "I want a physician in Paris to look at my wife." s Very well, monsieur, " the man said, backing to the door and then skittering away, Ginger was already up, dropping things into an open bag, when Carter entered the bedroom. "I heard what you said. Paris?" "No," he replied. "Barcelona. Do you think you can make it?" "I am a little groggy. Must we go right now?" "I left a woman named Elise with three holes in her at Alexis Carlyle's villa tonight." "I can make it. " "My God, another check! " Ginger exclaimed. "Every road from France into Spain is covered like this, " Carter replied, "Nearly all the Basque separatist fugitives seek shelter in France because of the extradition laws. niey get back in just like we're doing and often bring a tnmkload of arms along with them. " About five miles back, they had passed through the fron- tier checkpoint at Port Bou with only a cursory inspection of their papers and their car. Now, rounding a blind curve, they saw three uniformed Guardia Civil lounging beside the road. Page 93 (106/211)
  
  
  
  
   0 Page 94 (1071211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. 0 94 NICK CARTER Carter smiled to himself. If a smuggler or terrorist thought he had it made passing through the frontier check no easily, he would have a rude awakening with a second cheek by these three. Each of them spotted a 9mm Super Star pistol in a shiny black leather holster at his waist. A lightweight and compact Z-62 submachine gun was draped over each of their shoul-ders by a webbed strap. As Carter geared down, one of them walked to the middle of the road, the muzzle of his Z-62 pointing to the ground, his deep brown eyes alert under the patent leather tricorn on his head. When the car rocked to a halt, the Guardia Civil bent to scrutinize the French license plates, then moved around to the driver's side of the Peugeot. The other two moved around to stand near the rear of the car just out of Carter's line of vision. "Buenos diar, senor ... senora. Pasaportes, pot. favor." Keeping his eye on the Z-62 that now swayed gently across the man's front, Carter opened his coat and slowly extracted two passports. "Senor y Senora liastings?" "That's tight." Carter replied. "We're on vacation for three weeks." He made no effort to speak Spanish. "You came from Carol-Plager the guard asked in En-glish. "Perpignan," Carter replied, not liking the intense way the man studied the passports. "We decided to take the coast road and watch the sun come up." The man nodded but didn't seem too impressed. • 'Registration, per favor." Carter fumbled in the glove compartment until he came up with the car's papers. "May hien," the officer said, then went through the pa-pers in the small leather folder line by line. At last he snapped it shut and stared into Carter's eyes. '`Would you pull to the side of the road, senor ... por favor?" "Is there anything wrong?" • ► El III BEI CI f)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 95 "Right there beneath the tree will be fine, " the man said, ignoring Carter's question. Carter did as he was told. "I thought you said American tourists, especially a man and wife, would go right through mrder checks," Ginger murmured. 8 They usually do, " Carter said between clenched teeth. "Both of you will get out of the car . . porfavor. " "Keep your legs together, " Carter said out of the side of his mouth, "and let's hope they don't do a body search." "They wouldn't dare! " Ginger hissed. "Oh yes, they would. " Carter w the first out of the car. He moved around to the passenger ideand opened the door for Ginger. As she slid from th and stood, he checked first the front and then the rear of theywide dimdl skirt she wore, He could discem no telltale bulges, and he sighed with relief. Shortly before they reached the Spanish border, he had stopped the car and walked to the farthest point of a cliff that jutted out into the sea. There he had heaved the Beretta as far as he could into the Mediterranean. Then he had unstrapped Wilhelmina, instructed Ginger to lift her skirt to her waist, and wound the holster straps around one of her legs. Right now both Wilhelmina and the holster were wedged between Ginger's lovely thighs. "Seiora, your purse and you, sehor, would you remove your coat, porfavor? " Ginger handed over her bag with a haughty sniff, and Carter removed his coat. While the head man went through the bag and patted Carter down, the other two went through the car like the pros they were. "Wait here, " the officer said, returning Ginger's bag and heading for the car to aid his comrades in their search. "Nick, what the hell is going on?" 'Offhand, Carter growled, ' 'I'd say they were tipped. " Ginger's face went white, "You mean tipped that you killed that woman?" "Not likely. No, it was probably an anonymous phone call—no doubt from Alexis or one of her two playmates— Page 95 (108/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 96 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER giving descriptions of us and the car. The tip was probably that we were anned. If they find what's between your legs, the Guardia Civil could jail us for a few days and get us out of Alexis's hair. Carter had other thoughts on the situation, but he didn't relay them to Ginger. Obviously Alexis Carlyle, the moose Yuri, and the beach boy Petrie hadn't vacated the scene at Canet-PIage. They must have been watching all three roads out in every direction and, when they had a make, tipped off the Spanish officials. And Carter guessed that wasn't all of it. He let his eyes roam on up the road where it twisted over the bone-white limestone mountains that ran along the sea. He couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, up in those mountains, they weren't being watched at that very moment through a pair of powerful glasses. And if they were . and if they got by the Guardia Civil . was there another reception committee awaiting them? "Gracias, seizor, seiora," the officer said, handing Car- ter their passports and the car's papers. am sorry for the delay but I am sure you understand that these are trying times for my country. " "Of course. " g 'Vaya con Dios t" he muttered, stepping aside and raising a two-fingered salute to his tricom. Carter drove warily, slowing to a crawl at every hairpin turn, all the way to Llanså. It was past dawn now, and the sun was well over the mountains. Just beyond the tiny village, Nick spotted a restaurant with several trucks and a few cars parked in front of it. "Let's eat," he said, cranking the car to the right. ' 'I don 't think my stomach can take it, " Ginger groaned. "Then just have coffee. " ' 'Yeah, " she replied wearily, ' 'and about ten aspirins. " "Headache?" She nodded, and Carter studied her face out of the comer of his eye as he parked. It was pasty white and her eyes were red-rimmed. They also seemed to be constantly blinking now, and he knew she couldn't last much longer. Page 96 (109/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 97 "It's about thirty miles, maybe fifty minutes on these roads, on into Lloret," he said, gently squeezing her knee. "We'll get a room for the rest of the day there . . "It's a deal," she replied with a wan smile, running a fingertip down the line of his jaw. Literally translated, the restaurant was called s 'The Hole in the Cliff." It was just that, a hole. Inside there was an unwiped Formica countertop that had seen better days, a vinyl with broken and missing tiles, and a few painted tables haphazardly arranged along the front windows. But the place was filled with the aroma of good focxl that made Carter's stomach growl and remind him how long it had been since he had eaten. . 'i' Ginger whispered, just after sliding into one "Nick . of the ri ety chairs. ' *Can I Ket rid of this?" She patted her lap. He grinned. "Sure. There's asehora over there. Put it in your bag. I'll order for you. " A rosy-cheeked, dark-eyed woman as wide as she was tall took their order and started bellowing it toward the kitchen before she left the table. Just like home, Carter thought, chuckling to himself and downing a large swallow of the stearning coffee the woman had brought. They ate slowly, Ginger managing to put away about half the bacon and eggs he had ordered for her. Carter paid the bill while Ginger finished her coffee, and then he darted into the men's room. When he returned, Ginger was sitting ramrod straight at the table. Her face was chalk white and matched her knuckles around the coffee cup. "What is it?" "Them," she replied in a flat voice. S Them who?" s The gray Mercedes . . the two men. " ' 'Are you sure?" She had been staring out the window. Now she rolled her eyes around to meet his. "I'm sure. They slowed down when Page 97 (110/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 98 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER they saw our car, andjust before they speeded up I could see the young one's face . . . the beach boy . "He was grinning at me. " Caner kept the needle at sixty-five kilometers and his eyes peeled for the Mercedes all the way to Tossa. He thought briefly of stopping at Tossa and vetoed it. TCX) small. Lloret de Mar was larger, an overgrown beach resort that at this time of year would be teeming with people. Ihat, he hoped, would make it all the more difficult for Yuri and Petrie to try their hand. It was almost when he topped a pass and dropped down into the bowl cut into the side of the cliffs that was Lloret de Mar. Older, whitewashed buildings gle4med in the sunlight beside newer, taller brick and stucco hotels that had been hastily erected when tourists discovered the Costa Brava. Carter chose the Metropole. It was an older place on the western edge of the town, in the upper part away from the sea. The original hotel had been all stucco charm, with open beams, ceramic tiles, and elaborate gables. Now a new wing towered at its side in concrete, glass, and steel. But he had stayed there before and knew the inner layout. In the parking area he pulled the keys and tumed to Ginger. "I think so. At this point I'm too tired to care. " His hands crept up to her shoulders. He held her at arm's length for a moment, then pulled her against him and kissed her, hard. He held the kiss until he felt her smooth mouth open beneath his, and then he released her. S 'What was that for?" she gasped. ' 'General principles, " he said with a chuckle. "Let •s go. " The lobby was as he remembered it. He swore that even the tall, reed-thin young concierge was the same or a clone. As they approached, hecame to attention and adjusted a pair of thick glasses. "Your reservation, sehor? " 'We have none," Carter said, sliding their pa.ssB)rts Page 98 (111/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 99 across the counter with an American twenty-dollar bill peek- ing from between them. The concierge's smile was ghoulish. "With or without bath ? 9, In the room, Carter overtipped the bellman. "If anyone should ask about us, I'd appreciate knowing.about it right away." ' '51, seior." ' 'A bed! My God, a bed!" Ginger said as soon as the little man was out the door. Carter got Wilhelmina from her handbag and placed the 9mm on the bureau as Ginger sprawled across the double bed. Fro his suitcase he produced a bottle of Chivas, then moved the bathroom and got two glasses. ' 'W t a quick one? It'll help you sleep . There yas no answer, and when he stepped back into the bedroom he saw why. Ginger was sound asleep. In sleep, with a smile on her face and her raven hair spread across the pillow, she looked almost—but not quite—in- nocent. But then, who wants innocence? Carter took a long slug from the bottle and methcxlically closed the drapes until the room was almost night. Then he removed her shoes, skirt, blouse, and pantyhose. *Ihe rest was tempting, but even he was too tired. He stripped to his shorts, left Hugo strapped to his leg, and crawled in beside her. He was just nodding off when Ginger rolled over, her ann falling across his shoulder. Carter turned over, embraced her until her head was against his chest, and fell asleep. It could have been minutes, but Caner knew it was hours when his eyes opened and he saw no light peeking around the drawn drapes. He didn't know what had awakened him. And then he heard it, a light rapping sound on the dcx»r. Gently he disengaged himself from Ginger's embrace and padded to the door. "Yes?" he whispered. "It is I, sehor . . . Miguel, the bellman." Page 99 (112/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 100 (113/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 100 NICK CARTER Carter dropped the chain and pulled back the bolt. He reached out a hand and pulled the little bellman into the room. "Señor . . . . "Shhh . . . . Carter slid the bolt and guided the man into the bathroom. With the door shut and the lights on, he sat on the commode and gestured toward the tub. Miguel eyed the stiletto strapped to Carter's leg and whis- pered, "You are an American gangster, señor?" Carter ignored his question. "What do you have to tell me?" "A big man-dark, with a pushed-in face and small eyes-asked about you. He said he was a business associate of yours and had forgotten what hotel you would be staying in. "And the concierge told him." "Of course . . . with a little persuasion." The bellman held up his thumb and forefinger, and rubbed them together. "I followed him back outside. There was another, younger, waiting for him in a car." "A gray Mercedes?" "Si." Carter nodded. He thought of Ginger sleeping peacefully in the other room, the smile on her face, the so recent warmth of her body against his. And he thought of the two killers downstairs calmly wait- ing to waste them. "Where are they now?" "At the Tivoli. It is a bar across the street. They sit, they drink, they watch. I think they are very bad men, señor. they have the look. Are you bad?" "Let's just say, Miguel," Carter said with a smile, "that I'm not as bad as they are. Do you have a car?" "Sí, a very old Fiesta. It has gone many kilometers like myself, but it has, as they say, a few left." Carter made an offer, and the man readily accepted it. "Is there a service entrance?" The man nodded. "Good. In one hour, park your car at the service entrance and then
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** THE BUDAPEST RUN 101 come back up here. Bring with you a big hat, an old pair of pants, a typical peasant's shirt. "And then...?" Carter gave him the rest of the details in quick, staccato sentences, and then he guided him back through the bed- room. Along the way he grabbed his wallet from his pants. "There will be more," he said, pressing a wad of bills into the man's hand. When the door was securely locked, Nick walked to the bed and gently shook Ginger by the shoulder. He was pleased when she stirred in her sleep and her arms instinctively came up to wind around his neck. But that would come later . . . if there was a later. "Ginger." "Huh? . . . wha . . .?" "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." "What for?" "We're moving out."
