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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
3
Summa was to supply them with prorEr travel and
dress."
"Such as 2"
"One will be traveling as a rich Lebanese trader from
Beirut, another as an imam from the Sinai. A third poses as
a schoolteacher from France. He is traveling with a woman
B)Sing as his wife."
Carter nodded. "It sounds good. Do they all have good
"Excellent," she replied firmly.
"And you trust your Summa contact?"
Her lovely lips curved slightly. "As much as we can
trust any Arab. He is a Palestinian, but greedy. He needs a
corridor across Israel to bring his goods to Haifa and the
sea. Because of this he helps us."
S'Let's hope his greed remains his prime mover."
"If anything had occurred last night, I would have heard
this morning."
"Let's hope so," Carter said, then stood up. "It's a long
lunch?"
time until they arrive .
She stood, obviously gathering herself to leave. "I have
much to do. Security is difficult here in Amman. I will ring
you the moment they are in the safe house." Without an-
other word, she stalked to the door and left.
Carter's actions after she was gone seemed unconscious.
He moved with the precise-somnambulism of habit in every
motion. With automatic he pulled a chair to the
window. He sat and lit a cigarette, staring down at the
bustle of A1 Hashimi Street.
There was nothing in his face to show what he was
thinking: Too many PLO ears left in Jordan. This meeting
is going to be a disaster.
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"The American James Bond!"—The New ,York Times
NICKCARTER
TERMS VENGEANCE
A summit of world leaders could bring lasting peace to the
Middle East. And it's Nick Carter's mission to insure the safety
of the participants.
But Ja'il Rahman, a deadly assassin for a radical PLO splinter
group, has pledged a bloody campaign of terror. He's set his cross
hairs on the gathering heads of state in a violent conspiracy that
stretches from Jordan to Luxembourg.
War is one bullet away as Agent N3 unravels an international web
of lethal intrigue Soon it's the Killmaster against a murderous
fanatic in the center of a terrorist blood storm. ..
Tommy's Booksho
Triq il-Lampuki, St. Paul's Bay, Malta.
Tel.: 574236
Price of Book
Refund on Return
/V.c7L7z —
This book must be returned in a similar conditio
to that purchased for full refund to be honoured.
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PART ONE
ONE
August 1966——Jordan
Outside, the morning heat had already descended on Jor-
dan's capital, Amman. The modem chaos of buses, taxis,
and business bustle didn't invade the tenth-floor suite of
the Philadelphia Hotel where Nick Carter added ice to three
fingers of scotch and sat facing his visitor.
*'Drink?" Carter asked.
"No, thank you."
The woman who faced Carter was beautiful in the
darkly mysterious way most Middle Eastern women were
beautiful. She was young, not more than twenty-five, with
a slender, compact figure that was curiously rigid as she sat
in a chair leaning toward him.
It was the first time Carter had met her in person, but
they had been in constant communication for the last three
weeks.
The only name he knew her by was Darva. She was an
agent of Mossad, Israeli intelligence. Together, they had
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NICK CARTER
been setting up a meeting between Jordan's King Husseil
and three representatives of the Israeli government.
It was tricky, very touch and go.
Hussein, tired of the Palestine Liberation Organization'
use of Jordan as a jumping-off point for raids into Israel
had broken with the PLO.
There was only one very big hitch. Hussein couldn't ge
rid of the PLO, nor could he stop their raids. Israel wa
sending three men to negotiate with Hussein and offe
Israeli aid to do just that.
"I assume everything is ready from this end?"
The pupils of her eyes were contracted and cloudy be
neath heavy black lashes, and they stared into Carter's fac
with a fixed intensity that, in his opinion, wasn't quit
sane.
But he could forgive her that. An Israeli agent hoppin
from Tel Aviv to Damascus to Amman—and then runnin
illegally around Jordan—would have to be a little nuts.
"As far as it can be," Carter replied, sipping his drink
"Hussein has agreed to every aspect of the meeting. A cz
will pick you and the three gentlemen up at the safe hous
outside the city at midnight."
"And he has guaranteed their safety as long as they ar
in the palace?"
"Completely." And then he shrugged. "Of course, ou.
side the palace .. c."
She drew herself stiffly erect in the deep chair, nervou
fingers weaving together in her lap. 'That is the chance
all take stepping across the frontier into an Arab country."
Carter nodded. "I know. Where are they now?!
She checked a thin watch on her wrist. "'Ihey arrived
the village of Summa under cover of darkness late Ia
night and caught the first bus to Amman this mornint
Ihey should be well on the road by now. Our contact
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
3
Summa was to supply them with proErr travel and
dress."
'*Such as.. v?"
'One will traveling as a rich Lebanese trader from
Beirut, another as an imam from the Sinai. A third B)ses as
a schoolteacher from France. He is traveling with a woman
psing as his wife."
Carter nodded. "It sounds good. Do they all have good
"Excellent," she replied firmly.
"And you trust your Summa contact?"
Her lovely lips curved slightly. "As much as we can
trust any Arab. He is a Palestinian, but greedy. He needs a
corridor across Israel to bring his goods to Haifa and the
sea. Because of this he helps us."
"Let's hope his greed remains his prime mover."
"If anything had occurred last night, I would have heard
this morning."
"Leet's hope so," Carter said, then stood up. "It's a long
time until they arrive ... lunch?"
She stood, obviously gathering herself to leave. "l have
much to do. Security is difficult here in Amman. I will ring
you the moment they are in the safe house." Without an-
other word, she stalked to the door and left.
Carter's actions after she was. gone seemed unconscious.
He moved with the precise-somnambulism of habit in every
motion. With automatic smoothness he pulled a chair to the
window. He sat and lit a cigarette, staring down at the
bustle of A1 Hashimi Street.
There was nothing in his face to show what he was
thinking: Too many PLO ears left in Jordan. This meeting
is going to be a disaster.
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NICK CARTER
A handsome youth of eight, his olive skin and smoke
gray eyes blending well with the sable darkness of his curl
hair, stared broodingly out the bus window at the rocky
peaks of the El Sat mountains. In the distance the Ian
leveled out to the valley of the river Jordan, one of th
most fertile areas in the world.
Nearby he saw shepherds in dun-colored djellabas urg
ing camels around drawing wells and herding flocks o
sheep toward heavier patches of grass, much the same as
their ancestors had done two thousand years before. Theil
clothing against the terrain rendered them nearly invisibl
to all but the keenest and most knowledgeable eye.
The boy had such an eye.
Beside the boy sat his mother, a beautiful young wom
with eyes black as a raven's feather: The similarity of th
boy's and woman's aristocratic features could attest to theil
kinship. She was a tall woman with a fine nose and a firm
sculpted chin. Those who knew the myriad tribes of thi
Middle East could spot her heritage at a glance. Her bear
ing and stature were almost regal. She was a Druse, an
there were shadows of her ferocious forebears in the flasl
of her eyes and the set of her chin.
When mother and son spoke, it was in Arabic. But the
could converse equally well in French, Spanish, Greek, o
Italian.
At the moment/ both of them were more interested i
the conversation around them than in speaking to eac
other. The mixture of humanity that populated the bu
talked of only one thing, the same thing that all of Jordal
talked about: war.
The talk wasn't foreign to the boy. He heard the sam
diverse points of view discussed constantly in his father'
house. His father, Omar, and his uncle, Abu, were brothe
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
5
only in blood. They differed radically in most every way,
but particularly on the issue of Palestine.
His Uncle Abu was a boisterous giant of a man who
would fly into wild rages at the mention of anything
Israeli. He was a wealthy merchant trader who had made
his fortune buying cheap from the ignorant peasants of the
interior and selling high in the coastal markets. He viewed
Palestine as his own
The tX)Y's father, while equal to his brother in size, was
far different in disB)sition. He was a quiet, thoughtful man
who deplored violence and preached a love of the people
and the land rather than a rape of it. Omar Rahman had
accepted defeat, and the Israelis.
The war that raged within and without his family con-
fused the boy.
His eyes moved from the scene outside the window to
his fellow passengers.
A young, recently married couple occupied the seat in
front Of him. They in French. The girl had shared
some fruit with him earlier, and had marveled at his strik-
ing gray eyes as well as his French. The young
woman's husband was like the boy's father, soft-spoken
with a charming smile. He was to a teacher in Amman,
and he hoped that all his students were as quick and bright
as the boy who, at eight, so charmed his wife.
The boy didn't blush. He had heard similar compliments
all his young life. He accepted it.
Across the aisle sat a bearded and robed man who
emanated the same brand of proud composure as his
mother. Only this man, unlike his mother, smothered his
regal bearing with arrogance. This man was Obviously im-
portant, obviously rich, obviously Arab, and most eager to
let everyone around him know it.
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NICK CARTER
When asked his name by the boy, he had proclaimed
"Cåid Haj of Beirut!" as if he were royalty and practically
one with Allah Himself.
The boy almost believed him.
Feeling and restless from the long ride, the boy
to stretch his legs. At that instant, the driver cried out
and applied the full force of his leg and foot to the brakes.
The bus slid to a gravel-crunching halt, pitching the boy
forward the length of the aisle. The driver nearly trampled
him as he threw orm the door and lealEd, cursing, to the
With the other occupants of the bus babbling in chaos,
the boy pulled himself up and looked out the broad, mud-
streaked front window. He found himself confronted with a
makeshift barricade surrounded by armed men; machine
guns displayed with pride. The bus driver was chattering
and pointing as a few of the men entered the vehicle,
knocking the back in their haste.
He sat startled in the driver's seat as the men walked
slowly up the aisle. They paused at each seat, loudly inter-
rogating the frightened cmupants. When they reached the
far rear of the bus they started back, only to stop abruptly
in the center.
Roughly, they yanked Caid Haj and the French couple
from their seats and shoved them forward. Ihe young
woman smiled as she passed him. Her husband lost,
but he also smiled and winked assurance that everything
would be all right.
Caid Haj blustered, threatened, and then screamed in
real fear as a rifle butt in his back prorrlled him from the
bus into the roadside dust.
The pany congregated just outside the door. The boy
sat, mesmerized, as he listened to the halting, multilingual
conversations. He followed it all' He had as fine an ear for
TERMS OF VENGEANCE
7
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
7
dialects as he did for languages. He recognized the rebels
as Palestinians, and shivered.
He heard his mother's voice calling to him, and then the
shuffle of her sandals as she moved forward in the aisle.
He didn't answer her. The goings-on outside the bus were
t(X) fascinating.
The PLO leader, a tall, angular man with a black-
face, was loudly questioning Caid Haj.