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 103 (116/211) # EIGHT In the Metropole bar there was a pay phone. Nick Carter ordered a beer, bought a token for the phone from the bar- tender, dialed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yuri's beady eyes through the window across the street watching his every move. There was no sign of the other one, and Carter smiled. He would be in the back, watching Miguel and one of the bellman's peasant relatives leave in a beat-up old Fiesta. The international call had to go through the Metropole switchboard, but eventually the Pierre answered, and Carter gave the operator the number of Hawk's suite. "Yes?" There was tension in the voice. "It's me. "Nick, where the hell have you been? Wait-" "Never mind," Carter rasped, knowing that Hawk was reaching for the scrambler. He hadn't even bothered to re- move his from his bag. "If there's anyone on the line, which I doubt, I don't give a damn. I want them to know we're coming." Hawk chuckled. "It sounds as though you're as pissed off at them as I am at you. "Something like that," Carter replied, then he brought his mentor up-to-date. 103
  
  
  
  
   Page 104 (117/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 104 NICK CARTER "And Ginger?" "She's safe, and will be. What's happened at your end?" "Enough. Clair Von Riggen. She's an American socialite who married Count Hugo Von Riggen twelve years ago. He's a successful Austrian industrialist, sits on a whole bunch of boards of German and Austrian companies. She's a social high-flyer, believes in total détente between East and West, and works hard to influence it." "Think the Von Riggens could be bingo?" Carter asked. "If you mean could our count be the Baron, I suppose there's an outside chance. But pretty far outside. He's loaded, but all of his money is legit and can be accounted for." "And the countess?" "Ditto, but the 'do' tonight is interesting." "Oh?" Carter heard a shuffling of papers from the other end of the line before Hawk spoke again. "The Countess Von Riggen is constantly organizing cultural exchanges between Eastern and Western bloc countries . . . some for only a weekend, others for two weeks or better." Carter sighed. Little lights had started going off in his brain. "And the countess has a little group going over this weekend." "You've got it. Budapest. The group leaves the day after tomorrow. There's a cocktail party this evening for all the participants to get acquainted." "Where?" Carter asked, already guessing the answer. "Vienna. The Von Riggens have restored an old mansion inside the Ring as a townhouse." "Any word on Melissa now that we know she's headed for Vienna?" "Nothing yet," Hawk said, "but we've got men at the railway stations and the airport. We're also putting a couple of people into the Von Riggens' place as servants tonight." Carter's mind clicked over the hard points. First, pick up Melissa and get her on ice. Second, find Tanya and get her back.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 105 Hawk's voice intenupted his thoughts, "It's fairly obvi- ous what they're doing. " "Yeah," Carter replied. 'VI think I've got it too. Ihey want Melissa to go over of her own free will. That's why they've helped her along but pretty much let her move alone. " "Right. I can almost see the headlines: Topflight Amer- ican Scientist Defects To Soviet Bloc'!" "If we move fast," Carter said, ' 'maybe we can hold up this run to Budapest. I won 't have time for a scheduled flight after I get these two off my back. Can you arrange for a have it ready and waiting?" charter in Barcelona . . "Shou n 't be a problem. It'll be done in the Hastings name. " Also, I picked up some pieces of a photo in Meliska'yroom in Canet-Plage. I'll try to put them together on the flight. Have somebody standing by in Vienna in case we can get something out of it. " "Will do." "And you'd better have a change of clothes waiting for both of us. I left our bags in the room here. I don 't want our birds to know I'm leaving, so I'm not checking out. Send someone around later to collect them and pay the bill. It 's the Metropole in Lloret. " "For now. " "Good hunting! " Hawk rasped, and the line went dead. Carter finished his beer in big gulps, then headed for the parking lot as if he were strolling out for a pack of cigarettes, In the Tivoli he saw Yuri the moose paying his bill. Carter hoped he had guessed right that Yuri would go and pick up his partner for the move on him. Ginger wasn't their game, so she would probably be left in the hotel room. It' s me they want, Nick thought, and it's me they're going to get! His biggest hope was that they would think Ginger was still in the rcx)ln and that he wouldn 't leave without her. He was fairly sure they wouldn't make a try until they were positive Page 105 (118/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 106 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER he and Ginger were leaving, That's where the surprise would come. He started the Peugeot, let it warm up a minute or two, and then pulled out. For the next half hour he drove aimlessly around Lloret, from one end of the town to the other, and from the lower road along the beach to the upper, skirting the cliffs. For about half that time the gray Mercedes—with both of them in the front—had tailed him. At last they had wised up. There was one way west and one way east out of the town by road. The only other way was by sea. When they disappeared from his rearview mirror, Carter was pretty sure where they had gone. Lloret, like Tossa, was indented like a three-sided bowl into the Costa Brava cliffs. The main road was a winding affair along the side of the cliffs five hundred yards above. From any place on that toad, the entire town could be observed with a pair of field glasses. Carter was willing to lay ten-to-one that Yuri or Petrie—or both of them—were up there at that very moment, watching every inch of his movement in the Peugeot. When an hour had passed, and then an hour and a half, he headed toward the upper town. Following Miguel's direc- tions, he tumed into a narrow lane that ran parallel to the main road about thirty yards above. He followed the numbers on the tiny, two-room whitewashed cottages to 421. Then he went two houses beyond, pulled the right wheels of the Peugeot up onto the sidewalk, and parked. Retracing his steps, he let his eyes float for just a moment to the curtained window of 421> He saw Ginger's face, and briefly noted that she still wore the big straw hat and the white peasant's shirt. He gave her no sign of recognition and turned right at the corner. Below him the lights of Lloret blinked, and in the distance—at the end of the pier jutting out into the bay—he saw the ferry bobbing at anchor. Two more turns brought him out on a wide street that took him clear to the beach. Purposely he stayed near the street- lights in case the men watching him didn't have infrared lenses in the glasses they were using. Page 106 (119/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 107 (120/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 107 At the beach end of the pier, he glanced up at the sign painted on plywood nailed between two poles: TOSSA- LLORET SCENIC BOAT RIDES. Beneath the designation were the times of departure and the prices. "Uno," Carter said, placing a bill on the counter. "One way or round-trip, señor?" "One way," he said with a smile. Carter was first in line off the gangway the instant they lowered the chain. He searched the faces of the people waiting to board the ferry for the return trip and sighed in relief w when he spotted Miguel. Beside him, holding his hand, was a squat little woman dressed all in black. On her kindly face was a mask of total bewilderment. Cartef could guess why. In fact, he could almost imagine what their conversation had been an hour or so before. "Tossa? Why in God's name do you want to go to Tossa at this time of night?" "Because the man who has bought our car will be in Tossa. We will deliver the car there tonight, then return on the ferry." "You sold our car? Madre de Dios, how can we visit our sons in the country without a car?" "Quiet, woman! In a month's time we will be on the land with our sons. The man paid me enough for the car to enable us to buy the land we have always wanted!" "The man is a fool," his wife would have said. But like a good Spanish wife, she would not question her husband any further. And when Miguel reported his car stolen upon their return to Lloret, she would close her eyes and her ears to the fact, and accept the good fortune God had sent them. As Carter passed the couple, his eyes met Miguel's for only a second. The man gave him a brief nod, which Carter returned. You are a gutsy guy, Carter thought. But then poverty makes wily creatures of us all. It took him less than two minutes to find the Fiesta in the parking lot. As Miguel had said, it was nothing to shout ◄►
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 108 (121/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ⓘ 108 NICK CARTER about, but that didn't matter. In a few minutes it was going to look a lot worse. He fished the keys from the ashtray and was pleased at the engine's steady hum. The car, as Miguel had assured him, ran much better than it looked. Leaving a cloud of dust behind him, Carter roared out of the parking lot and didn't let up on the accelerator when he hit the asphalt. The tires screamed, and he kept them screaming all the way through the gears. "Here I am, gentlemen," he said aloud, a wide grin gleaming on his face in the dashboard lights. "Come and get me!' Carter took the last incline to the main highway in second, careened to the left, and floored the little car again toward Lloret de Mar. It was a little over seven miles from Tossa to Lloret over a roller-coaster road that wound like a snake against the sides of the steep cliffs. Carter hoped the little car's engine would take the beating he was going to give it for at least four of those miles. Although the night was cool, his shirt stuck to his back as he geared down and thundered into the first curve. As if by magic the lights of Tossa were switched off, and only the two faint beams from the Fiesta's headlights and a sliver of moonlight illuminated the winding ribbon of road. The white limestone, speckled now and then a darker gray, gleamed to his right. On his left, far below, lay the jagged rocks of the seacoast. He whined around another curve. A straightaway more than half a mile long lay in front of him. He knew it was one of three before Lloret. The rest of the road was deadly curves cautioned only by red reflectors set in low, whitewashed concrete posts. Near the end of the straightaway he saw a faint yellow glow in his rearview mirror that grew rapidly brighter as a car came up and over the brow of the hill behind him. Carter could tell when the driver of the other car spotted his tail- lights. He started chewing up ground like hell between them.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 109 (122/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 109 Carter doused his own lights, saw no beams beyond the curve, and took it full tilt. On the other side he brought the lights back up and repeated the action again for the next two curves. Like a cat with a burning tail, the Fiesta fairly leaped over a rise in the road and screamed down the long hill that began the second straight stretch of road. Then suddenly the engine started to clatter; it didn't sound bad, but it didn't sound good either. It was more like a gentle protest than an outright declaration of quitting. "C'mon, little baby," Carter whispered, patting the dash- board. "It's not much longer now. The Mergedes was a bigger, heavier car than the Fiesta, but it was four times more powerful, and with its fine German suspension it was every bit as maneuverable. This was proved to Cárter when he saw lights appear, dance out into the vast darkness, disappear, and reappear again. Then he was starting up the incline, and the big car behind him was rolling around the last curve and bearing down like a looming hulk from hell. And then the Mercedes was on him, lights on high, full power. Carter zigged, zagged, and zigged again, being care- ful not to let the big car on the inside. One glance up told him Yuri was driving. The other, Petrie, had his hands on the door, empty. Carter wasn't surprised. They would want to make it look like an accident if they could. Then they nailed him, the heavier Mercedes slamming into the rear end of the Fiesta like a tank. Carter fought the steering wheel and managed to hold the car to the inside, against the cliffs. In seconds the Mercedes had pulled alongside and was inching over. His intent was clear: squash the Fiesta like a bug against the cliff. There was a scream of tearing metal. Sparks filled the night between the two cars, and between the Fiesta and solid rock. Slowly but surely, as Carter kept the accelerator to the floor, Yuri was achieving his purpose.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 110 (123/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 110 NICK CARTER "Not yet, you son of a bitch!" Carter screamed at the beach boy's leering face inches from his through the Mercedes's open window. Carter stomped brake and clutch at the same time with all the strength in his legs. The Fiesta stood on its nose, metal scraping, tires burning. The Mercedes shot on by. Just before it cleared Carter, Yuri tried to cut in under the nose of the smaller car and save the day. He was too late. The front bumper of the Mercedes caught the cliffside. The car bucked and twisted as Yuri wrestled with the wheel, then skidded to a standstill directly in front of Carter, facing him. Carter threw the car into gear and, fenders clattering, roared around them. At the top of the hill he could see that it would be at least a full minute before Yuri could get the big car turned around on the narrow road. He was right. He was through the next set of curves before he saw any gleam of light behind him. He made it through the last straightaway with the Mercedes coming on strong again. One of the big car's headlights was out, and the other was dancing toward the sky at a crazy angle. "All the better," Carter hissed, and he swung wide for the next curve. It was hairpin sharp, and Carter had geared down to first by the time he was halfway through. The last sixty feet of it was practically a right angle, and then it dipped straight down. He cleared the right angle, and the lights of Lloret rushed toward him a mile away. Just as he started to gain speed down the incline, he stomped the brake and brodied the wheel to the left. The tires screamed their objection as they tore from their rims, and the little Fiesta teetered dangerously for several seconds before coming back down on all fours. Carter left the engine running, pulled on the emergency brake, and killed the lights. In one motion he yanked the passenger side door open and hit the asphalt running. Fifty feet down the road he skidded to a halt, grabbed one of the concrete retainer posts, and threw his body over the side. ◄►
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 111 (124/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 111 When he looked back he could barely see the outline of the road and the cliff. And then he heard the Mercedes coming at full roar. He heard the change in tone as Yuri braked slightly and geared down for the curve. And then he was there, around the curve and hurtling down the incline, already back in fourth gear. Twenty feet away from the Fiesta, Yuri had two choices: hit the little car stretched across the highway in front of him full on, or crank the Mercedes into the cliffs to the right. At the last second he chose the cliffs, but it was too late. The front of the Mercedes hit the Fiesta broadside. The sound of metal on metal, shattering glass, and screaming tires was a cacophony of death in the otherwise still night. The impact carried the Fiesta across the road, where it teetered for a few seconds and then rolled over. Before it hit the sea, Carter was on his feet and running toward the mess that had been the Mercedes. The hood was an upside-down vee, and both front fenders were ripped half off the rest of the car and splayed out like wings. The radiator had been punctured, and steam partially obscured Carter's vision until he reached a point near the driver's side door. Petrie had gone halfway through the windshield. His face was gone, and half the blood in his body had already spilled but, causing an awful stink as it hit the hot engine. The driver's door was open. Carter whirled and un- sheathed Wilhelmina at the same time. He saw Yuri's bulk come up on one knee at the edge of the cliff. Warily, Wilhel- mina at the end of his outstretched arms, Carter crossed the road. "Don't move, you bastard," he hissed. But Yuri did, coming to his feet and turning in the direction of Carter's voice. In the moonlight, Carter saw his arms groping wildly in the air. And then he saw why. Evidently Yuri had hit the windshield frame and one of the concrete posts along the road when he was thrown clear. The front of his skull was neatly caved in, and blood lowed like a fountain over his face, obscuring what vision he had left.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 112 (125/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 112 NICK CARTER Carter holstered Wilhelmina and shouldered his way be- tween the groping arms. There was little to fear. Yuri was a walking dead man. In seconds Carter had patted the man down, taking every- thing he found in Yuri's pockets as well as two rings from his fingers. When he was through, he grasped him by the shoulders and turned him to face the sea. Then he carefully placed his knee in the middle of Yuri's back. "So long, chum." He heard a thud, another, and then a faint splash. The sound barely reached his ears before Carter was sprinting toward Lloret. As soon as he made out houses on his left, he left the main road and scrambled down the rocky incline that led to Miguel's lane. By the time he reached the Peugeot, his chest was burning and his legs felt like posts. The parking lights were on, and he could see Ginger's outline in the dash lights. She was sitting in the driver's seat. Carter yanked open the passenger door and fell inside. She brought a tire iron up from between the bucket seats, recognized him just in time, and dropped it. "Thank God." "Hi, baby," he panted, holding the pain in his sides. Suddenly she was on him, arms around his neck, her lips plastered over his. "No . . . no," he managed to mumble. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" He shook his head. "I . . . just . . . can't . . . breathe . . . while you're kissing me." "Oh," she sighed with relief, and then she saw the blood on his hands and the front of his shirt from Yuri's gushing head. "My God, what happened?" "There has been a very serious accident," Carter said, catching his breath at last, "up there. Drive!" ◄►
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 113 (126/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 113 "There's booze in the bar, right there, and sandwiches back in that area. It's an open galley." Carter nodded and thanked the uniformed First Officer. "How soon do we take off?" "Ten minutes. Weather's clear all the way to Vienna. I'll let you know when it's seat belt time." The man took a last look at the bloody front of Carter's shirt and seemed to want to say more. "Yes?" Carter asked. The copilot shrugged. "It's up to you, but chances are you'll have to go through Austrian customs at Schwechat Airport. We're about the same size, I'd say . . ." "Yeah," Carter agreed. "There are a couple of clean shirts in the locker beside the galley." "I appreciate it," Carter said, and he meant it. When the man had moved forward into the cockpit and the door was closed behind him, Ginger spoke. "What do you suppose he thinks?" "He doesn't," Carter replied, peeling the bloody shirt from his body. "He's probably hauled people who look a lot worse. Small charters like this take whatever and whoever they can get, as long as it's only slightly shady and not outrightly illegal." From beneath his shirt and belt, he tugged the pillowcase containing the shredded photograph and the contents of Yuri's pockets. He dumped it on the seat and headed for the rear of the plane. "Build us a couple of drinks. I'm going to get present- able." Carter scrubbed the dried blood from his chest and shoul- ders that had seeped through the shirt. The little cabinet above the lavatory was well equipped with cellophane- wrapped razors and toothbrushes as well as cologne and after shave. He used what he needed, found the crisp, freshly laun- dered shirt, and ten minutes later stepped back into the main cabin.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 114 (127/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 114 NICK CARTER He accepted the drink Ginger handed him, then moved into the seat beside her just as the plane's intercom came alive. "We're taxiing out now, so will you please fasten your seat belts. Minutes later, the powerful little jet was streaking into the night sky over the Mediterranean. The lights of Barcelona disappeared behind them. Almost at once, the twinkling night skyline of southern France appeared on the horizon ahead and to the left. "How long will it take?" Ginger asked. "About three hours," Nick replied, digging into the pil- lowcase, "if he pours the coals to it. Let's get to work. They went through everything from Yuri's pockets, even ripping apart the wallet. The only thing that looked good was a cipher penned faintly into the margin of an international driver's license. It resembled the code system used in Alexis Carlyle's address book. Carter memorized it, and then they went to work on the picture puzzle. Two more drinks and an hour and a half later, they had it completed, with only two small pieces missing. "It's some kind of a hospital," Ginger said. "That would fit in with the ambulance. Let's hope the boys in Vienna can make something of it." "Poor kid, she looks sedated. "Yeah," Carter replied, wearily rubbing his temples. "Let's hope that's all she is."
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. Melissa e nervously swirled the wine in her glass and let her eye dartiaround the huge, well-appointed room. She had ani exactly at the specified time. Now three hours had passed-ene cocktail party was breaking up, and still no one had contacted her. The guests were a curious array , even for a cosmopolitan city such as Vienna. There were the usual assortment of titles from a bygone regime, as well as untitled members of the new monarchy: private enterprise. They all had one thing in common—money—whether it was old or new. The Countess Von Riggen herself was a charming grande darne, if a little bit on the light side when it came to brains. She had welcomed Melissa herself, introduced her to every- one, and then darted off. Since then, she had loudly proclaimed to all who would listen that just because there were political differences be- tween East and West, there should not be cultural ignorance. The arts should be freely exchanged, and she meant to make it happen. Melissa wished her well but found it difficult to follow any of the conversation of the countess or her guests. She was too nervous. "Fräulein Heldstrom?" 115 Page 115 (128/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 116 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "What? . Oh, yes." It was one of the robotlike tuxedoed waiters. He stood, lcx)king directly through her, extending a silver tray. "A telegram, Fräulein. t' 'Thank you. " Melissa held her breath until he was gone, then she tore at the envelope. It wasn 't a telegram at all, but a piece of white paper inside a yellow cable envelope. Miss Lane: The moment you finish reading this, go to the second floor. The third door on your right from the head of the stairs is a library. Inside you will see another door. It is a book recovery room. I'll be waiting. Stuffing the envelope and the note in her purse, Melissa discarded her gla« and made for the stairs. She counted the doors and bolted through the third one. The room was floor- to-ceiling books, its old furniture consisting of å sofa, desk, and a few chairs. Only one light, a reading lamp, was lit. Directly across from her she saw a second door, slightly ajar. Cautiously she pushed it open and stepped inside. Sud- denly the door was wrenched from her hand and closed. She heard a bolt slide into place and felt someone move by her into the room. In panic she felt for a wall switch, only to be brought up short by a low, guttural voice. "Don't, Miss Lane. I have the only light we will need. " The beam of a powerful flashlight came on and found her face, momentarily blinding her. "Congratulations, Miss Lane. You have done splendidly thus far. Continue to do so, and your sister will be released without harm. " "Are you . "Yes, I am the Baron. You were to be contacted here by the same woman who met you in Perpignan, but I fear she has been delayed. " "How is Tanya?" "Sleeping peacefully but very much alive, I assure you. lhe light moved forward, becoming stronger, so that Melissa Page 116 (129/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 117 had to turn her head slightly from its glare. "Here, take this and listen carefully. " An envelope was shoved into her hand, and then the man backed away again. 'The day after tomorrow, at nine o'clock, a bus carrying these fools on their little crusade will pick you up at your hotel. You have the red dress and hat?" ' 'Yes. " "Good. Wear them both. Do not wear the blond wig. " "But the people in the party— "I doubt if anyone would mention the change in your hair color, but if someone does you can claim a woman 's preroga- tive." "You h ve everything figured out, don't you?" Melissa asked. ' 'Ev thing. At the frontier you will use your own pass- port. 16 thyenvelope in your hand is a valid visa in your own name. Also, you will find forint vouchers for three days and an in-country travel pass. "' SSWhat about Tanya?" "I am getting to that," the man replied in an agonizingly calm voice. "On the evening prior to your scheduled retum, you will complain of stomach cramps right after dinner. Shortly after returning to your room, you will complain further. A doctor will be sent, and he will recommend hospi- tal checks. " "I'm to be hospitalized?" "Yes, until Countess Von Riggen 's group is back here in Vienna. When they are back and contact has been broken, you will declare your defection. Your sister will then be released. " "And what happens if I recant my defection after Tanya 's 'My dear Miss Lane, I really don 't care what you do then. I do this solely for money. You will have been delivered--—of your own free will—into Hungary, and my Swiss accounts will have grown commensurately. What you do over there, or what they do to you, is none of my affair. " Page 117 (130/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 118 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER ' 'Dear God, what makes a man do such things?" Melissa cried. "I just told you, Miss Lane. Money. In case you hadn't heard, it makes the world go around . . . at least my world. Now would you leave here and return to your hotel, please? And, by the way, remain in your room, as you did in Perpig- nan, until the time for departure. 's "Who are you?" 'A very clever man, Miss Lane. And a very deadly one if I have to be. Good night. " The palms of Colonel Vasily Korshakov's hands sweated profusely, and his pants stuck to his heavy thighs. He glanced at the illuminated dial of his watch and pulled the collar of his trench coat up higher around his neck. The rain had stopped now, but there was. a damp mist remaining in the air and the fog swirled upwarå from the Danube. Korshakov could hear the throaty foghorns begin to bellow their warnings as the fog thickened. The fog was already too thick to see the Aspernplatz near the opposite end of the bridge. He heard the car just before its yellow lights made a dent in the fog. It crawled toward him over the bridge, slowed, and then went on by. Korshakov started to reach for a cigarette, thought better of it, and began to crack his knuckles instead to assuage his nervousness. Again he checked his watch. She was fifteen minutes late, and Korshakov was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong. Then he heard the unmistakable click, click, click of high heels on the concrete. She came from the Ring side of the bridge, her movement through the fog making it swirl around her. She was a small girl, but she moved with long, gliding strides. A product of her dancing, he mused, studying her pert face and close-cropped hair in the dim light as she approached. She could be an English or American student studying abroad, he thought. And then he shivered. It was Hillary DuFarve's look of Page 118 (131/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 119 innocence that had lured so many men to their deaths. "Good evening, Vasily," she said, her speaking voice sounding even lower and huskier than it did when she sang. "Hillary . . you have it?" ' 'Of course. And you?" She extracted a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to him. Korshakov practically snatched it from her fingers and held it close to his face in order to see the print. It was a deposit voucher from Swiss Eurobank for one million dollars. "Your hands are shaking, Vasily. " "It is not every day that one defects," he retorted. "Nor does one betray the Baron every day, " she chuck- led. Korshakø4 looked at her gamin face, and once again he shivered."ln'etail he told her everything: where the Lane woman was staying; under what name she traveled; the way the Baron was sending her across; and, most important of all, the timetable. "You are sure of everything?" "Positive," he replied, '*down t(Mhe last detail. " "The government of Libya thanks you, comrade. I doubt if we shall meet again. " s 'I doubt it too," Korshakov said, managing a smile. "l have no desire to ever visit Tripoli. " "You go to the American embassy at once?" 'Immediately. " "I think you are a fool, Vasily Korshakov, but I wish you well. " He said nothing in reply as she moved past him and continued on across the bridge. When he could no longer hear her heels, he turned and moved quickly toward the Aspern- Platz. He almost felt like whistling. One million in a Swiss account, another million from Moscow that was supposed to go to the Baron 's account sidetracked to his, and surely he would be able to wheedle some funds out of the Americans after his defection. All in all, it was a good day. And it would be an even better Page 119 (132/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 120 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER tomorrow. Vasily Korshakov planned to retire in style. The black car was directly in front of him before Korsha- kov saw it come out of the fog. A shadowy figure was at his shoulder. A gun barrel was ground into the small of his back, and guttural German was barked into his ear. "Get into the car, comrade. If you don't, the gun is silenced. No one will hear the shot that severs your spine. The driver had leaned across and opened the rear door of the car. Vasily ventured a look over his shoulder at the man who held the gun. He was wide and heavyset, with coarse, Slavic features. His cheeks were heavily pitted, and no pupils could be discerned between the pig-slits of his eyes. "What is the purpose of this stupidity?" Vasily had used the words to turn and face the man. He saw the thick, porcine lips curve into an ugly smile, and then a hamlike fist buried itself in his fat belly clearito the wrist. His head hit the roof as he slammed against the car. He struck out blindly, but his wrist was caught in a steel grip. And then he heard his own voice gasp out a scream of agony as his groin erupted in pain and he was hurled into the car. The young agent, Michaels, and an old hand from SDECE in Paris, Michel Dontaine, met the chartered jet at Vienna 's Schwechat Airport. Carter knew Dontaine from past assignments. He was a good and experienced man, but Carter was surprised to see him involved in this, and told him so. "Your Monsieur Hawk thought it best to get me involved , Nick, since you may need Austrian help. I've been liaison man down here for nearly two years, and I know how the wheels are greased. " "Good enough," Carter replied, He passed across the now assembled picture. He and Ginger had carefully glued each piece to a hard cardboard backing. "Have somebody blow this up and then take it apart bit by bit. There might be some clue as to where they are holding the girl. " "l understand. " Page 120 (133/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 121 Dontaine left in one car, Carter, Ginger, and Michaels in another. They entered the Ring at Kopalplatz, across from the air terminal, and drove to Wipplinerstrasse, not far from St. Peter's Cathedral. There they parked, walked another block, and turned down a narrow street, more like an alley. Carter had been in the building that housed AXE Vienna many times in years past. On the outside it was a nondescript five-story pension. Inside, it was narrow hallways barely wide enough for two people to pass. The walls were drab, stippled brown plaster, and the rooms were not much better. Like the Paris office, this one had its special rooms, all in the basement. Michaels finger-punched a code on the night bell, and the door bu . They walked to the end of the dimly lit hall and lightly on a door. It opened immediately by a small, wizened man with quick, intelligent eyes. Beyond him was a small, two-room apartment. With only a nod from the old man they crossed the rcx)rn, entered a kitchen, and continued on down a flight of stairs to another door. Again Michaels pressed a code into the bell by the and they were buzzed into a stark white room brightly illumi- nated by fluorescent bulbs. Machines made a low hum and now and then a clatter as a message was received from somewhere in the world. "Hawk's probably in the conference room, " Michaels said. "You go ahead. 1'11 check update from Paris. " Carter nodded and led the way through the desks and machines to a steel The door opened easily at his touch, and he and Ginger found themselves in a narrow, paneled room with a bar and snack counter at one end, and several monitoring screens at the other. The center of the room was occupied by a long conference table and several leather chairs. David Hawk up from a mountain of papers as they entered, and was immediately on his feet and across the room. "Nick, there's coffee—brandy if you like. " He grasped Page 121 (134/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 122 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER both of Ginger's hands in his own big fists, and there was obvious concern in his eyes when he spoke. "Are you all 'A headache that doesn 't seem to want to go away. Other than that, fine . . . really," Ginger said and smiled. ' 'Good, ' ' he said. He flashed her a brief smile, then moved back to the table, once more all business. "Brief me. Carter did as he poured coffee and liberally laced it with brandy. He detailed the wild drive from Tossa to Lloret, and didn 't mince on the details of how the two men had bought it. Hawk only nodded. Ginger paled a little but managed to hold her composure, She was learning just what an agent like Carter did in the field, and it was a tough lesson. When Carter put a period to it, Hawk began. "The Spanish are treating it like it looks: an fccident. Someone steals a car and gets into a bad wreck. We did manage to get the names and run them through our own files and Interpol. " He fished through the papers and finally came up with the reports he wanted. 'Yuri Gorgon was a legionnaire. He ended up in Algeria, one of the fanatics who considered DeGaulle a traitor for giving up Algeria to the rebels. We 're checking now on any close ties he had there that he might have kept. Hawk paused, switched papers, and let a frown creep across his already seamed forehead. "The other one, Petrie, is a bit of a puzzle. His passport and other identifying papers were in the name of Petrie Alexander. But a fingerprint check through Interpol makes him as Karl Von Petrie, Austrian. No known record, but he's long been suspected of arms running, mostly into Africa. " "That figures, " Carter said, sipping his coffee. "Do you have a printout of Alexis Carlyle's address book?" Hawk found the folded sheets and pa€sed them across the table. Carter jotted the ciphers from Yuri Gorgon 's wallet down on a pad and began comparing. Page 122 (135/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 123 "All the codes have been broken down into phone num- bers," Hawk said. "We've checked them out, but nothing seems to make sense. " Carter made a match, moved his finger across to the decoded number, and then read the inked notation below it: Answering Service, 121 Wiedner Hauptstrasse. He underlined it and turned the sheet around to face Hawk. "Can you put a man on that place until we're ready to Hawk nodded and reached for a panel of buttons on the table. Before he could buzz, Michaels stepped through the door. "Melissa Lane showed up at the Von Riggens' cocktail party. One of our men tailed her to the Parkhotel. It's near Schonbru , about a half hour outside the city. They are watchi "What yappened to our cooperation with the police?" Hawk fumed. "Why weren't we informed that 'Inga Held- strom' had checked in?" "Because she didn 't check in, or at least not individual- ly," Michaels replied. "She came by tour, by bus, from Geneva. The rooms were booked in a block by the tour company. ' ' "We've got to hand it to him, " Carter said. "The Baron is one clever bastard' " The phone in front of Hawk lit up. "Yes? . . . Put him on. " Hawk listened for a few moments, nodding, before he spoke again. "All right, get as many men on it as it takes, first thing in the morning. Right. " He replaced the receiver and faced Carter. "That was Dontaine. We might have something. They blew the picture up and were able to make out the manufac- turer's trademark on one of the steel bars on the bed. It's an outfit in Dusseldorf. " Carter shook his head. "Bare chance . . they probably ship hundreds a day. " "Not like these," Hawk smiled. "It's a very special bed thaCs equipped with restraints for mental patients. " Page 123 (136/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 124 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER Now Carter was smiling too. He placed his fingertips together in front of his face, and then flexed his fingers up and down. "If it's bingo," he said, ' 'the plan lays itself out. We ice Melissa and go after Tanya. " Suddenly he lurched to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a big day tomorrow. do we sleep?" "Here, upstairs," Michaels said, "Two rooms have al- ready been prepared. " Carter nodded and turned to Ginger. She was sound asleep in her chair. "There is only one thing worse than a and that is a greedy fool! " Vasily Korshakov narrowed his eyes against the harsh light and concentrated in the direction of the voi . The face was in shadow, but he could make out a clipped giy beard, a narrow straight nose, and hollow cheekbones. The eyes were a cold, slate gray, and the face—taken as a whole—gave yasily an instant impression of cruelty, brutality, and pur- pose. "Where is my money, Korshakov?" "You are the Baron, " Vasily said, his voice a whisper. ' 'I chose you as my Budapest contact, Korshakov , because I knew you were a fool. As such, I thought you would ploddingly do your job. Now you amaze me. " Vasily shook his head to clear the last cobwebs. It was then that he realized that he was stark naked and strapped to a chair. "How dare you! I am a colonel—" "You are a dead man, Vasily, unless you answer each of my questions. I have already contacted Moscow. They claim the money was transferred. I believe them. 