His only reply was more blustering.
A scar, running from the rebel leader's left earlobe to
the point of his chin, suddenly seemed to glow white in his
otherwise dark face. With an oath, he smashed the palm of
his hand into Caid Haj's face. Blood spurted in its wake,
and even before the robed man could cry out in pain, his
assailant's boot had found his testicles.
Caid Haj writhed on the ground. The young bride of the
ran to hjs side. She had barely droprk.d to
her knees when she found herself raised and slammed, with
a jarring thud, against the side of the bus.
Her husband came to life. He cursed the rebel and
rushed toward him, only to suffer the pain of a badly
mashed nose. He joined his wife against the bus and was
quickly followed by Caid Haj, his hands grasping his groin
in pain.
The rebel leader stepped back, calmly lit a cigarette,
and began the interrogation all over again.
As he listened to the man, Caid Haj's demeanor
changed, the expression in his eyes altering from fear to a
hard intensity as he drew himself to his full height and spat
on the ground in the front of his tormentors.
Then, from under his robes, he drew a pistol. He fired
once; and a red splotch appeared on the dirty white haik of
the machine-gun-wielding man nearest him.
Without a sound the man pitched forward, and Caid Haj
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NICK CARTER
swung his gun toward the leader. But before he could fire
again, the air was filled with the staccato chatter of gun-
fire.
The bursts not only found their intended victims, but
rimEd into the bus as well. People tumbled into the aisle or
curled up, hands over their heads, in their €eats. Everyone,
man and woman alike, was screaming. One man, bearded
and dressed in the robes of an imam, half crawled and half
ran to the rear of the bus and clawed at the emergency
door.
At his ear the boy heard a tiny groan in a voice he
recognized. He turned just as his mother fell, the whole
right sleeve of her white djellaba stained crimson.
The boy was frozen in both mind and body. He couldn't
think or move. It was as though he were an outsider, objec-
tively observing mass murder. Beside the door he could see
the torn and bloody bodies of the French schoolteacher, his
lovely young wife, and Caid Haj of Beirut. They were
grotesquely sprawled across each other as if they had em-
braced one another even as they embraced death.
Fearful, screaming, wriggling bodies filled the aisle, but
no one else seemed wounded. Only his mother who lay,
unmoving, at his feet.
The PLO leader, his face a dark mask of emotionless
calm, leaped into the bus. The machine pistol in his hand
roared, and the imam in the rear his last as the
bullets tore his spine to shreds.
Then, just as calmly, the man slung his weapon and
knelt tEside the fallen woman. The boy watched, impas-
sive, as a knife in the man's hand. He rolled the
woman to her back, and raised the knife.
The screamed.
"Pig!" he shouted, and threw his small body at the PLO
leader's head.
TERMS OF VENGEANCE
9
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
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The man turned at the shouted cry just in time to take
the full force of the boy's butting skull in his face.
Stunned, caught off guard, he fell backward. The knife
sliprrd from his grasp and clattered against the steel floor.
The tX)Y's knees hit and then his hands, one of them
over the hilt of the knife. Without even looking down, he
grasped and folded it into both his hands. Crawling for-
ward on his knees, still screaming "Pig! Pig! Dirty pig! "
he raised the gleaming blade high atX)ve his head.
The leader, blood coursing from his ruptured nose into
both his eyes, barely managed to roll to his side. He was
able to save himself from a killing thrust, but not from
injury.
The blade passed through the bicep of his left arm and
was saved from entering his body by a rib. Realization that
the blow was not a mortal one registered through the haze
of the boy's fury. He withdrew the knife and raised if for a
second thrust, this time at the man's neck.
But he wasn't quick enough. Again the man rolled, this
time into the boy's body. The hand at the end of his long,
sinewy arm was flat out as it landed against the side of the
boy's head.
The youth tumbled but, like a spring, came to his feet.
Now to the haze of fury clouding his eyes was added a loss
of equilibrium caused by the stunning blow on his ear. He
could barely see the man climbing to his feet before him.
But still he tried. From the height of his own knees he
brought the knife up, underhand, toward the rebel's ex-
posed belly.
But it wasn't to
His thrust was blæked. He scarcely felt the fist in his
own tElly before the air left his lungs and pain shot
through his whole body from the floorboard gearshift in his
back.
NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
Blackness enveloped him but he fought it off. His eyes
opened but he couldn't move. The bus was silent save for
his own raspy attempts at breathing and the sound of some-
one shredding fabric.
The man was ripping Olrn his mother's djellaba, and
then the dress she wore beneath it. Suddenly his mother
was naked to her waist. The brown skin of her right breast
looked pale next to the seeping blocxi.
Gently, his face, even with the bleeding nose, returning
to calm detachment, the leader cut her djellaba into
strips. He cleaned the wound and then bound it. He then
took a cushion from a seat and placed it under her head.
"The wound is not deep. The bullet passed between her
arrn and her side." He spoke as if he were assuring himself
as much as the still cowering people hovering at his
shoulder.
Then, taking the knife, he stood and moved forward
toward the Much to the boy's surprise, he saw the
man's face change expression for the first time since the
affair had begun.
He was smiling. It was a cruel smile made slightly gro-
tesque by the drying blood, but nevertheless it was a smile.
"Are you all right, little warrior?"
"My back hurts."
The man turned him over and probed with sensitive
fingers. Then he lifted him effortlessly into a seat. "A
bruise. You will live to fight more battles." Using the
knifes he striprEd away his own sleeve and began binding
his arm. "And, luckily, so will I."
"I went for your heart."
"How well I know, little one, and you almost suc-
ceeded. You are very brave."
•me boy managed to gather enough spit in his dry mouth
to make a ball, but his aim was poor. He missed the rebel's
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
11
face and hit his shoulder. "Son of a whore!" the boy
hissed.
Instead of anger, the rebel's lips curled into a wider
smile. "You curse as well as you fight. Your name?"
"Ja'il Rahman," the boy said proudly.
The man's face changed. His eyes narrowed and darted
to the woman on the floor before he spoke again. "You are
of the Rahman clan of Summa?"
"My father is Omar and my uncle is Abu."
Suddenly the man pressed the knife into the boy's hand.
His eyes fell. The hilt of the knife was inlaid with tiny
jewels shaping the star and crescent of Islam.
The man leaned close to the boy's ear. "Should you ever
need a friend, little warrior, just show the knife to anyone
and you will be taken to Hassan A1-Chir." He jumped from
the bus. "You, driver, return to Summa and tell all who
will listen that Hassan A1-Chir has killed the Jews who
drove us from our homeland! And if more come to con-
spire with Jordan's king against us, they too will die!"
Then the man, Hassan A1-Chir, was gone. The driver
reappeared in his seat and the ancient bus roared to life.
They managed to turn around on the narrow road, and as
they moved off, a young woman, not more than fourteen,
jumped on the front bumper and shouted at them through
the windshield.
"A warning and lesson to you all! There is no Israel!
Palestine is ours!"
Through the dust the could see the rebels, mounted
now and already riding single file up into the craggy hills.
The three bodies were merely a pile in the roadside dust.
The young teacher's blood oozed just like that of Caid Haj.
His pretty young wife's lay across the imam's in the
dust.
Four dead. Jews?
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NICK CARTER
The boy, Ja'il Rahman, was even more confused.
He looked down at the knife in his hand.
Little did he know that, in less than twenty-four hours,
he would be witness to much more killing.
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Two
Carter ate in his room and smoked and paced. At last,
shortly after eleven, the telephone rang.
It was the woman, Darva.
'*It was a trap, an ambush. Hassan A1-Chir led it."
The Killmaster felt a lump of lead hit the bottom of his
gut. "All three of them?"
"Yes, and the girl. I have seen the bodies on the Amman
road. I am going to Summa. Retaliation has already been
planned. I am going to find the Rahman pig and get my
own revenge."
Carter had lived too long on the edge himself not to
recognize a touch of insanity in the voice of another. He
recognized it now in the voice of this woman, and he
didn't like it. Finding and killing the man who had fingered
the three Israeli emissaries was one thing; how it was done
was another.
"Wait," he said. "Let me get to the king. This could be
the incident that would move the government of Jordan to
action without negotiation."
'There is no time," Darva replied, the manic edge clear
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NICK CARTER
in her voice. "You are out of it now, Carter. Go home."
'Ihe phone went dead in his hand. Carter dropFd it and
forced his mind to make a rapid decision.
A raid now on any Jordanian village would give the
PLO the leverage they needed to convince the ottrr Arab
leaders to put pressure on King Hussein to rnount an attack
on Israel.
Quickly, with wasted motion. Carter nwved. He
changed into dark clothes and slid his arms into a shoulder
rig housing the 9mm Luger he affectionately called Wil-
helmina. Hugo, a deadly six-inch stiletto, was already in
the chamois sheath on his right forearm.
Over it all he pulled a dark gray djellaba and wrapped a
hata around his head. The scant contents of his traveling
bag he left. He knew he wouldn't coming back, but it
didn't matter. The clothing was without and theat
was nothing else in the bag to identify him as an Anrrican,
let alone an agent of AXE.
He could almcxst sense the tension on the street. Word of
the killings must have already reached Amman. And if it
had leaked that the victims were Israelis, the t»pulace
would be tense waiting for Israeli retaliation.
He walked for several blocks until he found what he
wanted: a motorcycle shop. Darva had said that she had
seen the bcxlies on the road. Ihat meant that she was al-
ready halfway to Summa. A mototvycle would allow
Carter to save time on desolate back roads impassable to an
automobile.
Picking the rear of the shop was child's play. ln-
side. he found a B)werful BMW gassed and ready to go.
Minutes later he was maring toward the curtskirts of
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
15
The car slid to a halt and the motor was cut immedi-
ately. In the rear, the woman leaned forward between the
two men in the front bucket seats.
"That is the house of Rahman. Yani, take the rear. Meir,
you go in the front with me."
The two men exchanged puzzled glances. The woman
was their superior, but what she was proposing could well
suicide. The area of Summa they were in was com-
pletely controlled by PLO underground.
"Darva, are you sure that this raid has the go-ahead?"
"Do you doubt my order?" she hissed. "Let's go!" She
slid from the car and moved toward the house in shadows.
Even with the doubts in their minds, both men were
trained to obey. They left the car and followed, flicking off
the safeties on the Uzi submachine guns they held.
Ja'il Rahman lay awake in his his eyes wide, his
mind full of the day's events.
Upon their return, his uncle Abu had peppered them
with questions. The more his mother answered, the more
ashen his uncle's face had become.
'They told me they were only going to capture them!
Hassan A1-Chir promised me there would no killing
The had listened, wide-eyed, until hismother and
father realized he was in the room. He was hustled off to
trd, but through a crack in his door he continued to listen
to their conversation.
"They will come, Abu," his father said. "You must
hide."
"See what your greed and your treachery has brought
upn our heads, Abu Rahman!" His mother's voice was
bitter.
"Silence!" his father snapped. "What is done is done.
Abu, you must not be here if they come."
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NICK CARTER
s The PLO will guard me. I have done them a service."
"Perhaps, but I would rather have them guard you
somewhere else," his father said dryly. "You can stay in the
cellar of Salamel until we are sure it is safe. I will send
word."
Ja'il heard his father shuffle from the rcx)m, and then his
mother's voice.
"You are a pig, Abu."
"Be quiet, woman!"
'*You play the PLO and the Israelis against each other
and endanger us all."
"I do what I must do. Here, take this pistol. You may
need it."
His uncle stole away into the night, and minutes later
someone from the camp of Hassan A1-Chir arrived to
watch over them.
Now Ja'il could hear his father and their guard talking
in hushed tones in the room directly below him. The boy
slid his. hand beneath his pillow and curled his fingers
around the jeweled hilt of the dagger given him by Hassan
A1-Chir.
His father had said Hassan A1-Chir was a madman, a
wanton killer using a war to satisfy his own bloodlust.
His uncle said A1-Chir was a great man, a freedom
fighter.
His mother said they should all move to Paris, and then
she went to bed.
Suddenly Ja'il heard the crash of glass in the front of the
house, At the same time, gunfire erupted amid screams of
agony.
Instinctively, he clutched the dagger and rushed from his
tiny loft. At the top of the ladder leading into the large
room of the house, he froze.
The PLO guard and another manwere sprawled in the
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
17
kitchen doorway, blood puddling beneath them. His father
was on his knees in the middle of the room, clutching his
side.
A man, all in black, crouched at the broken front win-
dow, staring out, a gun in his hands.
And by the door stood a wild-eyed woman, also in
black and training a submachine gun on his father.
"You are Rahman!" the woman screamed.
"l am Omar Rahman."
"Where is Abu Rahman?"
"I do not know."
"You lie!" the woman said, her voice now a hysterical
screech.
"Abu is my brother," his father said, crawling painfully
to his feet.
The woman lowered the muzzle of the Uzi and fired.
The bullets tore across the floor and into Omar Rahman's
legs.
Ja'il screamed out as his father fell, but it was nothing
compared to the ear-splitting shriek of his mother as she
entered from her bedroom, a raised pistol in her hand.
Through the mist of tears in the boy's eyes he saw the
pistol buck and spit flame again and again. The body of the
black-clad man at the window seemed to be on strings as
he danced backward into the wall and slowly sank to the
leaving a wide smear of red on the plaster.
And then the Uzi in the woman's hand was chattering.
Ja'il saw his mother stagger, clutch her bloody middle, and
fall.
The boy went wild. He from his JRrch and ran
blindly toward the woman. Before she could bring the Uzi
around, Ja'il buried the dagger's blade into her belly.
She crashed against the wall, freeing the blade. He
lunged again, but the snout of the Uzi came around, strik-
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NICK CARTER
ing him in the side and knocking him into the open door.
C'Run, Ja'il, run... now!"
It was his father's voice. The boy stared at his father,
his mother, and at the rest of the carnage.
"Run, Ja'il!"
Suddenly the Uzi barked again, shattering the door-
frame behind him and riddling his back with painful
splinters.
He ran headlong into the street. He had gone only a few
steps when a man in a dark djellaba riding a huge black
motorcycle was in his path.
"No, Darva, no!" the man shouted in English.
Ja'il looked over his shoulder. The woman had stag-
gered through the door and fallen. But she was coming up
on one knee and raising the gun.
"Get on!" the man barked in Arabic as the bullets
slammed into the sidewalk behind him.
Ja'il was stunned, frozen. Then a powerful arm was
lifting him and he was settled into the saddle behind the
"Hang on!"
The machine roared and the rear tire screamed as they
lurched forward.
Ja'il looped his arms around the man's waist and locked
his fingers tightly as more bullets from the Uzi chased
them down the dusty street.
Gently, Carter turned the boy onto his stomach. He was
wearing only a pair of shorts and the shirt to a pair of
pajamas. The back of the pajama top was torn to shreds
and bloody. Carefully, using Hugo, Carter cut it away.
No single wound was serious, but he could count over
fifty splinters of various sizes in the boy's back.
In the light of false dawn, he went to work with the
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
19
stiletto, easing the splinters out one by one. It was good
that the boy had passed out. The removal of several of the
more deeply embedded ones would have caused excruciat-
ing pain if he were conscious.
This done, the Killmaster tore his djellaba in half. He
soaked it in a trickling stream nearby and bathed the cuts.
Because of the amount of bleeding, there was little chance
of infection.
Tearing the other half of the djellaba into snips, he
made a grass poultice and covered the boy's back. He was
just finishing the last binding when he realized that the boy
had awakened.
One cold gray eye was staring at him from between
long, blue-black lashes.
"You repair my body in order to torture it?"
"Why would I want to torture you?"
"To find where my uncle Abu hides. That is why they
came... to find my uncle. Are you a Jew?"
Carter was somewhat taken aback. The boy was calm
considering the situation, and he spke in a cold, detached
way.
am American."
• 'An American Jew? America is full of Jews."
Carter sighed. "l am an American who works for my
government. My name is Carter, Nick Carter, and you can
trust me. I mean you no harm."
The boy sat up. Though the pain in his back had to be
severe, he barely winced.
"That is my knife."
Caner mced down at the jeweled dagger he had taken
from the boy's hand and stuck in his belt. He pulled it out
and handed it to the boy.
"What is your name?"
"Ja'il. I am the son of Omar Rahman."
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NICK CARTER
Now the picture was a little clearer. Carter managed to
keep-his face expressionless when he spke again.
' *Tell me what happened ... everything."
Ja'il sat, staring directly into Carter's eyes. It was as if
he were reliving everything before he could speak of it.
And when he did speak, it was in the same calm, detached
voice.
Carter noted that, even relating the worst of the details,
the boy's face did not change nor did he shed a single tear.
Shock, the Killmaster guessed, or worse.
From the boy's description, Carter surmised that it had
been a total on both sides. If Darva's wound had
been as the boy remembered, she had probably bled to
death.
"Why?" Ja'il asked.
"Why?" Carter don't think you would un-
derstand."
am wise for my years. My father has told me so,
often. Why?"
Again Carter took a deep breath and tried to explain. He
told the boy the real identities of those he had seen on the
bus. He explained what he guessed had been his uncle's
part in it.
' 'And the woman? Well, Ja'il, all I can say about the
woman is that she went a little mad."
'Then it is as my mother said. All this was caused by
my uncle's greed and treachery."
"I'm afraid it goes far beyond that."
"No matter. I will have to kill my uncle."
The words jerked Carter's head up: It was in the youth's
eyes, in the set of his young jaw.
He meant every word he said.
"Right now, you're in no shalE to kill anyone," Carter
said, standing. "Where do you have family?"
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TERMS OF VENGEANCE
"I have no family."
21
"Then I'll take you with me. I'm going north into Leba-
non, Beirut. There are Irople there who—
"No."
Ja'il stood. He gazed around him and then faced Carter.
' Tese are the caves of Modor. There is the road to Leba-
non, but you should not go that way. Those hills are alive
with the men of Hassan A1-Chir. They would stop you and
kill you. Go south, cross the frontier into Israel, there. It is
the safer way to Lebanon."
"And you, Ja'il, what will you do?"
"I will survive."
"Ja'il how old are you?"
"A lifetime older than I was at this time yesterday." He
moved to the mouth of the cave, for a few moments
staring out over the valley and the river Jordan, and then
turned back to face Carter. "You have saved my life, Nick
Carter, American. I thank you."
"Listen, son ... "
"Good-bye, Nick Carter. Be careful as you ride. Stop
for no one." He turned and started walking down the hill-
side.
Carter moved to the edge of the cave and watched.
In the remnants of the djellaba, the shorts, and barefoot,
his small, frail body was the most pathetic figure Carter
had ever seen.
But he didn't call out or try to stop him. He knew it
would be useless just from the way the boy walked, his
shoulders squared, his head straight forward and his chin
high. He watched until the small figure disappeared in the
rocks and the rising heat haze.
I will survive.
And somehow Carter knew he would.
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PART Two
THREE
The bar was in the Nazaret su•tion of Valencia, near the
port. There was nothing ornate or pretentious about it. It
had the usual long counter, the mirror and array of bottles
behind it, and about thirty tables.
Carter slid onto one of the barstcx)ls at exactly nine
o'clock. Because of the early hour there were few cus-
tomers: two more men at the bar, a few couples, and the
usual array of hookers, as well as three secretary types.
Carter guessed that the secretary types were on the hunt,
moonlighting. A little flat-back time for extra income
wasn't frowned on in Spain.
"Senor?" The bartender was a chubby little man with
bland eyes, a mustache, and ring-around-the-collar.
"Whiskey, double, no ice."
"S(, seior."
While the bartender poured, Carter cnsed women',
face after face, and gave up.
"The contact is a woman," AXE Madrid had said.
22
TERMS OF VENGEANCE
23
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23
'Once you're in Valencia and set up, go to a flamenco bar
called Los Quatros Palomas at exactly nine the night before
the party."
"Ikscription?" Carter had asked.
"None. All we have is a name... Ynez."
None of the women he currently perused in the bar
looked like she would be Ynez.
The whiskey came just as a small spotlight hit the stage
at the end of the room. A dark-eyed young woman stepped
into it, carrying a guitar. She was slim and supple as a
reed, with jet-black hair pulled back from her face. She
was wearing a blouse and a ruffled flamenco skirt
that was weighted so it swirled around her as she moved.
"Is that the show?" Carter asked.
"Oh, no, seöor. The flamenco starts at eleven. This girl
plays until then."
Carter and sipped his whiskey. The girl played
very well. He had a hard time taking his eyes from her
when more customers entered.
She finished her first set in a half hour and stood to solid
applause, considering the small amount of people in the
place.
"Muchas gracias. Ynez thanks you all."
She was looking right at Carter when she said it. She
left the stage, and minutes later reappeared in the a
dark shawl around her shoulders. As she passed Carter, she
gave him one more quick look.