's Korshakov blinked the sweat from his eyes. The die was cast. He couldn 't return to the East or Russia now, and if he told the Baron everything, he would be a dead man in the West. He watched the Baron lift the lid from a black metal box Page 124 (137/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 125 near his legs. From it he took a cord and plugged it into a nearby wall socket. "Do you know what this is, comrade?" Vasily didn't answer. His throat had suddenly gone very dry and his mouth tasted like bile. "I joined the French Foreign Legion in Marseille when I was only a boy. Years later -I was posted to Algeria as a colonel. Even at that, I went up through the ranks very quickly. Do you know why, Comrade Korshakov?" The KGB colonel watched the man's long, tapering fin- gers withdraw two thick cables from the box. Attached to the end of each one of them was an alligator clip. ' 'It was because I was a master at interrogation, comrade. I learned ear y that beatings with rubber hoses, truncheons, and the lik were foolish. That kind of pain is self-defeating. The pri er falls into a stupefied coma, and nothing further imgs him. " "What do you want to know?" A harsh, guttural laugh erupted from the Baron 's throat to echo around the small room and thunder in Korshakov 's ears. "Ah yes, you will indeed be a willing subject. Ihe prelude to pain is often more rewarding to the interrogator than the pain itself. Who was the woman on the bridge?" SSA nightclub entertainer. Her name is Margaret. We are having an affair. " "l don't believe you, comrade." "I swear it." The Baron held up the two cables, snapping the alligator clips open and shut before Vasily's eyes. "There was a Swiss Eurobank deposit voucher in your coat pocket with the account number torn off. It was for one million dollars. Was that my million dollars, Vasily?" "No, no! I swear it wasn 't! " Korshakov snapped his head from side to side, flinging sweat from his face in both direc- tions. S'Then the woman gave you the voucher. What did you give her in retum?" "Nothing . nothing! Page 125 (138/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 126 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER ' 'God, you are more than afool Vasily. You are a simple- ton. Open your mouth. " he didn't, the Baron squeezed his cheeks until he did. Vasily howled in mumbled pain when one of the clips closed down over his tongue. But that howl was nothing compared to the second ear-piercing shriek that came from his throat when the other clip was clamped over his testicles. "This isa rheostat, Vasily," the Baron intoned. "And this is what happens when I turn it . . The room burst into saffron flames before Korshakov's eyes. He could swear that boiling lava had shot through his veins and that all his bones had turned to mush. His fat body lurched against the leather straps holding him, and if the chair hadn't been bolted to the floor it and he would have flown across the room. "That, Vasily, was barely an eighth of the power in the rheostat. \Vho was the woman?" the Baron a*ed as he removed the alligator clip from Korshakov's tongue. "A Libyan agent. Her name is Hillary DuFarve. " ' 'I •ve heard of her. What was your deal?" "In exchange for the million, I gave her all the details of the Lane cmssover . . . place, time, everything. " "Will she try to intercept Melissa Lane before she gets to Budapest?" ' 'Yes, but I don 't know where or when. I swear I don't! " "And what were you planning on doing with the money hers and mine?" "Defecting. I was on my way to the American embassy when your people picked me up. " ' *Good, ' the Baron said, leaning his face close to the other man 's. "Now, one last question, Vasily, and I shall leave you in peace. Your accounts in Switzerland. . . they are all private, numbered accounts. " Silence. "What are the numbers and the codes, Vasily?" Silence. Ihe Baron asked the same question again, and still there was no answer. Again he forced open Korshakov•s mouth Page 126 (139/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 127 d reattached the clip. His hand found the black box, and zain the rheostat spun. Vasily Korshakov's body wrenched in the chair and went straight. Agony that no man would believe ever isted shot through his every nerve. He never quite lost msciousness. There were enough brief intervals between le shocks that wouldn't let him pass out. As soon as one )nvulsion would fade, another would hit him. dear God in heaven, please stop! " he said, his "Stop . ice a croaking mumble around the clip. 'S You people don't believe in God any more than I do, asily." stop!" "I'll . . . tell . • you The Baron flipped the rheostat to "off," took off the Ingue clip, placed his lips close to the other man 's ear. The numbe , Våsily. " "Watera . please . . . can't speak.' The Baron réached behind his head, and then a bottle was •ing forced between Korshakov 's lips, striking his teeth. He rank greedily, and then the bottle was taken away. "I'm reaching for the rheostat, Vasily. " lhe numbers began tumbling from Vasily Korshakov's ps. Instead ofthe rheostat, the Baron 's hand found a pad and uncil. Furiously he copied account numbers, codes, and anks. He made the man repeat everything three times before he ghed with satisfaction and slipped the pad into his mxket. "Rest in peace, Vasily." Ihe Baron flipped the rheostat in the black box to "full " ld, accompanied by Korshakov 's screams, made his way to le stairs, By the time he reached the door at the top of the stairs the Teams had ended and the only sound in the room was the um from the black box. Page 127 (140/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. TEN Nick Carter pushed the linen-covered tray can into the elevator the Parkhotel and punched "7. " The elevator jolted, t hold, and began to glide upward. The cart beside him sh dered. He patted it with his open palm. "Eåsy,pld girl." He moved down the seventh floor corridor to the very end Out the window, in the distance, he could see the vast acres and sprawling buildings of Schonbrunn Palace. Closer to the hotel were other, smaller hotels, office buildings, and more buildings under construction. Though he couldn't see them, he knew there were two special-duty AXE agents in one of the windows directly across, a high-powered scope trained on the windows of Rcx)m 717 of the Parkhotel. He also knew that somewhere over there, one or more of the Baron 's army was also watch- ing the same windows to make sure their little bird didn 't get cold feet and fly. "Yes?" came the answer to his knock. "Bitte„Fräulein. . .zimmerdienst . . . mittagessen. " The door opened, held on the chain, and one eye peered fearfully through the crack. Carter straightened his white jacket, inclined his head, and barely clicked his heels. "Guten Tag, Fräulein." . yes. "s The door closed and opened again wide. "Come in. " 129 Page 129 (142/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 130 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER Melissa Lane paced to the window as Carter kicked the door closed and pushed the cart to the center of the room. "Wie geht es ihnen dieserfein Tag, Fräulein?" "What? 1 . . I'm sorry, I don't speak German. Would you just leave the cart, please? Right there is fine. " "I said, " Carter repeated in fluent, American-accented English, "how are you this fine day, Miss Lane?" She had turned toward the window. Now she whirled, her hands flying to her face as it drained of color. "Would you please move away from the window, Miss Lane? Our people are watching you, but I'm sure there are others as well. " Instinctively Melissa took several steps from the window as Carterrapped on the cart and lifted the linen from one side. "You! " Melissa gasped as the side of the cart raised and Ginger Bateman tumbled out. "No thanks to you, " Ginger said, getting to her feet. She turned slightly and lifted her hair. '*Wanna see my såtches? " Melissa 's eyes misted. Her hands came together and began to wring each other. "I . . . I'm sorry, butl told you to leave me alone. My God , can 't you people understand? They 'II kill Tanya! "Not if we get her away from them first," Carter said. In two steps he had his arm around Melissa 's waist. He half carried, half guided her to a sofa near the cart and sat her down. "Here, " he said almost brutally, shoving a cup of coffee and a saucer into her hands, "When you get tired of hearing those clatter, maybe you'll calm down. " "Damn you . "No, Miss Genius, damn you , " Carter said, venom and steel in his voice. "You may know about pushing things around in space, finding things without seeing them on radar screens, and be a computer wizard, but you don 't know beans about the killing business. I do! i' I'm afraid, that•s all . "You bet your ass you 're afraid. That's why you 're worth nothing to your little sister. Ginger and I are. Page 130 (143/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 131 He knew he was being hard on her, but he also knew he had to be. He didn 't have any time to waste. As he dropped to one knee beside her legs, his hand—quicker than she could fol- low—slipped beneath his coat and came out holding Wilhel- mina. In an instant he levered a shell into the chamber and held the black Luger directly before her eyes. "You know computers, Miss Lane; they're the tools of your trade. These are the tools of mine. " He paused, squeezing his right forearm. lhe spring action on Hugo's arm clip clicked, and the razor-sharp stiletto filled his hand. Melissa's eyes grew wide and white. 'Ihis is a specially modified 9mm Parabellum Luger P08. It carries a special ten-load magazine, and its muzzle velocity is one thousand and fifty feet per second. It is very effective in either sho or long range, because I'm skillful with iti In fact, I can t out both a man's eyes at fifty yards. I know I've" one it. call thiS little piece Wilhelmina. She was specially modified for me. See this in the butt? That's for a shoulder stock attachment and a thirty-two-round magazine, so I can kill people faster. And this? This is Hugo, very quick, very deadly, and very efficient . . leaves very little mess. " Carter slid the weapons out of sight and stood expelling his breath in a long sigh. "Are you ready to listen to us now, Miss Lane0" Melissa swallowed once, carefully set her cup and saucer on the cart, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I 'II do whatever you say. "Good. We think we may know where Tanya is. " Caner pulled a photo from his inside coat pocket and unfurled it. "Do you know what this is?" 'Ihis is a blown-up portion of the photograph you ripped up and left in the wastebasket of your room in Canet-Plage; the photograph would probably have helped us if you 'd given it to us a few days earlier. " "Nick, ' ' Ginger said, shooting him a warning glance and sliding onto the sofa beside Melissa. Page 131 (144/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 132 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER ' 'Yeah, you're right," he said grudgingly. "Brief her. s' Ginger ttX)k the photograph and began to speak while Carter lit a cigarette. ' 'This is a blowup ofone of the steel struts of a hospital bed . the bed Tanya was lying on in the photograph. '*Yes. . 2" "Here you can see the plate with the manufacturer's trademark. " "Yes, I see it, " Melissa nodded, some enthusiasm creep- ing into her voice now. "It's a Dusseldorf company. " "Right. This particular model is very special. It has different hydraulics than other hospital beds, and it is also built with special patient restraints. Very few of them are made. We found out that only twenty-two of them, this year's model—that same model in the picture—were shipped into Austria. " Across the room, Carter picked it up. 'Two,pf them went to a psychiatric ward of the main hospital here in Vienna. They 're full right now and have been for over a month with the same people. " "A sixty-five-year-old-woman," Ginger said, "and a man who thinks he's the Marquis de Sade. " Melissa up at Carter, the beginnings of a smile curling her lips. "And the other twenty beds?" s 'A very private, very exclusive clinic in the Alps near Innsbruck. It's called St. Christobel. I have a helicopter ready to go up there just as soon as we get you to a safe place. ' ' The smile on her face quickly faded. "But if theyfind me gone . *Melissa. " Ginger took the other woman by the am and led her across the room to a full-length mirror. She placed her in a spot in front of the mirror and then stood beside her. Carefully Ginger coiled her hair toward the back of her head until it was very near the same style worn by Melissa. Then, deftly, she inserted a few pins and dropped one arm around the other woman's shoulders. She tugged until she and Melissa were standing shoulder to shoulder. Page 132 (145/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 133 "With a little makeup, dark glasses, and your clothes, even the Baron himself would have to be right on top of me to tell the difference. " ' 'My God, you 're right, " Melissa gasped, turning to face the other woman. "And that's how we plan to do it," Carter said. "Ginger came in via the cart, and you go out via the cart. She stays here until we're sure Tanya's safe. " "But are you sure. . i?" Melissa said, again gnawing at her lower lip. "As sure as we're going to get, " Carter replied, moving across the room and taking her by the shoulders. "Look, Melissa, it's you they want. You're not only a Miss . . . scientific addition, you're a propaganda That's pretty obvious fro the way they want you to make the crossover. They wan t to appear as if it were entirely of your own volition.lf ypu follow all their orders, doing exactly as they have specified, Tanya can scream at the top of her lungs over here when it's all done, and it won't make any difference. " "But— "No buts about it. Moscow can disclaim any association or knowledge of the Baron whatsoever. lhe fact that you came across on your own and defected is all they 're interested in. Now, do we play ball?" "Yes," Melissa answered, squaring her shoulders and gaining some strength for the first time since they had entered the room. "All right," Ginger began. "I've got to know everything they told you, right down to the last little minute piece of instruction. ' ' Melissa thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and started spitting out all the instructions she had gone over and over in her mind since her meeting at the Countess Von Riggen's with the Baron. 'm to wear a red dress and hat. They're in the closet. No more wig that's probably because they're planning some kind of photograph at the frontier. Also, there is a visa and other papers in my name . . . " Page 133 (146/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 134 (147/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # 134 NICK CARTER "They want you to go over under your own passport?" Carter asked. "Yes," she replied. "That clinches it," he said. Melissa reiterated the rest of the instructions about the stomach cramps and subsequent hospitalization, and defec- tion on the other side. Carter turned to Ginger. "Got it?" "As much as I'll ever have it," she replied. "Okay, let's just hope it never gets to the point where you have to make the crossing." He turned and grasped Melissa by the elbow. "C'mon, m'girl into the cart!" She paused for a second, rolling her eyes up to his square- jawed, ruggedly handsome face. "Who are you?" "The name's Carter," he replied with a smile. "Nick Carter. And you'd better know it, lady. I'm one of the good guys." Carter hit the tarmac before the rotor blades stopped turn- ing above him. With Michaels at his heels he dove into the back of a vintage Mercedes. Michel Dontaine was in the front passenger seat, and the driver was introduced as Kurt Hueb- ling. They were barely settled in when the car lurched forward. Huebling was a good man with a wheel. In no time they were out of the Flughafen parking lot and moving toward the city on the autobahn. "What have you got?" Carter asked. "A start, but not a hell of a lot yet," Dontaine replied, passing a map of Innsbruck over the seat back and following it with half his body. "St. Christobel is a converted monas- tery. It's built into the foothills above the Stubai Valley here." "How far out of Innsbruck?" Carter asked. "Less than an hour this time of year. I've booked us three rooms at an inn on the Brenner Autobahn. here. We can use them for a gathering place and fall back if necessary. "Good," Carter growled. "What else?"
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 135 "Here's the architectural layout. The monastery itself was built way back in Ludwig's time, but they had to file these plans when they did the renovation. Also, because of Aus- tria's socialized medical care system, they had to get a state sanction in order to stay private and charge their patients an arm and a leg. " Carter spread the St. Christobel plan out across his and Michaels 's laps and did a quick study. At the same time, Dontaine spread out six four-by-ten glossies. 'Here's the exterior—four by telephoto from the ground and two by helicopter this morning, " "Weird," Michaels said. Dontaine chuckled. "Yeah, they say on warm nights you can't see the place for the bats. "' Carter's n and experienced eye took in the exterior photos. Th was one road up to St. Christobel, and it went nowhere . The mountain behind went up just over sixty- five hundreéfeet. The snow line came down halfway to the monastery. He jabbed the top of that mountain with his finger. "Can we get up there?" Dontaine smiled. "l figured you'd ask that. The top is a rangy plateau over to this mountain here. There 's still a lot of snow even at this time of year. About the only way is by helicopter. " Carter n(xlded. s could be dropped off here' '—he jabbed the map and slid his finger down to the monastery—— "and ski down to here. Then we just walk down to the back door. " "Can be done, " Dontaine said, his brows curving into a vee, "but it 's rough. There are live trees up there, and lots of half-buried stumps left from summer timbering. Also r(ktks and a few other hazards. It's not ski country. " 'Particularly at night, " Carter said, a white line appearing along the edge of his jaw. "But we can't go in the front " He moved the photos to the side and smoothed out the architectural plans. "Give me a rundown on this." "Okay,•• Dontaine said, leaning further over the seat. Page 135 (148/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 136 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "Kitchens and staff quarters are here. They take up almost the entire bottom floor. There are two wards, actually wings here and here. They're broken up into nine rooms to a ward," "What about a cellar?" Carter asked. "Monks always made wine. " "They did. It's been converted into storerooms and of- fices. " "And the two towers?" "Nothing, " Dontaine replied. "They've been closed off . supposedly." Carter's head came up, his eyes meeting the other man's. "Supposedly . . "Look here at the end of the corridors on each wing. and see right here?" mn- There's a kind of anteroom . . taine took a pencil from his pocket and pointed to some dotted lines. ' 'They're dumbwaiters, and if I'm any ju{ge, they go beyond servicing just the wards on this floor. ' ' The towers?" Carter suggested. Another picture came over the seat. 'This was also taken from the helicopter. If you look closely through those narrow windows, you can see activity in there. " "Which one?" Carter asked, referring back to the floor plans. "The one on the right . . or left, if you're looking from the mountain. And, Nick . V lhere are nine rooms to a ward. That's a total of eighteen beds . . ' 'So that would leave a bed each for the towers," Nick said. "Can we do a recon0" "Already set it up," Dontaine replied. "Laundry truck takes fresh linen up every day at four-thirty. ' ' 'What about the driver?" ' 'Iced. IA's just say he can •t say no, no matter how much he wants to." 'Sounds good , Laundry , huh? In those big, rolling canvas Page 136 (149/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 137 Dontaine nodded. Carter turned to the young agent beside him. "How are your guts, Michaels?" "I'm here, aren't I?" he said with a grin. "Okay, you'll go in with me and the laundry man. In the meantime, study the hell out of these floor plans. " "What do I concentrate on?" s The tower, " Carter replied. "When we bust ass in there, I want you in Tanya Lane's room waiting for us. They 'II try to get to her the minute the lid blows. Cut up anybody who tries. ' ' The car came to a halt, and the driver growled something unintelligible to Dontaine. "We're here. " Nick r looked out the window. There, rchCd about a mile away and a thousand feet up the side.Of a mountain, was the gray stone mass of St. Christobel The man's name was Gustav Fleming. He was only about three years older than Caner, but his hair was nearly com- pletely gray, and there were miles of age lines in his face. His eyes were small and cold, and he had shoulders like a wres- tler's or a professional weightlifter's. He was an illegal from East Germany, just one of many on French SDECE and German BND lists. Carter knew the moment he had stepped from the truck that the man hated both Dontaine and Huebling for fingering him. "He'll grouse a lot, " Dontaine had said of Fleming, "but he'll do as he's told, and he won 't cross you up. He doesn't want to go back to East Gemany. " ney crawled the last quarter mile to St. Christobel where the road leveled out, before Fleming said a word. "Through the gate there is a courtyard. On the far side of the courtyard is a loading ramp. We park there. " "And then?" "You take one cart of clean linen; I take the other. Then follow me. You speak German?" Page 137 (150/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 137 Dontaine nodded. Carter turned to the young agent beside him. "How are your guts, Michaels?" "I'm here, aren't I?" he said with a grin. "Okay, you'll go in with me and the laundry man. In the meantime, study the hell out of these floor plans. " "What do I concentrate on?" s The tower, " Carter replied. "When we bust ass in there, I want you in Tanya Lane's room waiting for us. They 'II try to get to her the minute the lid blows. Cut up anybody who tries. ' ' The car came to a halt, and the driver growled something unintelligible to Dontaine. "We're here. " Nick r looked out the window. There, rchCd about a mile away and a thousand feet up the side.Of a mountain, was the gray stone mass of St. Christobel The man's name was Gustav Fleming. He was only about three years older than Caner, but his hair was nearly com- pletely gray, and there were miles of age lines in his face. His eyes were small and cold, and he had shoulders like a wres- tler's or a professional weightlifter's. He was an illegal from East Germany, just one of many on French SDECE and German BND lists. Carter knew the moment he had stepped from the truck that the man hated both Dontaine and Huebling for fingering him. "He'll grouse a lot, " Dontaine had said of Fleming, "but he'll do as he's told, and he won 't cross you up. He doesn't want to go back to East Gemany. " ney crawled the last quarter mile to St. Christobel where the road leveled out, before Fleming said a word. "Through the gate there is a courtyard. On the far side of the courtyard is a loading ramp. We park there. " "And then?" "You take one cart of clean linen; I take the other. Then follow me. You speak German?" Page 137 (150/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 138 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "Ja,ja," Carter replied. "Good. If an orderly speaks, answer him, but don't say much. They are as much security men as they are orderlies. " "Didn't you ever wonder why?" Carter asked dryly. Fleming swept him once with his small eyes and replied through clenched teeth, ' 'They get a lot of celebrities up here, alcoholics and crazies who want to dry out and put their heads back together. 