"Another, seöor?" the bartender asked.
"No, thanks. I think I'll get some air."
The bartender sighed deeply and swabbed the bar.
sefior, that one will do you no good. She has a
A very mean
'Keep the change,"' Carter chuckled. "I'm not
interested ... too young."
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NICK CARTER
Carter was aware of the disappointed on the bar-
tender's face as he walked out the door. He probably got a
cut from the B girls and the secretaries.
The dead end was to the left, trside the water. Carter
fished a cigarette from his pocket and headed that way. He
was in the deepest part of the shadows when she joined
hini.
"Do you have another of those?"
'They are Zelos, Turkish, very strong."
"l don't mind."
She took one of the cigarettes. Carter snapped his
lighter and held the flame steady.
She looked even younger up close and the face was
more striking, clean, and although not pretty, it was some-
how strong, intelligent, and well poised.
"You are
"Carter. Nick Carter."
"And you have proof?"
He flipped his wallet and the lighter again. The way she
studied his credentials told him that she knew what to look
for.
"Good. You have access to Senor Araujo's gala as a
guest."
"I do. But from what I hear, his galas generally turn out
to be expatriate orgies."
She chuckled, but not with a lot of mirth. 'ThiS is true.
Sefior Vincente Araujo has a weakness for American
widows and wives. I assume you do not attend alone?"
"No," Carter drawled, "I'll be the escort of Monique
Leveque, She is—
"A gossip writer for Paris Jet Set. I know, I have read
some of her articles. The woman is with sex."
Carter .managed to suppress a smile. If you only knew,
he thought.
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25
She rummaged in the pocket of her skirt as she spoke
again. "You have the money, in cash?"
'SThree hundred and fifty thousand, in cash, and two
passports. All they need are photographs."
"Here," she said, handing him a folded slip of paper.
"This is theÆoor plan of the house. At exactly midnight,
slip away. The door to the wine cellar will marked and
unl(xked. At the bottom, just under the stairs, there are
three wine casks. The center one is marked Moulney '47.
the cask is empty and the top is unsealed. Put the money in
there and leave."
C' Your man is not very trusting."
"He cannot afford to be. Betraying Hassan A1-Chir is
writing one's own death warrant."
"Three hundred and fifty thousand is a lot of money."
Her head jerked up, the innocent features now in a
grimace of fear. "A list of all of Hassan A1-Chir's world-
wide terrorist nets and" narnes, addresses,
and pictures—is worth ten times that much."
"I h01E so," Carter replied, 4 'but I would like to know
who I'm paying."
"You are paying a man who has been a courier for Al-
Chir for years. Every name on the list is active and accu-
rate."
They both fell silent, the only sound the lapping of the
water against the jetty and some far-off lonesome fog-
horns.
At last she fliPIEd her cigarette into the water and spoke
again. "After you put the money in the cask, rejoin the
party. At three o'clock, and not tEfore, you should be able
to slip away again."
"And then?'
. She paused uncertainly, and then contin-
"And then .
ued. "And then there is no more. Wecrawl into a hole and
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NICK CARTER
you have the power to bring a madman to ground."
"IS that why your friend is betraying A1-Chir? Because
he is a madman?"
' That is one of many reasons, but the main one. Even
Arafat and most of the Palestinians would like some kind
of peace now. Not A1-Chir. He makes war only because he
is obsessed with the power and glory it gives him. That is
why only the most rabid of fanatics follow him."
She tumed and started away. Carter fell in step beside
her: "You know I could be of more solid help if you and he
would let me."
"No. We have planned this for months. It is the safest
way. That is why you must follow the instructions for the
exchange to the letter."
She turned into the door of the bar and Carter continued
on up the street. It took five minutes to find a prowling
taxi.
"Saler Sol, porfavor."
"M, seior." The taxi rxked ahead and Carter spotted
the driver looking at him in the rearview. "It is good you
leave down here early, sefior. The Nazaret is no good place
for tourist late in the night,"
"I'm not a tourist," Carter. growled. "I'm a secret
agent."
The driver laughed.
The Killmaster closed the door of Suite 804 behind him
and Monique Leveque met him halfway down the steps
into the sunken sitting rcK)m. She kissed him on the mouth,
then reached up and rubbed some of her lipstick from the
comer of his lip.
*'Thank God you are back, Nicky, I was dying of Ione-
someness." Abruptly, she came into his arms, flattening
her well-endowed chest against him. "Did you spy good?"
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"I'm a travel writer, remember?"
27
"Of course you are, and I am still a virgin. Do you want
a drink?"
"Yeah."
He watched the play of her thighs as she moved toward
the bar. She wore a green robe of some satiny material that
danced along with every muscle.
"Your tryst was successful?"
"It was," Carter said, shrugging from his jacket and the
shoulder rig. "Are we still on for the orgy tomorrow
"Mais oui. Vincente loves to look down the front of my
dress even though I am not a rich American expatriate
widow. Here."
She pressed the glass of good scotch into his hand, and
her bcxly followed.
"I h0ÆE you are in the mood for love," she purred, nib-
bling on his ear.
"We made love this afternoon."
"So? We made love this morning and last night. You
should not keep score, Nicky. It takes the fun out of it."
"You're a nymphomaniac."
s 'I know. Everyone should have a purpose in life."
Carter gave up and laughed aloud. Monique was truly a
joy to be around.
She had given up a promising career as a nightclub
singer when she decided it was silly telling gossip reporters
about her wild life and then having them get paid to write
it. Particularly when she found out that some of them got
paid as well or better than she did for much less work.
At last they unglued themselves and Carter slipped to
the sofa. Monique sat just across, her slender ankles to-
gether, her scent sharp with femininity. She perched, drink
to her lips, as if this were the moment that made her daye
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"I'm a travel writer, remember?"
27
"Of course you are, and I am still a virgin. Do you want
a drink?"
"Yeah."
He watched the play of her thighs as she moved toward
the bar. She wore a green robe of some satiny material that
danced along with every muscle.
"Your tryst was successful?"
"It was," Carter said, shrugging from his jacket and the
shoulder rig. "Are we still on for the orgy tomorrow
"Mais oui. Vincente loves to look down the front of my
dress even though I am not a rich American expatriate
widow. Here."
She pressed the glass of good scotch into his hand, and
her bcxly followed.
"I h0ÆE you are in the mood for love," she purred, nib-
bling on his ear.
"We made love this afternoon."
"So? We made love this morning and last night. You
should not keep score, Nicky. It takes the fun out of it."
"You're a nymphomaniac."
s 'I know. Everyone should have a purpose in life."
Carter gave up and laughed aloud. Monique was truly a
joy to be around.
She had given up a promising career as a nightclub
singer when she decided it was silly telling gossip reporters
about her wild life and then having them get paid to write
it. Particularly when she found out that some of them got
paid as well or better than she did for much less work.
At last they unglued themselves and Carter slipped to
the sofa. Monique sat just across, her slender ankles to-
gether, her scent sharp with femininity. She perched, drink
to her lips, as if this were the moment that made her daye
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NICK CARTER
"Was she beautiful?"
"The woman you saw tonight."
"How did you know it was a woman?"
"Her perfume is on that pieceof paper in your breast
pocket."
Carter chuckled. "You should be the spy."
"Never, I detest violence! And, speaking of vio-
She picked up the shoulder rig and the Luger
lence . e"
with just the tips of her fingers and headed for the bed-
room. "Do you mind if I hang this loathsome thing out of
It wasn't a question, so Carter didn't answer. Instead he
concentrated on her beauty of movement.
"I think Monique Leveque can help us on this one. You
know her, Carter?"
"Met her only once. "
"She has a lot of contacts, done some damned fine
intelligence-gathering for French internal security."
Carter knew the story. About two years earlier, Monique
had overheard talk of an arms smuggling deal into Mar-
seille and passed it on to the SDECE in Paris. After that
she had just continued to pass along information, and now
and then do an active turn.
Carter hadn't known her well when she had met his
plane in Madrid a week before. They had talked and
laughed over lunch without her asking—or him offering—
what the real story of the mission constituted.
By three o'clock that afternoon they had been in bed,
together. With Monique, the last week had practically been
a vacation.
Now, tonight, began the real work.
"Nicky, darling, do you want to eat out?" she called
from the
"I suppose so. Don't call me darling."
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"Why not?"
29
'*It makes me sound like one of your jet-set gigolos."
Tomorrow night, with any' luck, Caner would have the
worldwide terrorist network of Hassan A1-Chir in his
pocket. And while antiterrorist squads broke up the net,
Carter would go after A1-Chir himself.
The girl had been right. A1-Chir was a madman. And
Carter would, in this case, be only too happy to exercise
the designation his agency had given him and that Monique
Leveque knew nothing about: Killmaster.
"Nicholas ... dear.. ."
Carter grunted to his feet and crossed to the bedroom
door. "Yeah?"
"Are you sure you want to go out to eat?"
She lay on the bed, her ankles crossed, her hands be-
hind her head, her martini on her belly.
She was stark naked.
"Not particularly."
Carter was naked himself by the time he reached the bed
and slipped in beside her.
Her breasts were roundly shaped, mature, the right a bit
fuller than the left. Large dark nipples wrinkled themselves
erect. In the dim light he could see her soft, dark triangle,
the flat sheaths of muscle above it promising more than the
usual sensations.
"You want me?" she murmured.
"You're going to spill your martini."
She cupped her breasts with both hands, an offering.
ice
Carter wanted to smile but matched her seriousness.
"Nice," he replied, his body tightening.
Suddenly she reached out and ran her finger down his
chest. She moved closer, kissing him on the neck, gliding
her tongue around his ear.
His hands found her solid thighs, massaging them,
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NICK CARTER
slowly sliding up to her hips and resting there.
Then-she was above him, her hands all over his body.
"You know what?"
"What?" he growled.
"No one who ever saw you naked with all these scars
would believe that you're a travel writer, cheri."
"Then," Carter said, trying to roll her over, "we'll keep
it just between ourselves."
She held her position above him. "No," she murmured,
"let me. 'i'
She slid down the tEd and placed her lips on his belly.
He was pushing up against her now, but she teased him.
And then she wasn't teasing anymore and Carter was
gritting his teeth to retain control.
It was going to be a long night. And he didn't mind at
all.
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FOUR
"Nice quiet little party," Carter said wryly as he maneu-
vered the rented Audi into a narrow space and killed the
engine.
Monique Leveque chortled throatily with her beautiful
head thrown back. "Oui, Cheri, just like the last night of
carnival in Rio! Shall we, as you Americans say, dive in?"