'Ihat's what they tell me; that's what I believe. Without a passport and work card it's hard to get a job in Austria. Here we go," The panel truck pulled into a large courtyard, swung around, and then backed up to the open door of a loading dock. Carter stepped down from the truck in unison with the other man, and they moved toward the rear. ' 'Ah, Gustav, you have help today?" "Ihe man was dressed all in utility whites,' in&luding soft- soled white shoes. His face was square with a massive jaw, and his blond hair was clipped in a brush cut a half inch from his scalp. His shoulders in the white jacket were massive. and the hands were more like paws where they hung from the too-short sleeves. ' 'Yeah, the boss is thinking of putting on a second truck. ' ' Fleming opened the rear doors of the truck and whispered to Carter out ofthe side of his mouth, "His name is Goetz. He 's the chief orderly. ' ' He looks more like a Viking hit man; Carter thought. This was confirmed when Carter brushed his elbow against the man's midsection in passing. ' 'Ah, sorry," he said in German. "Not used to the carts yet." "Eh," the man grunted, shrugging. There was no doubt that the hard piece of steel stuck in the front of Goetz's belt was some kind of pistol. "In here," Fleming said, banging his cart against two swinging doors. It was a large utility room. There were two carts full of dirty linen awaiting them. Page 138 (151/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 139 "We tdve these back to the truck and get the other two carts of clean. ' ' Carter grabbed one of the cans and followed him back out into the corridor, where he paused. ' 'When we come back, take your cart down to that wing. The utility room is the last door on the right. " "And that's where the auxiliary generator is?" "Yes, in an adjacent room. It is behind a door marked 'Danger.' But I think it is kept locked. " Carter only smiled. It wasn 't necessary to inform Gustav Fleming that there were damn few locks in the world that were unpickable. •mey retumed to the truck , got the two carts of clean linen, and again made the trek down the corridor. Carter turned right; Fleming went left. Carter ted off the rooms as he went through the wing. About half e doors were open. He heard the sounds of televisi or voices behind the closed doors. Well, he Kought, the legit halfofthe sanitarium's business is obviously booming. He didn't want to think that maybe, just maybe, the whole place was legit and Tanya Lane wasn 't in the tower room. He barely paused at the last door on the right. Instead he pushed the can to the end of the corridor, parked it, and pushed open the end door. He found himself in a small alcove with a narrow steel spiral staircase winding upward. To his left there was a steel or aluminum door built into the wall about waist high. It slid up at his touch, and Carter poked his head inside. Below, he could hear the sounds of pots and pans, and cooking Cdors wafted up to fill his nostrils. Above was blackness, but the cables along the side told him that this was the dumbwaiter in the floor plan. And, he thought, I'll lay ten-to-one that it goes right from the kitchen up to the tower suite! He let the door slide shut and started up the stairs, making no pretense at stealth. He was nearly to the top when an orderly who could have been Goetz 's clone glanced up from a magazine he was reading. Page 139 (152/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 140 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER He was on his feet in an instant and moving to block Carter at the last curve of the stairs. "Hey, what are you doing up here?" "Linen, " Carter replied, pointing to the green company patch on his breast pcket. "I'm looking for the utility rcx»m in this wing. " He let his eyes waver a bit from the other man's just enough to note the table where he had been sitting and the double-locked steel door behind it. ' 'Where 's Gustav? " the orderly demanded, his right hand hovering at his belly. "Other wing. I'm helping him out today, learning the ropes. The company is adding a second tuck. 'i The orderly seemed agitated, unsure, as he continued to eye Carter. *lhere didn 't seem to be a great deal of gray matter behind the eyes, and Carter took advantage of it. ' 'Gustav said the last door. This was the last door, Where the hell is the utility rcx)rn? There? How the hell am I sup- posed to get that damn cart up these narrow stairs?" 'You 're not, Dummkopf, " the orderly snapped in disgust. ' 'He meant the last door on the right! Go back down—it's just opposite the one you came in. " "Danke," Carter said, turning and muttering as if to himself, 'Mein Gott, everyone in this place is crazy." He retraced his steps to the conidor and pushed the cart into the utility room. Quickly he moved to a second door; stenciled lettering read Danger. It was locked. By penlight he checked. It was an Orwell. Two minutes later he had it picked and was following the beam from the penlight down a set of rickety wooden stairs to a small, stone-walled room. In the room 's center was the emergency generator. Systematically he went around the generator with a pair of wire clippers. Then, with Hugo, he disengaged the input and output cables, and made hamburger out of their connec- tions. Back in the utility room, he crouched beside the cart of Page 140 (153/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN clean linen he had just wheeled in. 'Michaels? "Yeah," came the muffled reply. Okay? 141 "I'm sweating like a stuck pig, but I can breathe." 'Okay, you 're in the utility room. Across the way is a door that leads up to the tower. There's an orderly, armed, outside the door topside. " "Is the dumbwaiter in the same place as shown on the plans? "Affirmative, " Carter said. "You remembereverything I told "Down to the last period. Did you nail the secondary power source?" "Yeah. 'II take ten electricians a day and a halfto put it back to er. i 'm taking off good luck, guy." "Lees hope I don't need it. " Carter whs just closing the door of the utility room when a short, stout woman with shoulders and arms like a football linebacker came toward him down the corridor. She paused, eyeing him as he passed. Carter nodded. "Guten Tag." "Guten Tag." Out of the comer of his eye he watched her watch him. He remembered the vague description of the two nurses the Swiss frontier guard had given, the two nurses in the ambu- lance with Tanya Lane. He had already figured out that one of them was Alexis Carlyle. This one, more man than woman, fit the description of the other one. Carter came up short, hoping the sweat on his upper lip and forehead wouldn 't give him away. She moved around to the front of the cart and placed her beefy hand on it. "You're new." " At just that moment he saw "Yes, I am. Gustav . . Page 141 (154/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 142 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER Fleming nearing the intersection of the corridors thirty yards away. "Ah, Gustav!" The woman turned as Gustav left his cart and strolled toward them. 'Guten Tag. Fräulein Alfree, this is my new Rumfort. helper, Kurt . The woman tumed back to Carter. "How do you do, Herr Rumfort? ' "Fräulein . . "Come along, Kurt, we're late," Fleming called. "Fräulein," Carter said again, nodding his head toward her hand, which was still gripping the cart. She lifted it, and he forced himself to take slow , measured steps as he passed her and joined Fleming. "Who's she?' ' Carter whispered as they made the tum and headed for the loading dock. "Fräulein Nedda Alfree. She runs the place. Mean . . very mean. I once saw her beat one of the orderlies bloody for some minor infraction. " ' can believe it, ' ' Carter said, exhaling his breath in a low whistle. They were across the courtyard and nearing the main gate when Fleming was forced to stand on the brakes. A baby blue Jaguar shot by them, skidded to the left, and came to a screeching halt near the sanitarium's huge oaken doors. "Stupid damn woman, " Fleming hissed, putting the truck into gear. "Wait a second," Carter said, grasping the man's arm. "Never mind, just hold it a second . The car was familiar, but he couldn't quite re- member. And then he didn't have to. Alexis Carlyle, dressed in a black blouse and slacks, with her reddish blond hair flying, lurched from the car and rushed up the steps. "Okay, Gustav," Carter said, smiling broadly, "let's go. " Page 142 (155/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 143 He leaned back in the seat with a contented sigh and lit a cigarette. If he had any doubts about Tanya Lane being at St. Christobel, they were all gone now. Page 143 (156/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ELEVEN Otto Von etrje adjusted the black tie at his throat and shrugged o the close-cut dinner jacket. The man who stared back at him from the mirror far short of hisflfty-odd years. The deep-set, brooding eyes, aquiline nose, full, almost feminine mouth, strong, closely shaved chin, and tanned skin were all part of the cultivated image. He could have been an actor or playboy, or both. He was obviously rich, confident, and self-assured: He had the sort of face one sees regularly at St. Moritz or Biarritz. He smiled, feeling very good about the day's progress so far, so good that he was about to allow himself a night at the opera. Ihe Lane woman was nervously pacing her room, waiting to go over in the morning. He had successfully shifted over two million dollars from Korshakov 's Swiss accounts to his own. By the same time a day from now, he would collect yet another million from Moscow for the completion of the Lane contract, and it would all be over for a while. And no one could connect Otto Von Petrie with anything. It would be wise to rest for a while afterward, perhaps travel. South America would be best, with Alexis. And while there, she could the victim of an "accident. " 145 Page 145 (158/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 146 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER He was bored with Alexis and was beginning to have doubts about her knowing his uue identity. He was about to pull on a lightweight topcoat when the bar phone interrupted his thoughts. "Otto, it's me—Alexis. " "Where have you been? Why didn't you call at the ap- pointed time?" "Otto, I couldn't. There are—" ' 'Where are you?" he barked. "At St. Christobel. Otto, they missed him. . . the agent, Carter. " "I don 't know how it happened, but somehow he tricked them. Yuri and Petrie are both dead. 's IS "What? Petrie . . Otto Von Petrie's eyes traveled up to the minot behind the bar. His tanned face looked lighter now, and lines appeared where there had been none before. A fine layer of moisture covered his eyes. are you still there?" "Otto . "Of course I'm still here," he whispered. 'This Carter killed Petrie?" "Yes, but I should think you would worry more over the loss of Yuri. I think Yuri was the only one left who could have stopped this man. " "Be quiet and listen! Could he have followed you to St. Christobel?" "Are you sure? Positive?" There was a moment 's hesitation , and then she replied in a whisper, "No, I'm not positive. " ' 'Damn, " "Otto . "Quiet, I'm thinking, damn you! " His keen, alert mind raced through all the recent hap- penings and their ramifications. If Carter knew about St. Christobel, he would surely try for Tanya. The DuFarve woman had been located and was being watched, so it was Page 146 (159/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 147 doubtful that she and her fellow Libyans would be able to execute whatever plans they had formulated. The key was still Tanya Lane. "Alexis . . . " "As soon as it's quiet up there, when the girl can be taken out under cover, bring her here. " "There? To the schloss?" s s Yes, and don 't use the ambulance. " ' 'If you're sure—" "Alexis, I never give an order I'm not sure of! And once she's in a plain car, I want just you and Nedda to accompany her. " He replac the receiver and moved across the room to a heavy oak y. With a key from his ring he unlocked one of the dra ers and yanked it open. His jawline snapped shut and his eyes blazed fire as he lifted a leather folder from the drawer. Carefully he extracted the two photographs the folder contained, then he crossed to the fireplace. "You were nothing but a common thief, a hooligan, my . but I was almost able to make you into a man. For son . . what it's worth, you 'II have your revenge on this Nicholas Carter. ' ' He dropped the pictures into the fire, and even before they were consumed by the flames, Otto Von Petrie's eyes had lost the misty quality that they had momentarily held. Now they were once again ice cold, and his mind was already back on the pure track of business . and survival. I wonder how long it will take, he thought, for them to discover that Petrie Alexander is actually Karl Von Perrie. And ifthey do discover it , will they be able to dig deep enough to find out that he was the son of Otto Von Petrie? It was dusk when they dropped out of the helicopter on the range beyond the peak of Christobel Mountain. By the time they had climbed by snowshoe to the peak, darkness had swallowed the world. The first stars were shining faintly, and the air was crisp and quiet. Page 147 (160/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 148 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER Wordlessly, both of them discarded their snowshoes and unstrapped the skis from their backs. When the boot clips were fast, Carter stood and adjusted Wilhelmina at his side. With the added length of the silencer on the Luger, the barrel reached well below his belt. He checked the thirty-two-round magazine at his belt and cast a glance in Dontaine's direction to makesure he did the same with the Ingram he carried. "Time?" Carter asked, checking his own watch. "Eight," Dontaine replied, "sharp. ' "We match. Let's hope Michaels does, too. " Below them, halfway down the mountain, the lights of St. Christobel danced eerily behind the old slitted windows. Far, far below lay the chalky ribbon of the Brenner Autobahn and beyond it more lights, much more garish than those of the monastery. Between where they crouched and the monastery was darkness and trees and stumps and rocks and God-only- knew-what-else that could break a leg, or worse, It was cool, but Carter mopped his face with the end of the scarf knotted around his neck. "You think we can make it down there, cut all the lines, and get in, all in an hour and a half?" Carter nodded. "I think we have to. " Suddenly, as if someone had snapped on a switch, the terrain in front of them was bathed with a soft blue glow. "Moon's over the mountain, " Dontaine muttered. "Yeah. I.ßt's go." They pushed off, Carter leading, Dontaine close behind. The moguls began at once, jarring the bones in Carter's legs until he thought they would come out his shoulders. He took small bites with his pole spikes, preferring to use them only for balance as he slowed his descent by planing to get the feel of the snow. It was about three inches of powder with a crusty layer of ice undemeath. He ransacked his memory for his old training on ice: ski subtly, as if the runners were on eggshells; easy on the edges, Page 148 (161/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 149 take small bites and control the weight distribution; don 't curl the toes, keep them flat. When he had the feel of the snow, he began a series of short wedel turns, eating up the downhill distance. Suddenly a limb was heading right for his throat. It was too late for a christie, so he did a layback and hoped he wouldn 't hit a mogul that would topple him. Safe from the limb, he took wider traverses to further slow his speed. "Boulder and stump! " he called to the figure at his rear. Carter threw his weight into a royal christie and ended with a kickout. He glided by the boulder a foot on the safe side and missed the stump by an inch. Then he b rst from the tree line. As the dei and ice turned to pure slush beneath his skis, he flattened out in a crouch with his points headed straight dowril Just behind him and to his right, he could see that Dontaine had done the same thing. In this way, using what was left of the snow and even the dewy grass, they were able to add another hundred yards to their downhill run. When he felt the skis begin to stick and pull , threatening to topple him, Carter did a stem christie to the right and soon came to a halt, Side by side the two men unclamped the skis, discarded them and the poles, and continued on down the mountain on foot. Twice they ran into deep gorges and had to drive pitons into trees and rope themselves down the sheer sides. Eventually they reached the seventy-odd yards of level land at the rear of the monastery. Even though it was warner at this elevation, the night was cool with a steady breeze off the mountain. But both of them were soaked with sweat from the exertion of the descent. Caner checked his watch. The second hand was just click- ing over a minute. It was exactly 8:50. From where they stood they could see the top of an ancient stone wall fourteen feet above them. Beyond the top of the wall squatted the gray and brown mass of St. Christobel, its Page 149 (162/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 150 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER twin towers, one at each end of the monastery, soaring up into the night sky. Carter smiled to himself when he saw light slanting from the slitted windows of the tower to his left. The wind0"0f its twin to the right were dark. From the rear clip of his belt he unhooked a four-pronged grappling hook. To its ring he snapped a twenty-foot line and began to swing the hook in a circularmotion at his right side. And then it was sailing through the air with a whooshing sound. The sound of the steel tines clanking against the stone just over the top of the wall was like a jamng flat note from a tuba in a concert. It seemed to reverberate all along the wall and fill the night. Both Carter and Michel Dontaine crouched silently, wait- ing, listening, each studying the other's blackened face. They stayed like that, tensed, for a full minute; ané then two, to be sure that no doors had opened or alarm had been sounded. At