' 'Let's."
Carter moved around to the passenger side of the Audi
and helped her out. She was ravishingly sexy in a figure-
fitting, practically backless, low-cut black gown with nar-
row rhinestone straps. The dress made the whole a packet
of superfemininity, displaying every curve and lots of skin.
"Aren't you slightly underdressed?" Carter grinned.
"Ah, Nicky, wait until you see the women at this party!"
They paused for a second at the seawall. Behind them,
soft moonlight caressed the rolling sea. 'Above them, a
hundred steps up, Vincente Araujo's grand villa sprawled
across the hillside. Between them and the house were ter-
raced gardens blazing with color and scent. The walls of
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NICK CARTER
the villa that weren't glass were draped with
bougainvillaea, and every window blazed with light.
"Nice little pad," Carter quipped.
"He bought it when prices were right, during Franco."
The music of a pase doble and loud laughter hit them
through the open doors of the marbled patio leading into
the house.
"You know the scene," Carter whispered from the side
of his mouth as they moved into a huge of milling
people and glowing chandeliers. "Introduce me around and
then let me float."
"Monique, my darling, at last you've arrived... the
party can now begin!"
"Our host," Monique whispered, and from
Carter's side into the arms of Rudolph Valentino had he
lived to see sixty.
Vincente Araujo was still Latin-lover-good-looking,
with gray hair smoothed back, a square,
jaw, and a deep booming voice, He was dressed in a thou-
sand-dollar tuxedo with real diamond studs.
He kissed Monique all over, patted her fanny, and
turned to Carter. "Ah, Monique's latest amour."
"This is Nick, darling. Nick, Vincente Araujo."
"How do you do?"
The man was good. He hardly winced as Carter came
just short of breaking his hand.
"I'll do better with a fresh drink. Have fun, both of you.
And, Monique be sure to write scandalous things about
me and the party!"
He moved away and they mingled. The ratio was about
four women to every man, and Carter met most of them
without any names registering. Only one, a tall blonde on
the long side of forty with more of her out of a dress than
in it, made him blink.
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33
Monique intrcxiuced her as Nora Pembrook. They chat-
ted inanely for a minute or two and parted, with Nora pat-
ting Carter's butt on the way by.
"Very healthy lady," he commented. "I thilü she likes
"Don't get your hopes up," Monique chuckled. "She did
that to get to me. Actually, anything over eighteen she
throws back. Oh, excuse me, darling, I see someone who
just the center of a scandal. Later."
She moved off and Carter milled, his eyes taking in the
one by one. Nary a one of them looked like a Middle
Eastern terrorist.
"A ca*, sefior?"
A white-jacketed waiter was waving a tray of toothpick-
srrared mouthfuls under Carter's nose.
"Uh ... sure... " Carter's hand wavered over the tray.
"Eel on the left, squid on the right."
"Uh, no, thanks," Carter said. "But where's the bar? I'd
like something a little stronger than champagne."
The waiter smiled. "You are American. There are ham
sandwiches on the buffet, there. The bar is opposite."
"Thanks." He headed for the bar. "Scotch whiskey, no
"Si, senor."
By the time Carter got his drink he sensed someone just
him and to his right, staring. He turned to face a
dark-haired young man with movie-star-type looks and a
build that in the Olympics.
' 'Pardon me for staring, but haven't we met before?"
"I don't think so," Carter said, "and I rarely forget a
face."
The man ruxided and extended his hand. 'CJerald Ray-
mond. Perhaps it was a long time ago, or I am mistaken."
Carter took the hand. The grip was firm, radiating an
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NICK CARTER
intense pwer from just the touch. That same power was in
the inan's chilly eyes as they bored into Carter's.
"Nick Carter."
"Ah, an American. I wouldn't have known," he said,
switching to English. "Your Spanish is excellent."
"As is your English."
Raymond nodded. "My father was English, my mother
Israeli. I was born in Tel Aviv."
So much, Carter thought, for Gerald Raymond being his
terrorist turncoat.
But still, he was thus far the only man at the party who
had shown any interest in Carter.
"l pride myself on accents," the Killmaster said. "Ox-
'*Cambridge," the other man said with a smile. "But I
speak several languages and I'm afraid it dilutes the ac-
cent."
Carter was about to say more, when a chunky woman
with too mucil blond hair for her age oozed onto Ray-
mond's arm.
"Gerry, baby, this friggin' party's like a deflated blimp.
Come dance with me." Her voice was husky with booze
and her accent was sloppy Long Island.
"Elvira Wertz... Nick Carter."
The husky-voiced woman Carter over and dis-
missed him. "Hi. Let's dance, Gerry, honey."
"Excuse us," Raymond said, and then whispered in
passing, "duty calls."
Carter watched the unlikely pair move into the center of
the room, where Elvira enve101Ed the young man like an
octopus swallows its prey.
To each his own, Carter thought, and went in search of
Monique Leveque.
He found her in a circle around a very drunk young
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woman doing a terrible imitation of a flamenco dance.
"Monique ... "
"Ah, Nick, just in time. Daphne is about to go into her
little act. She does it at every party."
"Monique, that matinee idol dancing with the mini-
blimp... "
"Gerald Raymond," she replied. "The mini-blimp, as
you call her, is Elvira Wertz. Her husband is Wertz Plas-
tics. He gives her a fortune to stay out of the country and
his sight."
"Odd couple. What about him?"
"English, pps up every once in a while at parties like
this all over the world." She shrugged. "That's it."
he in fat, rich women?"
"Nicky, with his He can have any woman he
wants."
"Then he has money?"
"I suppose," she said and shrugged. "At least he moves
around a lot, and in these circles. Ihat takes money."
"I thought you knew everything atX)ut everyone."
"Only the scandalous ones, darling. Oh, look, Daphne
is reaching her l*ak."
Carter turned back to the center of the circle. Daphne
had dropped the top of her dress to bare two very large,
very full breasts. She was currently in the of slith-
ering her dress down over her hips, to the urgings of the
men were being by the women to urge Daphne.
Cater checked his watch. It was three minutes to twelve.
Practically the whole room had joined Daphne's circle.
It was a time to slip away.
The door was where it was supposed to be. Carter found
the top step in the darkness and closed the door
him. Using a he descended into the cavemous
wine cellar trneath the villa. Racks of bottles and huge
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casks seemed to go on forever. Just one sweep across one
rack and he could see that the vintage and vineyard of that
rack would have fed a small Third-World country for a
year.
The three casks were in place. Carter twisted the lid
from the center one and found it empty. Quickly, he pulled
his shirt from his pants and unfastened the money belt from
his middle. The smell from the cask brought a smile to his
lips as he dropped the belt.
He might be able, later, to find out who his man was by
the smell that would stick after handling the belt.
At the top of the stairs he opened the door a crack and
peered through. As soon as a buxom maid balancing a tray
passed, he slipped out.
The party in the main room was now in full swing.
Daphne was au naturel except for a pair of spike heels
that dug into the priceless veneer of a seventeenth-century
tabletop on which she danced. Vincente Araujo didn't
seem to mind. He stood as close to the twirling nude body
as he could get, and smiled benignly.
Carter slipped to Monique's side in the circle. "What
does she do for an ending?"
"One of two things," Monique said. "Throw up or pass
out."
"Amusing," Carter groaned, checking the crowd. 'The
party seems to have thinned out."
"Not really," the woman said, and chuckled. "There are
fourteen bedrooms on the second and third floors. At this
moment I rather imagine all of them are occupied. Oops,
there she goes,"
Carter looked. Daphne had swooned off the table into
the arms of two men. They laid her out gently on a nearby
sofa, and headed for the bar to freshen their drinks. The
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other members of the audience drifted away in search of
something new to amuse them.
"Let's get some air," Carter said.
Monique slid her arm under his jacket and around his
waist. "You're thinner."
He nodded. "It's done. I just hope Uncle Sam hasn't
been taken."
The Killmaster tried not to be obvious as he checked his
watch every fifteen minutes. It was just a little after one
o'clock, and he was bored. He had a feeling Monique felt
the same way, and it would be nearly two hours before he
could collect the papers.
They were sitting in the rear gardens just beneath the
patio, listening to the music from inside. Carter was about
to make a trip into the house and the bathroom, when all
hell broke loose.
It was a dull and growing roar, and then the full burst of
the explosion.
Carter whirled to see glass spray from the cellar win-
dows, and then smoke spiral out and rise in the night sky
like a graceful dancer.
Then everyone was on his feet, running outside in
panic. People were pouring from the house to the patio.
From the screams and shouts, Carter guessed they Were
also fleeing the house from the front doors and side exits.
"Nick, what is it?" Monique asked, gripping his arm.
"I'd guess a bomb."
"Mon Dieu . i"
"Stay clear but keep your eyes open. Try to see if any-
one leaves in a hurry."
He ran up the steps and across the patio. At the doors he
had to fight the mass of people trying to get out. At last he
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made it and sprinted toward the kitchen area.
He- yanked the door to the wine cellar. Heat,
smoke, and dust struck his face.
The buxom maid suddenly in the hallway,
screaming. Carter grabbed her by the shoulders and shook
her until she quieted.
"Listen," he hissed; "find your patrön. Have him call
the Guardia. Do you understand?"
She nodded dumbly.
"Then hurry! Run!"
She scurried away, and Carter went down what was left
of the stairs. There was no need for light. Through the
smoke and dust, a sharp flame was growing where the
three wine casks had been.
Hurriedly, Carter raced around the walls until he found a
fire extinguisher. Thankfully it worked, and in minutes the
flame was out.
Then, using his penlight, he searched through the chaos.
It didn't take long.
From what clothing was left on the mangled corpse, he
could guess that it was the waiter. A quick perusal told him
as much as he needed to know.
The bomber had taken the money and planted the
explosive device in the cask, the detonator triggered to the
lid. When the waiter had lifted it, boom.
Carter could find no scraps of or a packet.
Quickly he scoured the rest of the cellar, and found out
why.
There was a door at the far side of the cellar away from
the blast. It was open, as was the second door above,
which was level with the ground.
The bomber had obviously taken the money tElt,
planted his device, and waited until the waiter came down.
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After the explosion, he had gathered the papers and made
his escape.
The Killmaster went up the steps and emerged in a
small garden beside the house. There were two gravel
paths, one leading around toward the rear, and one to the
side entrance leading to the kitchen.
Carter checked that door and found it unlocked.
Chances were that in the aftermath of the explosion
no one would have seen him, even if he had escaped
through the kitchen.