last, satisfied, Carter began to tug on the line, pulling the four-tined hook slowly back to the top until it held. He yanked once to be sure, then further tested it with his weight. As one, they both bent and undid the cumbersome ski boots. In seconds they were replaced with soft-soled sneak- ers, and then Carter was back at the rope. "Okay," he whispered, "up we go. " As Dontaine held the slack from the line, Carter went up hand over hand, using his feet against the stone wall as a brace. At the top, he had just started to pull himself over when the palm of his hand struck something sharp and smooth. Quickly he recoiled and used two of the spikes embedded in the top instead. Crouching at the top, he flipped the rope twice and then felt it go taut with Dontaine's weight. "Careful," he whispered when the man was just below him. ' 'They've scattered broken glass all along the wall, and there are spikes every foot. " Dontaine nodded and began to swing from side to side. When he had the momentum, he did ajackknife upward and gained the top like an agile cat. Page 150 (163/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 151 Carter's estimation of the man as a night fighter went up ten points. Using the rope again, they lowered themselves to the courtyard inside the wall. On silent feet they ran in a zigzag pattern across the courtyard, each covering the other. Near the rear wall they fell on all fours and patted the ground as they moved. "I've got them," Dontaine hissed. Caner squeezed in close beside the other man and quickly sprayed the ground with the beam from a shielded penlight. Three dark-colored four-inch cables came out of the wall, climbed a steel support pole, and angled off into the dark- ness. "I don't ow, " Dontaine said, "The plans only called for a two-c le power input." "Don't e a chance, " Carter replied, fumbling inside the pace on;the other's back and producing a carefully wrapped boftle. '*Take all three of them out. " v Okay, " Dontaine said with a nod, unwrapping the bottle with reverence. When the seal was broken and the cork extracted, a sour odor like rotten eggs filled their nostrils. Gingerly, Dontaine addressed the mouth of the bottle to the cables, saturating them with sulfuric acid. At once there was a hissing sound that built in intensity, and the rotten-egg smell was magnified a hundred times. "How long will that stuff take?" Carter asked. "To burn through enough to throw the power out . . about twenty minutes, give or take a minute." Carter nodded with satisfaction as he hit the face of his watch with the penlight. It was 9:10. "Let's go and get set by the telephone cable. " Inside the linen basket, Michaels noted the time on his own watch and began to work his way free through the folded sheets and towels. At the door he paused to tighten the sling on the Ingram, bringing it in tighter to his chest. Satisfied that it wouldn't Page 151 (164/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 152 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER swing, he levered a shell into the chamber and cracked the door. The corridor was clear even though he could hear voices in one of the nearby rcx)ms. By the time the latch clicked behind him, his feet were already moving toward the other door. In the alcove at the base of the steel stairs that ran up to the tower, his mouth went suddenly dry and his knees began to wobble slightly. Sudden questions went flying through his mind, How old was the cable system in the dumbwaiter? Would it squeak or, worse yet, clank and scream as he ascended? Was the kitchen below Guly empty at this time of night, as they had supposed? And was the girl alone in the room? There was no way of knowing if there was a guard on duty inside, as they knew there was outside. "C'mon, Michaels, for Chrissake," he growled to him- self, "you wanted in on this deal, now get with it!" At least, he thought, the aluminum door of the dumbwaiter went up without a sound. Tentatively, holding his breath, he tugged on the cables. There was no sound, and less than a minute later the open-faced carrier filled the space before him. Room was no problem; two men his size could have fit. The balance on the counterweights was perfect. He was able to pull himself all the way up using only one hand. When narrow lines of light appeared through the cracks in the door of the tower room, he halted the carrier and locked it. Now he loosened the strap on the Ingram, tested its ma- neuverability, and reached for the inner handle on the sliding door. Rolling to his side and getting his eye as close to the bottom of the door as he could, he cracked it just enough to peer into the room. Tanya Lane lay stretched out on the bed, covered by a single sheet. Over that a restraining strap crossed just under her armpits and atxwe the steady rise and fall ofher breasts. A second strap ran across her body about where her ankles would be. Bastards, Michaels thought. She can barely move her arms and her head. Page 152 (165/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 153 Her eyes were open, but even from a distance Michaels could see that the pupils were slightly dilated. She was sedated, but it wasn't enough to put her out. Thank Godfor that, he thought, soundlessly raising the She may have to do some moving on her own. He had dropped soundlessly to the stone floor and had taken three strides toward the bed before she sensed another presence in the room. When her head rolled around, Michaels stopped and brought his finger up to his lips. Her eyes grew wide and her nostrils flared. There was an agonizing moment of tension when her gaze fell on the deadly submachine gun across his chest. Michaels went to the balls of his feet, prepared to leap for herand stifl ascream, when he saw herrelax. There was still terror in he eyes, but it was mixed with acquiescence. Whoev this man was, he could be no worse than her kidnappérs./ Michaels covered the few feet left to the bed and crouched with his lips near her ear. "It's all right . ' snehell it is, ' ' she replied in a whisper. "Who are you?" Michaels smiled and patted her arm. Good girl, he thought. You've still got some spunk left. ' name is Michaels . . . Iworkforthe government. " "Which one?" Another smile. "The U.S. of A. We're going to get you out of here. " "What am I doing here in the first place? They haven 't told "Too much to explain now, but it has to do with your sister. Is there a way you can get that goon out there in here?' Tanya nodded and rolled her eyes to the far side of a pillow. ' enere's a call light there. He comes in and unstraps me when I have to go to the bathroom. " "Okay, I'm going to go over there, behind the door. lhen I want you to push the button . . and close your eyes. " "Close my eyes? What for?" Michaels looked down at her for a second, then decided there wasn't time to mince words. He reached down to his Page 153 (166/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 154 (167/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ⓘ 154 NICK CARTER boot and came up with a curved Scatchi knife. The blade was six inches long and honed like a razor. "Because when he comes through that door, I'm going to kill him." She swallowed, then nodded. Michaels moved to the wall. He unharnessed the Ingram and carefully set it on the floor. Then he flattened himself against the wall wall and nodded to the girl on the bed. He watched her arm rise until her thumb was near the call button, and then he shifted his concentration to the door. His heart was beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. He'd never killed a man before. He had been trained to, but unlike Carter, Michaels didn't have a Killmaster designation. But he knew, in his gut, that he could and would do it. The door cracked a foot and then swung wide. Michaels saw a flash of the man's white jacket before the door ob- scured his vision. "Vat iss der matter now mit you?" the orderly growled in heavily accented English. "Vell, vat . . ." Michaels slammed the edge of the heavy steel door into the man's back. Before the orderly could recover, Michaels was on him. He curved his left hand around the man's face, gripping his nose and curling thumb and fingers into his eye sockets. At the same time, he planted a knee in the other's back and yanked backward on the head to expose the throat. In one deft motion his right arm had already begun the arc across the man's body. Then he brought his right arm back and felt the blade of the Scatchi bite deep. The only sound was a low gurgle as the man's life spewed from his throat. The body went limp, and Michaels dropped it. Tanya stared at him in wide-eyed suspended animation. Her face was chalk white, and he thought her eyeballs would burst from their sockets. "Goddamnit, I told you to shut your eyes!" he hissed. She did, then covered them with her hands. Michaels dragged the body to the side and slipped the small pack from his back. From it he pulled a magnetic steel bar about two inches wide and eight inches long. With the
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 155 (168/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 155 door closed, he placed the bar over the spot where a lock would normally be below the handle. Then, also from the pack, he took a small but powerful hand-held welding torch and fired it up. Two minutes later, the steel bar was soldered across the slit between the door and the jamb. "Let's hope that holds 'em long enough," he said, re- turning to the head of the bed. Tanya Lane dropped her hands and opened her eyes. "What happens now?" Michaels checked his watch: 9:25. "We wait." Alexis Carlyle hung up the phone and turned to Nedda Alfree. The stout woman was standing in the center of the room like a rooted post, glowering. "I don't believe I heard what you just said correctly." "You did," Alexis replied. "He wants us to take her to the schloss." "It's too dangerous!" "Dangerous or not, Nedda, those are his orders." Nedda shrugged. The one thing in life she had been trained to do, and the one thing she did well, was carry out orders. "He wants just you and me to take her down. Get Goetz and Erich, and bring her down to the courtyard. I'll bring the station wagon around." Nedda did an about-face and marched to the door. There she paused and turned back to face Alexis. "Of course I will do what he says . . . but it puzzles me." "How so?" "Why does he want her moved?" Alexis didn't meet the other woman's eyes. She could see no reason to tell Nedda that the agent, Carter, may have somehow found out about St. Christobel and might try to rescue Tanya Lane. She also didn't want Nedda to know that it might have been she, Alexis, who had led him there. She was fairly sure that was impossible, but if Nedda even thought it... A shudder ran through Alexis. She was afraid of Nedda.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 156 (169/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 156 NICK CARTER She was sure the woman was slightly insane and completely capable of killing her if, in her unbalanced mind, she thought it necessary. "Well...?" "I don't know, Nedda, damnit," Alexis cried, slamming the flat of her hand against her thigh for emphasis. "Just do it!" Nedda shrugged and left. Alexis grabbed her purse, waited a few seconds, and then ran down the stairs and out into the courtyard. She was almost to the garage when St. Christobel went black.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. TWELVE "There go the lights. " ' Carter hissed. "Hands." Mic Dontainedropped to one knee and laced his fingers together tysupport Carter's right foot. At the same time he powered up from his knee and, with seemingly little effort, hoisted Carter to his shoulders. "Can you reach them?" Dontaine grunted. "It's no piece of cake," Carterreplied, "but, yeah. . .1 think so. " Trying not to put any more pressure than he had to on the man below him, Carter eaq»d his weight up onto his toes. He placed one hand on the wall for balance and extended the other upward. Sweat poured into his eyes, but he ignored it as the wire clippers in his hand came closer and closer to the telephone lines. "One. . two. Got 'em!" Dontaine stepped back, and Carter dropped to the ground like a panther, already moving. The other agent followed his lead, and in seconds they had burst through the kitchen door just off the courtyard. Once through, they darted to each side, weapons raised, muzzles scanning. "Ihey could hear muffled shouts and curses from the hall, probably as a result of the failed power. 157 Page 157 (170/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 158 (171/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # 158 # NICK CARTER The kitchen itself was as still as a tomb. Moonlight pouring through the door and windows bathed the stark walls and stainless steel equipment in an eerie blue glow. Positions staggered, they moved like two black-clad spec- ters through the sinks and shelves toward the double, swing- ing doors. They were five feet short when the doors burst inward and the weak beam of a flash danced through. Behind the flash was a tall, Indian-looking man, all in white, with a chef's hat on his head. He was nearly between Carter and Dontaine when his light struck them and brought him up short. Carter chopped the man's wrist. The flashlight skittered across the tile floor as Dontaine threw the beam of his own penlight into his face. The chef's eyes popped and rolled as they went from the black night suits to to the darkened faces and then to the weapons in their hands. He took one step, thought better of it,
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 159 ering their approach in case a random beam of a flash came their way. Carter followed him by ten paces, throwing a look over his shoulder every second step. Dontaine was just past the last room before the intersection when a tray cart sporting a candle on each comer came out of the room. Another Indian followed it, and the dishes made a hollow rattle as he slid to a halt. "What the . His eyes were on Dontaine as Carter sprang like a cat, his right arm raised. The soft-soled shoes he wore made no sound on the tile. Ihree strides took him to the man, and then his hand flashed down, fingers locked straight. The outside edge of his palm was like a blunt-edged knife as it chopped the man 's neck. He sway , tuming, his eyes rolling up into his skull as he fell into r s arms. "Grab thy cart," Carter hissed, dragging the man back into the rodm he had just exited. An aged, gray-haired woman slept peacefully on the bed. Carter rolled the man under the bed and seconds later they were back in the corridor, moving. At the far end of the hall they saw a figure emerge from the utility room and pause. Carter tensed, waiting to see if the light he held would come their way. It didn 't. Instead he bolted through the door opposite, and Carter could hear his tread up the steel stairs toward the tower before the door closed behind him. 'Ihe intersection where the two hallways crossed was also the small foyer from the front door. Just short of it Dontaine paused and B)inted around the comer. Then he looked over his shoulder and held up one finger. Caner ncxided his understanding, and both of them rolled into the area at the same time. "lhere was a desk and chair on one side of the entrance, a sofa on the other. Candles on the desk illuminated a white- clad back. Sensing he wasn 't alone, the man whirled, simultaneously Page 159 (172/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 160 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER snapping on the flashlight he held in his left hand. Carter got a good look at him in the candlelight. He totally out of place in the hospital whites. That, as much as the movement of his hand toward his belt, told Carter that he was more guard than orderly. A Mauser had barely cleared his coat when Carter pumped three slugs into the center of his broad chest. The sound from the silenced Luger was no louder than the soft popping of three champagne corks. The front of the man 's jacket was instantly dyed red from the inside out. His face registered shock as the Mauser fell to the floor and he staggered into the desk. He half turned as his knees buckled, and then he dropped like a stone. He was dead before he hit the floor. "Leave him," Carter said. "It's go all the way now. " Together they sprinted to the end of the corridor. Ihe shouts of angry patients reached their ears frorm the rooms they passed. Now and then there was the thud of something being thrown against a door to summon an orderly or the clatter of a tray being overtumed. Caner's hand was on the knob of the door leading to the tower stairs when all hell broke loose. Nedda Alfree's mind was not swift, but it was logical. And the pain in her shoulder as she and the big man beside her slammed again and again into the steel door seemed to enhance the progression of that logic. Otto had ordered the girl taken to the Vienna Woods schloss. nat was very dangerous. It was unlike Otto to involve himself directly with any part of an operation. He must have known that something was going to happen here at St. Christobel. And he probably related his fears to Alexis. And that bitch , Nedda throught, didn't tell me everything. Her first thought when they had reached the tower door and found it somehow jammed from the inside, was Gerhard. His lustful eyes had devoured the young girl when they had first brought her up to the tower. Page 160 (173/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 161S Was Gerhard foolish enough to enter the room and rape the girl? They had called out to him and there had been no answer and then the lights had gone off. Too much coincidence. "Whatever is holding it, " Erich said between gasps for breath, "is giving. " "Good! Again!" Again their shoulders crashed into the steel door and Nedda Alfree smiled at the subsequent pain. The slam of her shoulder against the door was nearly as powerful as that of the giant Erich. "Fräulein Nedda . She whirled in the light of the lantern at their feet and saw Goetz swin ing up the stairs. Puzzlement was tainted with fear in hi ig, broad face. "Well. Why have we no lights?" "FräuleiKNedda, ' ' he gasped, reaching the landing. ' one auxiliary generator has been sabotaged. ne cables have been severed and the connectors mangled. " "Mein Gott!" Nedda cried. "'Ihe both of you! Schnell, schnell!" Again the door was pummeled from the other side. From the increased illumination through the widening crack, Michaels could see that the hunk of steel was beginning to give. It wouldn't be long now. He could hear the girl's heavy breathing from the far comer where he had moved her from the bed. door is giving!" "I know," Michaels replied. "Just stay flat, Tanya. You'll be all right." He could imagine the stark fear that must be in the girl's eyes at that moment. She had just watched him slit a man's throat, and she knew, even in the darkness, that he was now crouched behind the overturned with the submachine Page 161 (174/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 162 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER There was another brutal assault on the door. It gave a bit more, sending a wide shaft of light into the room, but still held. It now remained closed only by a sliver of steel where Michaels had welded it. 'Once more! Quickly! " came a woman 's shout from the landing outside the door. A woman, Michaels thought, his palms greasing with sweat. My God, I've got to kill a woman? Then he had no more time for thought. The steel bar gave, and the door swung open to crash against the wall. The room was suddenly bathed in light from the landing, and a huge man dressed in white filled the opening. Michaels was suddenly calm, his mind working like a well-oiled clock. Breathe! Exhale! Fire between pulse beats! For a full two seconds the big man stood, still as death, silhouetted in the doorway. It was a second too long. As he threw himself desperately to the right, Michaeléfired. He could sense as well as hear the angry whip of the bullets as they slammed into the man, stitching him from hip to shoulder. The body lifted back into the air and slammed against the wall where Michaels put another three-shot burst into it. He heard Tanya give a little sound that started as a screarn, but it was bitten off almost as soon as it began. Instantly he moved the muzzle back to a second flash of white in the doorway. At the same time he flipped the gun to full automatic and sprayed. The smell of burned cordite became acrid in the room as bullets whined and ricocheted off the stone walls of the landing. Fire was returned from beyond the lights, but the slugs thudded harmlessly into the mattress to Michaels's right. He heard another loud, guttural scream of pain and saw a body tumble down the stairs quickly followed by another figure in white. Michaels exhaled the breath he had been holding since the firing had begun. Page 162 (175/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 163 From the comer he heard the sound of Tanya retching. The staccato chattering of Michaels's submachine gun from the top of the stairs was like a single explosion in Carter's ears. His hand lifted from the doorknob as if it had touched fire. Michaels had come through. Carter had little doubt now that the man had done his job like a pro. He also surmised that no matter how many were trying to get into the tower room, none of them would be successful. As if in answer to his thoughts there was an agonizing scream of pain and the sound of a body falling down the stairs. Almost at the same time the firing stopped. "Back, " Dontaine replied, already backing away down the corridor e switch on his penlight to full, ripped off the shield t narrowed its beam, and placed it on the floor. Dontaine followed his lead so that the door was now awash withåight. Both men retreated another few paces and crouched to wait. It was a short wait. The man Carter remembered as the chief orderly, Goetz, burst through the door with the stumpy Nedda Alfree close behind. Goetz's left arm hung useless as his side, a bloody mess. Both he and Nedda Alfree carried Mausers. As they hit the light, their reactions were very different. Nedda threw her hands up to shield her eyes from the glare. Goetz screamed with rage and began firing wildly down the corridor. 'Caner and Dontaine fired simultaneously. Goetz seemed to explode as if a bomb had gone off deep in his guts. He buckled and began to fall forward. To both Carter's and Dontaine 's surprise, Nedda Alfree proved more adept than they imagined. She reached out and caught the falling man. Then, using the strength of just one arm, she held him in front of her like a shield. With more strength than most men, Nedda drove directly Page 163 (176/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 164 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER toward the two men, hurtling Goetz her, the Mauser barking from her right hand. "Look out!" Dontaine cried, getting off two shots that thudded into the already lifeless body. At the last second , she hurled the body at Carter and turned to fire twice at Dontaine's huddled form. Carter tried to evade, but it was hopeless. He went down under the big orderly's bulk. By the time he had squirmed free, the woman was almost at the junction of the hallways. "Stop, Nedda," Caner shouted, dropping to one knee, She thundered ahead like a tank. Carter exhaled and fired, aiming for her right thigh. He could hear the soft plop as the bullet struck. Her body went ramrod straight, and her right leg swung out in a strange reflex action to the slug. Her voice was a wailing, eerie scream, but she didn 't stop. She hopped on her left leg, dragging her right, and was around the comer before Carter could get off another shot. He was about to pursue her when he heard a gasping groan from Dontaine's direction. One of the penlights had been kicked around so it now fell full on the other man. A hunk of his black pullover was gone just above his belt on the right side. Tom flesh and glistening blcxxi gleamed where the material had been. "You're hit. . '*Not that bad, " Dontaine said and grimaced, leaning his back against the wall to get to his feet. "Go after her. " "She won't go far," Carter replied. "Keep watch?" "Can do." Carter bolted for the tower stairs. A quarter of the way up he stopped. SSMichaels?" "How goes it?" Michaels appeared above him on the landing, bathed in light from the still burning lantern. His arm was around the waist of a tall, white-faced girl whose eyes were wide and staring as if they had just seen hell. Page 164 (177/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 165 "She ain't gonna do the hundred in ten flat, but she's mobile. " "Good man, " Nick Carter said. ' 'Let's get out of here. " There was very little pain, but as Nedda pushed open the door and moved toward the steps, she knew something vital had been severed. She barely had control over her right leg. It dragged behind her and gave her little mobility beyond some degree of balance. She sighed with relief when she heard the station wagon 's engine and then Icx)ked through the windshield and saw Alexis w •ting. "He , over here!" she shouted, moving awkwardly. In the Alexis Carlyle was frozen. Since the firing had begun shé had sat, immobile, not sure of her next move. Now, seeing Nedda's bloody uniform and watching the woman hobble grotesquely down the steps, she knew the answer to the one big question that had been running through her mind. It was the agent, Carter; she was sure of it. The question was, Who would win? Watching Nedda frantically moving toward her, Alexis knew that the game was over. They had rescued the girl. There would be no returning to Otto; the Baron didn't condone failure. Alexis would have to run far and fast. Her sensual lips thinned with grim determination as she moved the gear shift into drive and eased her foot down on the accelerator. Run , she thought, far and fast, and she couldn 't do it with a wounded Nedda Alfree. Somewhere above her, Nedda heard the unmistakable putt, putt. putt of a helicopter engine and the whir of its rotors, but she didn't up. She couldn't. All her concentration was on the car that was picking up speed and hurtling directly for her. Through the windshield she saw Alexis Carlyle 's frozen face, and in that instant knew what the other woman meant to do. Page 165 (178/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 166 (179/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 166 NICK CARTER You bitch, Nedda thought, you rotten, traitorous bitch. There was no chance of moving out of the path of the oncoming car. She She couldn't move fast enough with the crip- pled leg, and even if she could, a slight twist of the wheel by Alexis and she would be lost anyway. Nedda was suddenly calm as she lifted the Mauser in both hands. The car was only twenty feet away when she started firing. She saw the windshield shatter, and even after the face behind it had disintegrated into red pulp, Nedda kept firing. The car struck and passed over her body, yet Nedda's finger reflexively kept squeezing the trigger of the empty gun. The helicopter came down smoothly between, the four flares Carter had ignited in St. Christobel's rear courtyard. The pilot stayed at the controls while a second crewmember helped Carter and Michaels raise Dontaine into the machine's side loading bay. "You got a donnybrook in the front courtyard," the crewman said. "How so?" Carter asked. "A fat woman in a nurse's uniform just got nailed by a station wagon." Carter handed Tanya up to Michaels and turned back to the crewman. "One minute." "Not a second longer," came the reply, but Carter was already sprinting toward the kitchen door. Throwing caution to the winds, he moved through the darkened sanatorium, avoiding patients and employees who were aimlessly wandering the corridors. Five steps into the front courtyard pretty much told him the story. He guessed that the woman in the station wagon mashed against the stone wall of St. Christobel was Alexis Carlyle. But just gazing at the bloody corpse in the front seat couldn't tell him for sure. Only when he did a quick search of the purse at her side was he certain. Taking her bag with him, Carter retraced his steps through the building to the waiting copter.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 167 "Okay?" Carter gave the crewman a thumbs-up sign and turned to the pilot. "Let's get the hell out of here. "What was it?" Michaels asked. Carter told him the general picture, then added, "We won't have to worry about anyone up here warning the Baron we're coming.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THIRTEEN "It's still vague, circumstantial stuff," David Hawk said, belching cigar smoke with each word, "but it comes too damn close to ignore. Nick Carter nodded, easing his weight into a more com- fortable position in the leather chair. They were back in the AXE conference room in Vienna. Dontaine had undergone emergency surgery and was coming along fine. Tanya had also been hospitalized and declared fit if somewhat jumbled in her mind about what the last weeks were all about. Across the table Michaels fought violently to keep his eyes open, and Carter could understand why. In the past few minutes he, too, had found himself pressing his fingertips hard against his temples to stave off exhaustion. It was as much mental as it was physical after coming back from the raid on St. Christobel, and now they had the continuing pressure of the matter at hand. Even David Hawk's red-rimmed eyes showed the strain. Carter's belly rumbled as he leaned forward and placed the remains of a cold cup of coffee on the conference table before him. He gathered up the BND and SDECE reports, and the cabled communiqué from Paris Interpol. These in hand, he leaned back and, for the fifth time in the last hour, began to leaf through them. They were good and seemed substantial, but as David 169
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 170 (183/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 170 NICK CARTER Hawk had said, there was a lot of circumstantial stuff in them. It was up to to him and Hawk to find the key that would link the Baron to the subject extensively covered in the reports. Yuri Gorgon had been a legionnaire. During the latter part of his service he had spent nearly all of his duty time in Algiers. His mentor and commanding officer had been Col- onel Otto Von Petrie. Coincidence? Perhaps. Von Petrie had been married to a wealthy French woman. Somewhere during the peak of the three-way war in Algeria, the wife fled. Divorce papers had been filed in Marseille but never finalized. The woman had disappeared from the face of the earth before that had happened. When Algeria gained independence, Von Petrie lost all his wealth. For nearly ten years the man had dropped out of sight. When he surfaced again it was as an oil baron on the spot market. When oil went crazy, Von Petrie made a for- tune. One of the reasons for this was an amazing availability of ready cash. Another was an equally amazing amount of inside information that allowed Von Petrie to predict wildly fluctuating oil prices. Did Von Petrie exchange arms and/or little acts of terror- ism for the information that had brought him so much wealth? And was it a coincidence that "Petrie Alexander" was actually Karl Von Petrie? Was the younger man Carter had killed near Lloret related to Otto Von Petrie? A son? A brother? There was no birth certificate recorded anywhere in France, Germany, or Austria for a Karl Von Petric. Could he have been born in Algeria? As a teenager he had a brief career as a small-time hooligan in Marseille and right here in Vienna. He had had a few arrests but no convictions and never did any time. Then he had disappeared. Only now, by tracing the finger- prints of the dead Petrie Alexander-a suspected gun- runner-had Karl Von Petrie resurfaced. Carter spoke at last. "Otto Von Petrie is a very respected businessman, held in high esteem by banks in four countries.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 171 (184/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 171 There is a slim connection between him and Gorgon as well as between him and 'Petrie Alexander. "And this," Hawk said, tapping a blowup from an Aus- trian magazine. Carter nodded. The picture had been taken in the ballroom of a posh Viennese hotel. It showed a smiling Von Petrie accepting an award for his charitable contributions. Sitting directly to his right on the dais, and obviously a member of his party, was Alexis Carlyle. "Still not solid," Carter mumbled. "The woman was a social butterfly. There's a good chance she may have been close to or even slept with half the men at that table." The door to the adjoining communications room opened and a young woman, one of the crypto people, entered. "We're ready with the voice tapes, sir." Three men stood as one, Carter and Hawk exchanging a hopeful glance. "Let's hope," Hawk said, "that this might help put a lid on it." Melissa Lane, looking much calmer and more the mature person Carter assumed she really was, sat at a console, her face twisted into intense concentration. She wore a set of earphones across her head, and every now and then she would raise her hands and press her fingers to them. "Once more on that one," she said. The tape was stopped, rewound, and started again. And again Melissa Lane's face became intense. As she listened to the male voice on the rolling tape, her lower lip curled between her teeth. This had been going on for the better part of an hour, and by now there was no gloss left on her lips. At last she sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and rolled her eyes up to Nick. "No, not that one." Nick hid his elation and turned to the clerk. "Try the next one." The woman went to work on the equipment as Nick lit a cigarette. The voice Melissa had just heard belonged to one of the
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 172 (185/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 172 NICK CARTER other crypto clerks in the office. It had been the fifth of ten tapes that had been made up of ten different male voices. All the voices spoke English with a slight but distinguishable German accent. All of them were similar in level, tone, and accent to the voice of Otto Von Petrie. The sixth tape began to roll. Carter mashed out his cigarette only to light another right away. "Wait." "What is it?" Carter asked, doing everything he could to hold his voice in check. "I don't know . . . something," Melissa replied. "Can you start that one over again?" Carter nodded at the clerk. Melissa listened, concentrated, and then her face relaxed. "That's it," she gasped. "That's the voice. "Are you sure?" "Yes. That's the voice of the man I heard at the Von Riggens' home that night." "Play it again," Carter commanded, rolling his cigarette between tense fingers. The seconds seemed interminable as Melissa sat nodding, listening. And then she removed the earphones and looked up at him with a smile. "It's him, no doubt about it. Whoever that voice belongs to, it's the voice of the Baron." "You are truly a genius," Carter said, kissing her on the forehead and turning to Hawk. "We're halfway home." The two men returned to the conference room just as Michaels entered from the operations area. In his hand he carried a recently ripped com sheet. "How'd it go?" he asked. "She nailed Von Petrie's voice tape as the Baron," Carter replied. "What have you got?" "Maybe the last nail in Von Petrie's coffin," Michaels replied, beaming. "How so?" "We got an ident on Nedda Alfree. Her real name is Nedda Alexander. She worked as a nurse/nanny in Von Petrie's household in Algeria. This is a confirmation from Interpol.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 173 (186/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # THE BUDAPEST RUN 173 Nedda Alexander was Petrie Alexander's legal guardian. She was the one who filed the name change in Marseille on the kid. And all that is very odd since shortly after that, Nedda Alexander was buried in St. Peter's in Marseille." Hawk exhaled exhaled a cloud of smoke with a sigh. "It's more than even money that the real occupant of that grave is Mrs. Otto Von Petrie. "I'd say that now we're all the way home," Carter de- clared, turning to Michaels. "Where's that list of Von Pet- rie's residences?" Michaels fumbled with the papers on the table and passed one across. Carter scanned the list: Mayfair, London; Ober- strasse, Vienna; and a château outside Geneva. "We've got people on all these?" Hawk nodded. "Have had for the last forty-eight hours. He hasn't shown. We've made some discreet inquiries of servants and delivery people. He hasn't been in any of these places for weeks. "Michaels, get Melissa." As the man left the room, Carter dropped into a chair and dialed the number of the Parkhotel. The new switchboard operator was AXE. She got him through immediately. "Yes?" "Ginger, it's me." "Thank God! I haven't slept a wink since your last call. What's up?" "We've got an ident on the Baron. You'll have to hang in there for a while longer." There was a moment of silence on the other end before she spoke again. "You're going after him?" "If he's still around," Carter replied. "We'll know that in a few minutes. In the meantime get out the red dress, just in case. "Okay." "And don't worry. We'll have your every move cov- ered." "I'm not worried . . . about myself. Nick . . .?" "Yeah?" "Take care."
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 174 (187/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ 174 NICK CARTER "It's my middle name," he replied and hung up. Melissa Lane stood at his elbow. Quickly, in short, to- the-point instructions, Carter told her what he wanted her to do. She nodded her understanding, and Carter's finger went down the printout of the decoded cipher sheet from Alexis Carlyle's address book. When he found the number he wanted, he nodded to Melissa to pick up the second phone. "Yes?" "Carlyle. I'm in Innsbruck." "Your number?" Melissa rattled off the number of the instrument she was using. "Two minutes," replied the voice, and the connection was broken. Carefully Carter stretched the cord of Melissa's phone across the table and nodded to Michaels. While the other man held the cord flat, Carter placed the point of Hugo's blade on it. The phone rang. Melissa brought the mouthpiece up and held it six inches from her lips. "Hello?" she mumbled. "Alexis, damn you, what's going on up there? You should have been here hours ago!" Carter jammed Hugo down, and sudden static filled the line all but obliterating the man's voice. He lifted the point, gave the line clarity for two seconds, then jammed it in again. At Carter's nod, Melissa broke the connection. They all stood rooted to the spot for a full moment before the phone rang again. "Alpine Inn Lounge," Carter answered in German. There were several seconds of silence before a voice spoke, also in German. "I was just speaking to a woman there when the connection went bad... very tall, attractive with reddish blond hair, probably dressed in black." "Ja, ja, mein Herr. She just walked out."
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 175 (188/211) # THE BUDAPEST RUN 175 "Would you see if you can catch her, please? It is an emergency. "Ja, ja. One moment." Carter held his hand over the mouthpiece and watched the second hand of his watch make two sweeps. "Mein Herr?" "Yes," the caller snapped. "She just drove out of the parking lot in a station wagon. I couldn't catch her. "Was she alone in the car?" "I couldn't tell. It was very dark. "Very well. . . uh, wait." "Yes?" "Did you see which way she turned on the highway?" "Left, sir." "Good, thank you. Good night." "Good night, sir." Carter replaced the phone with a smile on his face. Left meant Salzburg or Vienna. He guessed Vienna; it was closer to the action. He turned to Hawk, still smiling. "Do I go?" Hawk nodded. "If we can find him." "We'll find him," Nick Carter growled.