Carter took the second path back to the tabled area in
the rear of the house tEneath the patio.
People were milling around, stunned and
He found Monique. "Has anyone called the Guardia?"
"Yes," she said, "they are on the way. Was
"Yeah," Carter growled, "he's in pieces. Has anyone
tried to leave?"
"Good Lord, yes. Half the guests raced for their cars
right away."
"Shit. Here are the keys to the Audi. Stick around here
and try to make a mental note of who's left and their reac-
tions. Also, stay close to the Guardia officer and note what
they find."
"I'm going to break some very bad news to to a lady
named Ynez."
He moved away quickly through the gardens. Just as he
reached the outer perimeter wall of the gardens, hooting
sirens and flashing blue lights went screaming by.
When he was sure that they passed, Carter
scaled the wall and to the other side.
For the next ten minutes he jogged until he could safely
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double back to the beach road.
Orice there, he walked calmly until he found a taxi.
The bar and the tables of I os Quatros Palomas were
jammed. Carter shouldered his way to a place near the
stage, where he sipped a drink until he could catch her eye.
Just his presence told her worlds. Her eyes opened wide
and her face drained of color. Her trained fingers went to
stone on the guitar, bringing a glowering look from the
male singer at her side and the woman dancing.
Carter rolled his eyes to the door.
Ynez nodded, and he made his way through the crowd.
Outside, the night was much as it had been before, damp,
foggy, with the sounds of the water lapping eerily against
the pier.
Five minutes later he heard the music stop, and shortly
after that the sound of her heels on the walk.
Then she was there, her lower lip trembling as she
stared up at him, clutching the shawl around her shoulders.
"He's dead?"
Carter nodded. 'SA bomb. Probably one of A1-Chir's
people was at the party. lhere was nothing I could do."
He fell in step beside the girl and they walked in silence
toward the dead end and the iron railing.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I have a feeling it would not have
haplEned except for me."
Ynez shook her head impatiently. "No," she said in a
breathless way, "it would have even if we had
gotten the money and disappeared. They would have found
us. I think he knew that."
"Who was he?"
"His real name was Yusef Modina. We met at university
in Beirut." She clenched the damp iron guardrail and bit
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her lip. "l didn't know until a few months ago that he was
involved with A1-Chir. I was one of the other reasons he
wanted out."
She wept for a moment, quietly, and Carter kept his
mouth shut until she had dried her eyes. He handed her a
cigarette and lit one himself.
"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't press you.
But you might still be a great help."
She nodded brusquely. "Why not? But I am afraid I
know very little."
"Also, you are probably in a great deal of danger your-
self."
She turned toward him, letting the light fall across her
face. It was a very young, very unhappy face.
"I think not," she said slowly. "Not now. They didn't
know about me. Yusef saw to that."
Caner didn't answer for a moment. He didn't agree with
her. He guessed that Yusef had been fingered through her
without her even knowing about it. "l would like to take
you someplace where men who know how to make you
remember could ask you questions."
"You think I might know something and not realize it?"
"Yes. And then, if you wish, I can have you sent any-
where in the world where you think you would safe."
She thought for a moment. "I have an uncle in England.
My mother was English. She met my father while she was
a student in Barcelona."
' 'Then England it is. What do you say?"
Ynez turned her eyes, glistening with tears in the green
light, up at him and bit her lower lip ever so slightly. Her
mouth was full and sensitive, and more than a little sen-
sual.
"Yusef truly believed in the Palestinian cause. He said it
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was men like A1-Chir who prostituted it."
"Then you'll help me find A1-Chir and put him out of
business?"
"I'll try."
"Then come along. We're going to Madrid. I just have
to leave word for someone at my hotel."
At the head of the alley they found a vacant taxi. Carter
gave the driver instructions, and both of them settled back
into the seat. They were nearly to the the hotel before Ynez
spoke.
"There is one man, an extension of A1-Chir, really, who
does his killing, Yusef spoke of him often, but never saw
him. He intimated that no one but A1-Chir ever saw him.
But that made no difference; everyone feared him. A1-Chir
made sure of that."
"Does he have a name?"
"Yes, but it is probably a code name. Yusef said that
A1-Chir always called him Ja'il."
"I'll check it against our files of known terrorists,"
Carter said. "I've never heard the name, but that doesn't
mean he isn't on file somewhere."
Monique was at the hotel. A half hour later, the three of
them were in the Audi racing for Madrid.
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FIVE
"So she was of some help?" Monique said, mashing her
cigarette in the ashtray and sipping her coffee.
"A little," Carter replied. ' 'We know from Yusef's
travels that Hassan A1-Chir is probably headquartered in or
somewhere around Tripli. We know that if he travels at all
it is to somewhere in Tunisia to meet with this Ja'il."
"And from the sound of this Ja'il, it is really he who
deserves the legend that Hassan A1-Chir has built up for
himself. "
Carter nÜed. "It's to expected. It would be impos-
Sible for A1-Chir to be in all the places he is supposed to
be, and do a tenth of the things he is supposed to do. It
would stand to reason that he would have a trained assassin
and field leader like this Ja'il to do the hard work for him."
"And Ja'il is a mystery?"
"Completely," Carter said. Tere's nothing in any file
on him. But at least we can be fairly sure now that he
exists."
They fell silent. They were sitting at a sidewalk table at
a café across from their Madrid hotel. On the stucco wall
43.
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behind them, a poster showing a bullfighter in his suit of
lighis advertised the next day's card at the Plaza de Toros.
From a nearby record store came the sound of gypsy
music, with a man wailing at the top of his voice to his lost
love.
Monique's eyes wavered on the poster and came to rest
on Carter. "You're sure you don't want to take a few more
days? I could stay. We could go to the bullfights tomor-
row,"
Carter shook his head. "No, Washington says come
home quick. They have something else for me that comes
up in a week or so."
"Pity." She smiled sadly. "We do have a good time to-
gether."
"That we do," Carter mused, sipping from his cup of
strong Spanish coffee. "But you yourself said Paris
couldn't wait."
S 'Paris can always wait if I want it to." She paused,
taking another cigarette from her case. Carter lit it. "Where
is the girl, Ynez, now?"
Carter checked his watch. "About halfway to London.
She has an uncle somewhere in the countryside. He's her
mother's brother, practically raised her. She'll be safe
there."
They both nodded. It was small talk now, and they both
knew it. The mission had failed, and they both knew it.
Hassan A1-Chir's worldwide network would stay intact,
and everyone was powerless to do anything about it until
another chink could be discovered in his an-nor.
It was almost with relief that Monique spotted her driver
and stood. "You don't want to ride with me to the airport?"
' 'No," Carter said. s 'My plane is two hours after yours.
I'll check in with Central here and turn in the Audi."
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She ncxided and leaned her cheek forward to kissed.
"Until next time, cheri."
"Until next time," he replied.
"And in the meantime, you have my Paris number."
He patted his breast pocket and grinned. "Close to my
heart. Au revoir, Monique."
"Au revoir, Nicky... darling."
Carter watched the limo until it was out of sight,
dropped some bills on the table, and crossed the street to
the hotel.
"Figure my bill, will you? I'll checking out."
"Si, senor."
In his rcx)m, Carter packed what few toilet articles he
had left out, and left a tip for the maids.
Back in the lobby, he paid the bill.
"Oh, Sehor Carter, this was in your box."
"Thank you." Carter took the envelope and ripped it
open as he left the hotel:
THIS IS NOT YOUR WAR, NICK CARTER,
AMERICAN. 1 WANT NO HARM TO COME TO
YOU. GO HOME AND LET US FIGHT OUR
WARS OURSELVES.
The Killmaster his bag and raced back to the
desk.
"What is it, Senor Carter?"
"The envelope you just gave me..
"Who left it?"
"It was left with my assistant, sefior. One moment."
man disappeared behind a partition, and
later reaprEared with a young woman.
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"l am sorry, seior, but I didn't see the person who left
the note. I was busy and I found it on the counter and put it
in your box. Is there something wrong?"
"No no, thank you."
Outside, Carter pocketed the note and retrieved his bag.
As he walked across the parking area, he fished the car
keys from his pocket.
He was about ten cars from the Audi when he was mo-
mentarily blinded by a white flash.
The Audi bulged from within, glass erupting every-
where. One door flew off into the air, followed by a blast
of heat and then flarne.
The entire car rose from the asphalt, turned once in
midair, and rolled over the two cars beside it to come to
rest on its side.
The wave hit Carter like a strong wind, sending
him sprawling under the rear of a nearby car. 'Ihe sound
deafened him and made him lie still with his cheek against
the asphalt until he passed out.
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SIX
He shuffled along the dust-swirled street in perfect har-
mony with the other djellaba-clad herdsmen and camel
drivers who moved to escape the heat of the sun. Not a
single man or woman around him would guess that only
twenty-four hours before he had stepped from a plane in
Algiers, immaculate in a seven-hundred-dollar Savile Row
suit.
Such had become his way of life for so many years. To
become a chameleon and blend was to him as natural as
sleeping, relieving one's body Of waste, taking food, forni-
cating, or killing.
They were all one to him.
The village was Albebat. It was in central Tunisia, near
the lake of Tozeur. He had come here many times and
knew its narrow, winding streets as he knew the swiftness
of his mind and hand.
At a small, café, he turned in under the awning.
His eyes, above the burnoose wrap}Ed around the lower
part of his face, shot around the rickety tables until he
found a tall man dressed just like himself.
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When he reached the table, the man stood almost pain-
fully and bowed. They embraced and kissed one another on
both cheeks.
"My son, Allah is with you."
"Hassan," was all the younger man replied.
'SSit, sit, there is refreshing mint tea." They sat, and
Hassan A1-Chir stared for a long time into the other man's
eyes before he spoke again. "Ah, Ja'il, each time I see
you, you are more the man."
Ja'il Rahman nodded without responding and absently
poured himself a glass of the sweet green tea.
It was true. The frail eight-year-old-boy had m.lly
come a man.
But he was a man with no soul. The gentle humanity he
had learned in his youth from his mother and father had
been replaced, under Hassan A1-Chir's tutelage, with a
total lack of values. While his brain was still functioning
with more than genius intelligence, his soul was vacant. He
had killed too much, tcx) often, until it was the only pas-
Sion left him.
A1-Chir and his cause had bleached from Ja'il's soul all
the value of life, his or anyone else's.
As a Palestinian commando, he had learned to kill with
expertise and without emotion or fear.
He had walked off the mountain that day so many years
before directly into the camp of Hassan A1-Chir. By show-
ing the dagger, he was taken directly to the leader, who
greeted him warmly as the "little warrior."
Ja'il had explained that he needed a favor. He wanted
A1-Chir's approval and aid in killing his uncle.
A1-Chir had readily agreed. Abu Rahman had become a
liability anyway.
The deed was done, and A1-Chir had listened raptly as
his men relayed the gory details of the small boy as he
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calmly slit his uncle's throat and then committed the ulti-
mate desecration on the man's body.
The youth removed Abu Rahman's genitals and stuffed
them in the man's mouth.
Hassan A1-Chir had listened intently, nodding now and
then as the tale was told. With each word he knew that his
original assessment of this fiery youth had been more than
accurate.
It took only one more test.
The woman, Darva, and the two Israelis who had raided
the house of Rahman were dead. But A1-Chir knew that the
mind of Ja'il cried out for more revenge.
There was an Israeli army base where many Palestinians
were employed. But they were carefully screened and
watched. A boy like Ja'il could pull off a plan of sabotage
much more easily than an adult.
For six months, the youth was carefully instructed in the
fine art of making and planting bombs. then sent into
Israel.
A1-Chir told him that this could be only a one-time shot.
There was an Englishman, Harvey Raymond, a professor
at university in Beirut. When the mission was over, Ja'il
would go to Beirut as Gerald Raymond, nephew of Harvey.
The mission was devastatingly successful. The boy
escaped and assumed a new identity and a new life.
But once a year, even after Harvey Raymond had retired
back to England and the boy, Gerald, had been enrolled in
the finest English schools, he returned to the Middle East
and Hassan A1-Chir.
And there he furthered his other education, one -that
would make him the most feared terrorist Hassan A1-Chir
controlled.
The older man at last dropped his eyes from his youthful
lieutenant and spoke.
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"And so, all went well?"
"As good as could be expected." Gerald Raymond re-
lated the details of Yusef Modina's death and the subse-
quent events.
"Excellent," A1-Chir said, nodding and sipping his tea.
"The information passed on to Harvey by his little niece
proved very profitable."
"Yes," the younger man replied. "Let us hope my little
cousin never discovers that she was the source of her
lover's betrayal and that I ended his life. I care too deeply
for Ynez to lose her love and respect."
A1-Chir shrugged. "Yusef disobeyed my orders. It is his
fault. I told him Ynez must be left alone. He killed himself
with his treachery and disobedience. All in all you per-
formed as usual. It is a pity that the detonator on
the bomb was defective. You would have gotten the Ameri-
can agent as well."
Raymond shrugged but didn't reply. A1-Chir leaned
back and patted his middle. "All in all, it is a great day."
"All. Ja'il, you have grown into such a handsome,
dashing man, but so sullen. Our cause—
'61 have but one cause, Hassan: myself."
"Yes, I know," A1-Chir said, smiling crookedly. "You
feed your bank accounts the same way you feed your thirst
for revenge. I suppose the American's money—
'*Is safely in one of my Swiss accounts. Here is Yusef's
diary."
He slid an oilskin-covered book onto A1-Chir's lap be-
neath the table. The older man clutched it with relief.
"Ah, Ja'il, if I had ten of you.. .no, even two of you
our cause would be won and I would be president of a
new Palestine."
The younger man leaned forward, his eyes like stone.
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"Hassan, old friend, you have taught me cunning, survival,
and all the arts of killing. Please, do not feed me the Pales-
tine shit you feed the others."
A1-Chir's hand came up and he ran a finger down the
scar on his now beardless face. His other hand raised the
glass of mint tea to his lips. All this was done with a stud-
ied calmness, but anger blazed in his dark eyes.
Raymond saw the look he knew so well, but paid it little
attention. "Your other lackeys do your bidding, old friend,
because their brains are soaked in piss. Please give me
credit for more intelligence. The day there is a Palestinian
state is the day Arafat will hunt you down and slaughter
you like a dog."
Hassan A1-Chir winced. A few years ago he would have
slapped the younger man's face. But no more. There was a
time he could look into those cold, lifeless gray eyes and
stare them down. But no more.
Hassan A1-Chir had created a monster, and in the last
two years he had often shuddered at the thought of what
would happen if the monster turned.
He shook his head, turned from those eyes, and threw
off the mood. When he tumed back he was laughing aloud.
"We both must think and do what we must think and do,
my son. Just remember that, even if what we think and do
to profit us, it still puts our people closer to their
homeland."
Raymond's laugh was old and tired beyond his years.
"Please, Hassan, bore me no longer with this fairy tale. We
know each other too well. I am a soldier; you have become
a politican. I entered this war on no political stallion. I had
no cause but my own survival."
A1-Chir started to object but was stopped by a look.
"l didn't lose my in the warm wetness of a
woman. I lost it on a bus to Amman, and you replaced it.
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In Summa I lost my parents, and you moved in to fill the
void."
The mint tea took on a bitter taste in A1-Chir's mouth,
but he managed to stretch his lips into a smile he didn't
feel. "You have become a philosopher, learning things I
never taught you."
Raymond's smile mirrored A1-Chir's: it was without
mirth. "You taught me well; I simply went beyond your
teaching. That is why I tell you now that your war is a
sham. Nothing but camel dung will follow. But it is no
matter. We are both committed, and we will both continue
until they finally hunt us down."
Hassan A1-Chir could only stare at his tea, as if the mint
leaves could calm the nerves he had so lately acquired.
Dear Allah, how thoroughly I have schooled him. Or have
l? Perhaps he was always wiser and even more bitter than
I gave him credit for.
Suddenly Raymond laughed out loud. "Come, come,
old friend, don't be so glum just because I know the truth.
Now, tell me, what new horrors are you hatching up for
us?" He raised his glass in a mock toast.
A1-Chir strained his eyes to look beyond the young,
handsome face he thought he had known so well. When he
realized that he saw nothing, he sighed and began to speak.
"My colleagues in the other factions of our cause have
seen fit to privately and secretly negotiate a settlement with
Israel and the major powers."
"There have been negotiations before. I don't see that
new ones will change anything."
"I am afraid you're wrong this time," A1-Chir growled
from deep in his chest. "There have already been one-on-
one individual meetings around the world for weeks. The
prerequisites have been ironed out: There remains only an
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eye-to-eye summit to insure a treaty."
53
Raymond tented his finger in front of his face to mask
any reaction. "Who will be in attendance?"
"Besides my brothers in our struggle, France, America,
the USSR, Great Britain, Germany, and Israel. There will
also be two representatives of the United Arab League."
Outwardly, Gerald Raymond raised only an eyebrow in
reaction to A1-Chir's words. Inwardly, his stomach
churned. The old warrior had reason to worry. If all these
major powers were at last going to sit around the table, the
very existence of Hassan A1-Chir's faction could well be
nearing an end.
"In a castle in Luxembourg near the German border. It
is called Schloss Valkyrie."
Raymond sighed, lighting his first cigarette since he had
arrived. "Both the country and the castle are excellent
choices. Luxembourg itself is so small that it can be sealed
off easily. Schloss Valkyrie has natural defenses, as well as
reinforced security set up by Hitler during the occupation."
Hassan A1-Chir again fingered his scar and leaned for-
ward with anticipation. "That is why the challenge is so
perfect for your unique talents, Ja'il. It would be your
greatest coup."
"I would need help."
"Any equipment money can buy."
. at least two, both experts."
'*And people
"Han Raab has already agreed. And, of course, Leba."
Raymond nodded his assent.
Raab was a German national, the son of an executed SS
officer. Besides a blind hatred of Jews, he had incredible
cunning and no fear of death. He had naturally gravitated
to A1-Chir's program of worldwide terrorism.
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Leba Fani had been with A1-Chir since childhood. In
mariy ways she was Ja'il's female counterpart in intelli-
gence, guile, and Gaining.
Ja'il's first sight of Leba Fani was still tlw one that
always came back to him. It was when she had leaped on
the front bumper of the Amman bus and. waving her rifle
in the air, had shouted at the frightened cxcupants through
the windshield.
Leba had come a long way since then, as had Ja'il.
Through the years she had Ja'il's lover as well as his
friend. Leba was the only other person alive besides Al-
Chir who knew about Gerald Raymond.
"It would mean exposing myself to Raab."
A1-Chir shrugged. "Kill him when his part of the opera-
tion is over.
"How much time do I have?"
"Ten days."
Raymond his eyes. Ten days. Difficult. Almost
impossible.
He said as much.
"It is." A1-Chir agreed. '*But failure will ruin us. You
will do it?"
Raymond toasted again with his mint tea. "Of course I
will do it, Hassan. I am young to be forced into retire-
ment."
And too old. he thought, in this business to worry about
dying.
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SEVEN
It was a grueling day starting at six A.M. sharp in the
training facilities near Langley.
First order of business was a half hour of muscle-
stretching, bone-cracking exercises under the watchful eyes
of Alex the agency fitness and martial arts instNc-
"You're favoring your side, Carter."
"That's tmause it hurts, Moon."
'*Are you saying, Carter, that a few bruised ribs from a
bomb blast has put you out of commission? Bend!"
Carter bent, and then bent some more, all the while
hiding the pain behind a grimace of hate directed at Alex
Moon, the torturer.
"All right, that's good, Carter. Get a helmet on, and
some gloves. Four three-minute rounds to check out your
coordination."
Moon worked him easily at first, brushing away
punches and countering •with sharp jabs around the edges of
his rib cage.
"You're trying to break the bruises, right, Moon?"
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"No pain, no gain, Carter," the big, bullet-headed man
replied, landing yet another thumping blow to the Killmas-
ter's right side.
Carter danced away from him for the rest of that round
and all of the next. Then he opened the third with a straight
right that caught the other man flush on the forehead.
The blow would have felled a small tree, but all it did
was make Moon smile and pain shoot up Carter's right
The fourth round was a massacre. Moon moved to his
head, him with lefts and rights that left Carter's ears
ringing.
Blissfully, it ended with Carter flat on his back but still
awake,
"You're in good shape, Carter, for a beat-up old man,"
Moon growled, hauling Carter to his feet.
"Ihanks a bunch, Moon. Now how about knives in the
dark room?"
The big man roared with laughter. "No way—you're
good at that! Get going, you're late for the range."
Carter checked out a Browning high-powered sniErr
rifle, ammo, and fifty rounds for his Luger, and hit the
range.
He warmed up with simple draw-and-fire exercises at a
stationary silhouette. Then he shifted to moving targets.