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # FOURTEEN Number/121 Wiedner Hauptstrasse was a new concrete block building about five minutes outside the Vienna Ring. The first floor consisted of a gallery of shops, closed off by an iron gate. The other four floors were offices, their windows all dark at this hour of the morning. All dark except for a set of corner windows on the street side. These were heavily shuttered, but even from where Carter stood across the street, he could see yellow light seeping through. He lifted the small two-way to his lips, depressed the "send" button, and spoke. "Michaels?" "Here." "The others?" "In place." "I'm going in." He snapped the two-way onto his belt and moved across the street. There was no way of knowing if Gettering's Message & Communications Service was straight or in the sole employ of the Baron. In any event, Carter wasn't taking any chances. He leaped for the fire escape runner, pulled it down, and started to climb. At the second floor he halted and went to work on the door. There had been no time to check if the upper offices of the building had been set up with a burglar 177
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 178 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER alarm, so it was breath-holding time when he turned the knob and pushed. Nothing. Silence. In seconds he found the stairs and mounted them quickly to the top floor. He didn 't have to search for numbers or busi- ness nameplates. Light came through just one frosted pane. Carter heard nothing on the other side of the door. The door gave under his hand. He inched it open just enough to peer inside. It was an anteroom containing a counter, a sofa, a few wilting plants, and a message board with bits of paper tacked to it. On soundless feet Carter slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The bulk of the light came from a send room beyond an open He could see a coffeemaker, a cot, and two large, old-fashioned switchboards with jutting, waist- high consoles. In the center of everything a tall, rawboned man with straw-colored hair and glasses that resembled the bottoms of Coke bottles lounged in an old-fashioned wooden swivel chair. A garish girlie magazine was open on his lap, and his feet were propped up on one of the consoles. Carter stepped through the door with Wilhelmina at his thigh. "Good evening," he said in German. *Mein Gott!" The magazine flew, the feet hit the floor, and the eyes grew wider than the lenses in front of them. "How in hell . "Never mind how I got in here. Franz Gettering?" "Jay" the man replied instinctively, and then he reached for one of the switchboard cables. Carter's hand caught his wrist in midair. ' 'If you 're think- ingof calling the police, don't bother. lhey won 't come. " "Who the—" "l am the police, " Carter answered, "in a way, and this is police business, in a way." "Then let me see some identification. " Carter brought up Wilhelmina and waved the business end under his nose. "It's all I've got right now." The man relaxed completely, and Carter relaxed his hold. "What do you want?" he asked quietly. Page 178 (191/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 179 "Who's the Baron?" Carter demanded, fastening his eyes on the Coke-bottle lenses. "Baron who?" There wasn't a blink. "Half my clients have some kind of a title, mostly phony. " "Is one of your clients Otto Von Petrie?" ' 'Don't think so, unless he's recent, last day or so. " "He would have been around for a while. " "Never heard of him. " Caner handed him a slip of paper and watched him eyeball it. ' '"Ihese two numbers on your board0" Getteri 109ked up from the paper. Sweat had popped out on his f ead. "Look, I've got a lot of clients who ship things, hoye them, you know? One of the services they pay for is confidentiality. I can't . Carter levered a shell into the chamber. "I don 't have time to jaw." "Yes, they are. It's designated 'Home.' " "How do you contact him?" Gettering tumed and dropped a plywood facing from a large cabinet between the switchboards. Caner took one look and lifted the two-way from his belt. "Michaels?" "Yeah. " "Our guess was right; it's shortwave. Move the units and send fisher up here. The second flcx»r fire escape is open. ' ' "On the way. " Five minutes later, Bertolt Fisher, the best electronics surveillance man in Europe, was swapping trade jargon with Gettering. At last he tumed to Nick. "It's a narrow channel—prob- ably with an open-beam alternate—that's wave-lengthened to a warning system beeper of some kind on the other end. " Carter nodded and went back to the two-way. "Michaels, are they in place?" ' 'Right on. Got three ground units and a twin-engine Colt in the air. " "Good, here 's the frequency. " Carter looked to Gettering and then relayed the figures to Michaels. "Got it. Go in five minutes. " Page 179 (192/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 180 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER They waited: Nick smoking, Gettering looking nervous, and Fisher making calibrations. "Okay," Carter said, looking up from his watch, ' 'get him up. " The Baron came up on the first call. "Go ahead, WPQL 1000. This is Home. " "I have a call, Home, " Gettering said as Fisher fluttered the frequency modulator. "WPQL 10(1), I can barely hear you . "Having some difficulty here . . one moment. " Gettering paused, looking to Carter with a flushed face. "Stall , ' Carter whispered , whirling his finger around and around in the air. Both voices faded in and out around the floating frequency and the static Fisher was causing. Carter turned away and barked into the two-way. "We got a fix. It's near Oisenburg in the Vienna Woods. There's not much there except an old schloss. The co- ordinates put the signal somewhere right on the estate, " Carter alerted Gettering and made a motion of slashing his throat with a finger. "Home, this is WPQL We're getting a lot of atmos- pherics, and I might have fuse problems. Will call back in one hour. " By the time Gettering shut down, his whole body was bathed in sweat. ' 'You 're out of business for the rest of the night, " Carter said, throwing a at Fisher. "Franz, isn't it?" Fisher asked. "Do you play Bosch? I happen to have a deck ofcards. " The twin engines of the Colt droned smoothly as the plane banked and then started the runoThe faint grayness of a new dawn was just settling over the horizon. ' 'One minute, " the pilot shouted to Carter over his shoul- der. Page 180 (193/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 181 He was a good man with the powerful little plane's tricky controls. His hand and foot coordination on rudder and aile- ron was perfect. Gently he put them into a steep back that would take them directly over the dim lights of what Nick now knew was Schloss Wurtenburg. Carter adjusted his saddle straps and wriggled his powerful shoulders into a more comfortable seating of the parachute pack. "Fine, " Carter replied and added a thumbs-up sign to the pilot in he hadn't understood overthe roaring of the twin props. "Ye oyv," the pilot shouted. Canerßtood and moved to the open hatch. *Ihe wind in his face was welcome. It blew many of the cobwebs of weariness he was feeling out of his head. He balanced on his toes and gripped each side of the hatch hard until his knuckles went white. "Green," said the voice from the front of the plane. Carter tcx)k one look down. He saw the mottled blackness of the woods break into the open, rolling hills of the estate. When the dim lights below began to creep into the comer of his vision, he pushed forward. He did a couple of easy rolls. The second his mental gyro was level with the horizon, he flattened out, spread his anns, and bent his legs. When his body was floating in a free fall, he took his sightings on the schloss and maneuvered accord- ingly. About three hundred yards upwind of the squatting mass of stone, he pulled. He felt the flaps pop, and then the trailer blew, pulling the bigger chute out behind it in a billowing black cloud. He took the jolt and settled into the saddle, sawing at the lines to bring him in line. His calculations were as close to perfect as possible, and the descent was smooth. Even the wind was cooperating. He had two choices. He could drop in one of the two courtyards, or he could try for the roof of one of the crene- lated towers that loomed up to meet him. Page 181 (194/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 182 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER He chose the latter and tugged at the shroud lines accord- ingly to shift his line of glide. Carter was pretty sure the Baron, aka Otto Von Petrie, was as conscious of security as he was adept at pushing other people 's buttons, Somewhere on the grounds or in the court- yards below, Carter guessed there would be dogs. He tucked just as he passed over the jagged parapet and then hit with a soft thud. Going to the side , he absorbed most of the shock on his hip and shoulder. Landing on solid stone was far different than soft grass, but Carter's body took commands from his brain like a true athlete. Ihe shock was minimal, and he was instantly op his feet winding the shroud lines. When the chute was collåpsed, he unsnapped the leg and shoulder rings and easily slithered out of the harness. As he and Dontaine had done at St. Christobel, Carter shed the heavy jump boots and quickly replaced them with soft- soled sneakers. He then unwrapped sixty feet of heavy•gauge nylon rope from around his waist and moved across the roof to the edge of the parapet. The windows twenty feet below were little more than firing slits. But farther down, about forty feet, larger, modern caeement windows had been installed. When the line was secured around one tooth of the parapet, Carter swung over and started his descent. Unlike at St. Christobel, he didn't have a floor plan of Schloss Wurtenburg. But then he was pretty sure he wouldn 't need one to find the Baron. The instincts of a good hunter will always lead him right to his prey. s This is the Baron. Something is wrong with my commu- nications through Vienna, and the women have not yet ar- rived. I also cannot reach St. Christobel. I want you to send a man up there at once. " "Ja, Herr Baron." "The Lane woman is still in her rcx)m?" "Ja. We are watching from the Royale, and our maid on Page 182 (195/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN her floor says she has not stirred all night. " 183 "Good. But I still feel something is very wrong; there are too many (Xid occurrences in communications. I don 't like it. I will call you every half hour for a report until the time of departure. ' ' Otto Von Petrie dropped the receiver back on its cradle and lifted the bottle of brandy beside it. "You were right. lhere is something very wrong. The voice had come from directly behind him. Von Pet- rie's hand paused for the briefest of seconds before he went ahead and poured the amber liquid into the snifter. He picked up the sn• tergmd, still holding the bottle in his other hand, turned. Carter pok in the tall, aristocratic figure, the hollow cheeks, and the cruel, gray eyes in one glance, and gave the man a slight bow with just his head. "Baron. " "I beg your pardon. I'm afraid my heritage is far short of titled. " ' 'My name is Carter, Nick Carter. I'm sure, Baron, in the last few days you have become quite familiar with it. " "l see. " ne hand moved like a whip, sending the half-full bottle of brandy directly at Carter's head. It missed by a hair and crashed through a window. To Carter's credit, he didn't move an inch. "A waste of good brandy, " Carter said, his lips curving into a thin smile. Von Petrie shrugged his shoulders in the expensive jacket and sipped from his glass. "l have more." "It's over, Herr Von Petrie." "I don't know what you're talking about." S *lhen I'll tell you. Two men and myself raided St. Christobel last night. We got Tanya Lane out. " SAIso, the woman at the Parkhotel in Vienna isn 't Melissa Lane. She's one of ours. Her name is Ginger Bateman. " The man's eyelids fluttered slightly and then hocxled. 'VAnd Nedda? . . . Alexis?" Page 183 (196/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 184 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER "Dead." Carter shook his head. "Odd as it sounds, they killed each other. " Von Petrie sighed. He drank the last of the brandy, dropped the glass to the carpet, and then crushed it underfoot. 'Then it is over. " 'SNot quite," Carter growled. ' •That's why I'm here." The Baron chuckled. It was a mirthless, hollow sound. "My dear man, surely you don 't suppose you can connect me with anything. " "No, I can't. You •re very clever. Everyone else does your dirty work." "Dirty work? Dear God, man, how naive yoh are! The world is a dirty place inhabited by idiots. The luxury of any life is to rise above the insanity. To do that one must have power. To have power one must acquire a great deal of wealth. I 've done no more than hundreds of others are doing around the world every day. " ' '%at 's probably quite true, " Carter said, levering a shell into Wilhelmina's chamber and flipping off the safety. "But that's why guys likeme come along everynow and then . . so there will be less guys like you." Von Petrie shrugged. "Very well, I'll go with you, though you're being very There's not a single thread of connection between myself and the events of the past few weeks. ' ' "As I said before, I know that." ften Von Petrie realized. It was in the other man 's set jaw, in the way he carelessly yet deftly handled the Luger. It was also in the icy gray eyes even colder than his own. "You're going to IGII me." not quite, " Carter replied. "Almost . "Money. I can set you up for life.' "Life—mine—doesn't mean that much. That's why I'm in this business. Ihis way." Carter shifted the muzzle of the Luger and, with faltering steps, Von Petrie moved. Page 184 (197/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 185 As they left the rcx)m and Carter directed him up the stairs to the tallest tower, Carter knew that the Baron 's veneer had cracked at last. Sweat had soaked clear through his jacket, and he was nervously rubbing his palms against his trousers. "Listen, Carter "Up there." ney moved single file up the narrow stone stairs and out onto the roof of the tower. nere was a soft breeze and the sun was just peeking over the horizon. It was going to a beautiful day. 'This is murder, cold-blooded murder," Von Petrie gasped, hi voice little more than a croak. S entere as been a lot of blocxi, a lot of murder these past few day . Up there. " "What?' Carter gestured with the gun. "Stand up there . . on the e lhere's two million—" Caner squeezed off a slug that came close to burning Von Petrie's ear. "Move, damn you!" He began to whimper, but he climbed up between two teeth of the parapet on shaky feet. Swaying, his face green- ish, he turned to face Carter. S 'Now jump. " "You're mad "Jump, Von Petrie." "My God "Jump, you miserable balstard!" Carter began walking toward him. "Stop! Please!" Two steps from him, Carter thrust out both arms. Instinctively the other man stepped backward, teetered, and then fell. Nick Carter leaned out, his face emotionless, as he watched the body turn over twice and then hit the stone courtyard two hundred feet below with a dull thud. "Now, Von Petrie, it's over. Now it's all over. Carter eased the powerful little motor launch against the Page 185 (198/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 186 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER rubber tires that served as bumpers along the pier. Deftly he tied up the and stern, and then walked along the pier to the stone steps that led up to the villa. It was a warm Portuguese night with a golden crescent moon. A soft breeze settled acrosshis back from the Atlantic, and above a blanket of stars seemed to twinkle the message that all was right in the world. Well,•Nick thought, for now it was. He topped the first set of stairs and saw that there were lights burning in the villa. Had the housekeeper stayed late? Or was she there? Carter felt a tug in his guts. He hoped it was the latter. He'd rented the villa for a month. That's how much time Hawk had given him. ' 'Take a month, Nick, relax . . . you've earned it. I'll even make a deal with you: don 't even tell me where you 're going. " And Carter hadn't. He'd overseen the mop-up and then took a direct flight to Lisbon. The mop-up had been easy. Ginger had been cool. She played out the hand right up to the frontier, and because of it they had netted quite a few of the Baron 's little fish and even one big one they hadn •t even known was in the pond: Hillary DuFarve. She had been escorted by the Austrian authorities to a waiting jet, destination Libya. Ihe others had been deported for concealed weapons offenses. That was really all they could be nailed with. But without the Baron for leadership, it would be quite a while before they got back in the game. He opened the oceanside door and stepped onto the veranda. Halfway across, the door of the villa itself opened. She stood, hipshot, a drink in one hand, light spilling onto the veranda from the room behind her. Ihe light framed her body like a painting and brought a smile of relief to Caner's lips. It was going to be a hell of a month, She wore no shoes and her legs were bare. A wraparound Page 186 (199/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. BUDAPEST RUN 187 peasant skirt did fabulous things to her fabulous hips, and a sheer white blouse did equally fabulous things for her breasts. There was a welcoming smile on her face, and as he came closer, Carter could see that she wore no bra beneath the blouse. He could see the dark outline of her nipples clearly through the gauzy material. ' 'Hi," she said in a throaty whisper. "Hi, yourself. Any problems?" "No. " She leaned her left shoulder against the doorframe and rested her right hand lazily on a jutting hip. ' 'I think Hawk gues when I requested two weeks right after we got back to D but he didn't say a thing; he just signed the request Her voice was husky and warm in a seductive, man- woman way. It did new things to Carter's but the "two weeks" she mentioned did things to his brain. He stopped a foot in front of her, and she came up to her full height. Even in her bare feet she was only three or four inches shorter than he. 'Two weeks?" he growled. thought it best, Nick, for both of us. When you asked in Vienna, that last night, I told you I'd think about it. Well, I did, and here I am. " "Here we are," he said, unable any longer to keep his hands off her. She glided easily into his arms and stood with her face tilted up to his, her crimson lips parted over even, white teeth. ' 'Yeah, here we are. " She worked her full, luscious lips as if she were about to taste something good. ' 'It's the Nick and Ginger party. Kiss me. " He did, long and deep, and all the while he did he let his hands roam over her perfect, full-figured body. "I'm not wearing anything under this skirt and blouse. " "I noticed. " "I can tell you noticed , ' she chuckled, grinding her body against his. "Do you want a drink first?" Page 187 (200/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 188 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER ' 'What's this?" he asked, lifting the glass from her hand. . neat." "Scotch "It'll do. He drank the fiery liquid in one swallow and tossed the glass over his shoulder. The shattering sound was still rever- berating through the villa when they moved through the bedroom door. Carter stopped dead center in the room and smiled. She had everything waiting for him, right down to soft guitar music on a radio and candles on the bedside stands. "Nick . He turned and felt sweat instantly fill his palms. She had already dropped the skirt to the and was now shaking her shoulders out of the blouse. Every moment mede her full, jutting breasts dance delightfully before his eyes. 'Bateman, you "re even more beautiful than I imagined. ' ' Like a cat she lowered herself to the bed and stretched her bare legs to their full length. Languidly, she clasped both hands behind her head and thrust her torso upward so that her hips and her breasts were clearly defined in the candles' flickering glow. 'Well . Carter undressed slowly, taking the time to drink in her lush femininity. When he was naked he eased himself down beside her and felt a shudder go through his body when their flesh met. A sound rolled from her throat that resembled a purr as her hands began to work at his body. "I do think you're ready," she whispered. "I've been ready for years, " he replied, burying his face in the softness of her neck. "And you?' "I'll admit it, if you promise to never repeat it. " ' 'There's just the two of us, remember?" And then Nick Carter began to make love to her in earnest, and Ginger responded in kind. He moved his lips from hers down across her breasts and belly. Her breathing heightened until it came in ragged gasps and her body began to shudder. Suddenly he felt her whole body twist as if she were in Page 188 (201/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now Renews automatically with continued use. THE BUDAPEST RUN 189 agony. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling his txxly up over hers. I want you, all of you!" ' 'Now, Nick . Her hands found and guided him deftly. Carter groaned and then gasped as he felt her warmth envelop him. He moved until his chest was pillowed against the cushiony softness of her full breasts. so good," he groaned, gazing down at her rolling eyes through the misty glaze that had covered his own. And then she moved, arching against him, lurching and twisting at same time. Her arms wound around his body and her n s dug into his thrusting buttocks. She pered, imploring him with her body togo faster, harder. nelr rhythm became a rapture, a scorching, blazing melody filled with desire. And then it rose to a nerve-shattering symphony of sensa- tion that left them both panting and drenched with perspira- tion. Slowly Nick rolled to her side, his hardness still trapped inside her. For several moments they lay silently, each look- ing into the depths of the other's *eyes. "Was it worth the wait?" she asked at last, tracing the firrn line of his jaw with one finger. "That's a question that doesn't need an answer. You know, Ginger, I've long thought that, for you . She held a fingertip over his lips. "Don't say it, Nick, please. " "Okay," he shrugged. "But I can't help feeling it. " "Don't even do that," she replied. "And do me . . . us another favor. ' ' "Name it. " like a nice "When I go back, we both forget it . S 'Like two ships in the night . . . just passing?" met for a while, but went on. She nodded. "Paused . Okay? "Okay. " Page 189 (202/211)
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Return now 190 Renews automatically with continued use. NICK CARTER Again he kissed her, and together their lips started moving. "Again? So soon?" she. whispered. ' 'Lady, we only have two weeks." Page 190 (203/211) CD 88 a P P
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 191 (204/211) # DON'T MISS THE NEXT NEW # NICK CARTER SPY THRILLER ## CARIBBEAN COUP Mahbee drained the brandy from his glass and poured another, even larger drink. He took it and the bottle into the bedroom with him, removed his clothing and put on a bath- robe, then went to the bathroom to run a hot bath. A hot bath would do more for him than a hot shower, and he would keep the brandy bottle by the tub within easy reach. He poured himself another brandy to help combat the cold from the inside out, then still another. The hot water and alcohol began to work on him, making him drowsy. Berbick was the only obstacle in his way. Once he was dead, the Makumbo people would have nothing to fight for and would dissolve. He had poured another drink and was relaxing in the tub 191
  
  
  
  
   ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 192 (205/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # NICK CARTER 192 with it in hand when the man with the gun stepped into the room. "What-" Mahbee cried out, startled. He dropped the snifter, which shattered as it struck the tiled floor. "Better be careful getting out of that tub," Nick Carter said. "You wouldn't want to cut your feet on the glass." Carter made Mahbee get out of the tub, but he would not allow the man to put on his robe. He had learned a long time ago that being nude strips a man of more than just his clothes. It's hard to be brave when you're buck naked. "You're mad," Mahbee told Carter. "My personal guards are right outside the door." "Well, then," Carter said, "I guess I'm lucky being in here with you." "You're the American?" "That's very good." "Are you going to kill me?" "Better and better." "You can't!" Mahbee croaked, choking on the words. "Your country would never stand for it." "What they don't know won't hurt them," Carter assured him. "Jules Berbick would never agree to assassinate anyone," Mahbee said. "Not even me." "But he's not assassinating you, Mr. President," Carter replied. "I am." "No, you're not, Nick," a voice said from behind him. It was a voice he recognized immediately. "Valniev," Carter said. "Correct, my friend," Valniev said. "Please, put down your weapon." "I can't do that," Carter said, feeling annoyed with him- self that he had been outmaneuvered. Then again, the fact that it was Valniev softened the blow. Killmaster N3 had enough confidence in his own abilities to know that no one else could have done it. "If you shoot me," Carter went on, "I'll shoot Mahbee, and then you'll lose anyway." "You will lose also, my friend," Valniev said. "Your ****** Result for Image/Page 1 ****** Page 193 (206/211) Return now Renews automatically with continued use. ↑ # NICK CARTER 193 country will be very embarrassed when the public finds out that an American agent assassinated the president of a small but important Caribbean country. Now, drop your gun to the floor, please, Nick. Don't force me to kill you." -From CARIBBEAN COUP A New Nick Carter Spy Thriller From Charter in January
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