When he felt his hand-eye coordination was smooth, he
signaled a starter-timer and moved over to the range obsta-
cle course.
' Go!" the man said, and thumbed the stopwatch in his
Only two scores counted, hits and time.
Carter moved out, dead-centering a left and right target
that bounced up as he ran for the scaling wall. It was six
feet high and he hit it full tilt.
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57
Over it, he lit on both feet and dropped into a crouch
with the Luger back in his hands.
Two out of three moving targets, dead center; the third a
shoulder hit that required a second shot for a kill.
Thirty feet ahead was the tunnel, a long section of con-
crete sewer pipe three feet in diameter, On either side were
another pair of silhouettes. He fired twice at the one on the
right, feeling the slide of his weapon lock open on the final'
shot, the magazine empty.
Already his left hand was digging a loaded spare from
the holder on his belt. Simultaneously, he jogged the gun
slightly, turning it in his grip until his thumb hit the maga-
zine release button. The empty magazine dropped clear.
The spare set in firmly. He knew it was a good change,
under three seconds, and he was already firing again. Two
shots into the silhouette at the left. Weapon holstered, he
ran for the tunnel.
Fifteen minutes later, hands shaking with nervous en-
ergy, he was cleaning the Luger as the range master
strolled over.
"You should have a bomb go off in your facé more
often, Nick. You bettered your last time by eleven sec-
onds."
"Thanks a lot," Carter chuckled. "Gimme another ten
minutes and I'll check out on the Browning."
"Word just came down—if you're physically up, they
want you at Dupont. I'll give you a pass on the Browning.
No reason you wouldn't do twenty out of twenty, since you
did so well on the obstacle. What did Moon give you?"
"A green light," Carter replied, "after he beat the shit
out of me."
"That's Moon," the range master said, moving away.
"Don't kill anybody I wouldn't."
Carter showered, "dressed, and headed for the parking
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NICK CARTER
lot. Without thinking, he the door of his car, and
then- froze.
"Stop it," he hissed, slamming his butt into the bucket
seat, "this is no hotel parking lot."
He drove north and hit the beltway around D.C., taking
the Lee Highway cutoff. He crossed the Potomac on the
Key Bridge and swung onto the Whitehurst Freeway. From
there it was five minutes into the underground parking gar-
age of Amalgamated Press and Wire Services.
The building was several floors, only two of which were
used for the wire service cover. The rest of the building,
including the two subbasements, were AXE headquarters.
The standard elevator deposited him in the small, busi-
nesslike first-floor lobby. He caught the security guard's
eye, got a barely perceptible ncxl, and passed through a
buzzing door into a narrower hallway that led to a second
bank of elevators. These were computer controlled. Carter
pushed in his personal access code and inside.
But instead of pushing the button that would take him to
the penthouse offices of David Hawk, he pushed "Sub-I."
In seconds, the elevator descended and Carter stepped from
it into the brightly lit nerve centre of AXE.
Two minutes later he was in the main computer room,
approaching Damien Farrell, head of worldwide research
and investigation.
"Nick, how's the side?"
"Sore as hell, thanks to Moon."
Farrell chuckled. "Thank God he can't get his hands on
old bastards like me."
"Anything yet, Damien?"
"A little. Let's go into my cubbyhole where it's quiet."
Carter followed the other man into a small office with
two computer consoles amid a pile of debris on a single
desk. The only additional furniture were two uncomfort-
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able chairs and filing cabinets lining all four walls.
59
Farrell sat and began shuffling eventually hand-
ing Carter a printout. "The Spanish police has been ex-
tremely cooperative, but I'm afraid it hasn't done us much
good. Here's a guest list of everyone at the Araujo villa
that night, complete with background checks and interro-
gation results."
Carter took the thick printout and tEgan to scan it as
Farrell continued.
"All the guests, with you as the exception. check out as
old friends or friends of old friends. Not all of them are lily
white, but none of them fits the bill as a mad bomber."
Carter nodded. "According to this, everyone alibied
everyone else for practically the whole evening, and just
before the blast over half of them were in the upstairs bed-
"Evidently it was that kind of a party," Farrell said
wryly, picking up another sheet of palEr. "Info on the blast
is Gelemax, high-grade stuff."
"In other words, a little g(ES a long way," Carter mur-
mured.
"You got it. Detonator was in the lid of the wine keg,
juét like you guessed."
Carter moved to a nearby hot plate and poured himself a
cup of coffee from a standing pt. "Was it Gelemax on the
Audi as well?"
"Yeah," Farrell growled, "but a different setup entirely.
They found remnants of tiny aerials evidently wrapped
around the explosive, as well as a Mendon high-frequency
microreceiver. t'
Carter whirled. "That means it was visually detonated
from somewhere nearby
"Had to less than five hundred yards," Farrell
agreed.
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"Thank God for a defective detonator," Carter said, sip-
pinifrom his cup.
Farrell shook his head. '*No way, and I don't need a lab
report from the Guardia to tell you why. The Mendon is a
single-chip, solid-state baby. It operates on a pulse fre-
quency that doesn't allow for error because of pitch. No,
Nick, whoever set that baby off had you eyeballed, and did
it before you got to the car on purpose."
Carter narrowed his eyes and discarded the coffee as he
lit a cigarette and regained his chair. "That explains the
note."
"Right. Somebody loves ya, baby."
"What about it?"
"It was printed instead of scripted, but the analysis tus
came up with some bits and pieces."
"Such as.. v?"
Farrell placed an enlarged copy of the bomber's note on
the desk between them. It had chicken-scratches and inked
notations on the top, bottom, and both sides.
"Ten to one it was written by an Arab. See the i's and
the t's, the little curls? Comes from writing Arabic sym-
bols."
Carter leaned closer. "Or Greek or Russian."
"Maybe, but pretty slim. The experts say a Semitic lan-
guage. That could include Hebrew, of course. Pissed any-
body off in Israel lately?"
"Probably, but I don't remember' How about personal
character?"
"Damned little, mostly guesses. Bold, precise, very an-
alytical, no nerves. Probably fastidious in dress and
speech, definitely not an American or Oriental."
"That fits a few million. Could it be a woman?"
"No way."
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61
Carter sighed, mashing out his cigarette. "Okay, we got
a well-dressed Arab or Jewish bomber who loves me. What
Ja'il?"
"Nowhere, nothing. It's a fairly common Arab name,
but it isn't on any list anywhere."
"What atx»ut M(Xiina?"
"Yusef Modina, age twenty-nine. Born to wealthy par-
ents, Damascus, Syria. Attended prep school in Paris two
years, then two years at the American University in Beirut.
One year unaccounted for leaving the university
and his first arrest in London."
"First arrest?"
"Suspicion, terrorist activities. Nothing proved, charges
dropped."
Carter hissed through his teeth and lit up again. "Hassan
A1-Chir used him for a courier. He probably had orders,
once he was elevated in the organization, to stay clean.
How did he get the waiter's job for the party?"
"Catering service. Two maids and a cook as well. The
only full-time help that Araujo keeps in Valencia is a
chauffeur and a groundskeqEr. He moves around a lot
from house to house."
"What else did you dig up on Ynez?"
' 'Ynez Khadivitt, mother Isabel, English, father Yidev,
Iranian. Parents were students in Spain when they met.
Both were killed in an auto accident when she was very
young. Raised by the mother's brother, Harvey Raymond.
He's a retired professor, lives in the Cotswolds and guest
lectures on Middle Eastern affairs now and then at Cam-
bridge."
"Raymond ... Raymond," Carter mused, going back
over the printout of the Araujo guest list. He rememtEred
the name Gerald Raymond, and it wasn't on the list.
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He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could clearly
see- the darkly handsorne young man dancing with the
overly made-up chunky woman from New York.
Her name was
"Use your phone?"
"Sure," Farrell replied, and headed for the coffee.
Carter dialed Monique Leveque's number in Paris from
memory. It rang several times before she picked up and
- answered in a breathless voice.
"Monique, Nick Carter."
"Darling, you are in Paris?"
"No, Washington."
"You are coming to Paris?"
"Not soon."
"Merde, "she grumbled. "Then this is business?"
"Yeah. Remember Gerald Raymond at the villa?"
"Of course. He is gorgeous."
'The chunky little number who brought him?"
"Elvira Wertz."
"That's it," Carter said. "I've got a Guardia civil list of
the guests, and neither name is on it."
Monique chuckled. "They are probably two of several
not on the list. Any hint of scandal and Elvira's husband in
New York would cut off her spending allowance. I imagine
Vincente left her name off as a courtesy."
'*Did you see them after the blast?"
"Honestly, I do not remember. I did see them just
fore, tiptoeing up to one of the
"Thanks, Monique."
"Is that it?"
"'Ihat's it. See you."
"Damn."
Carter hung up, then he scribbled both names on a pad.
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63
"Check these two out. Specifically, find out if there's any
connection between Gerald Raymond and Harvey Ray-
mond."
"Will do," Farrell replied.
"And have the Guardia put some real pressure on Vin-
cente Araujo. The guest lit is incomplete."
Carter left the Farrell inner sanctum and hit the private
elevator to the penthouse. A guard in the outer office
buzzed him through to the inner office of Ginger Bateman,
David Hawk's right-hand person.
"You've been dillydallying," she chided.
"I've been playing detective in Farrell's domain. It's
always nice to find out who's trying to kiss me and misses.
God, you're gorgeous."
And she was, with bright blue eyes and glossy sable
hair. She had sharp, striking features, and her smiling
mouth was a downright erotic slash in her face. The man-
nishly tailored jacket and slacks did nothing to hide a
knock-out figure.
"You're drooling."
"Don't I always when I come up here?"
"He's waiting."
She buzzed Caner on into Hawk's office tEfore he
could reply
The IEnthouse office, in spite of windows stretching the
width of one entire wall, seemed unusually dark. This,
along with a constant pall of acrid cigar smoke, helped the
head of AXE, David Hawk, to think.
The man himself stocxi a huge Victorian desk,
glowering at paEErs spread before him and chewing on
what Carter guessed was already the fifth cigar of the day.
Under a shock of white hair were deep forehead lines that
looked as if they had etched by dragging a rake across
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the surface. He spoke without glancing up at Carter's ap-
proaZh.
"Morning, Nick, have a seat. Read this."
A stapled -manila folder hit the Killmaster's lap just
about the time his butt hit a high-backed leather chair.
He skimmed it quickly, then did a hard read of the last
two pages marked SECURITY PRECAUTIONS.
At last he dropped it back on the desk with a heavy
sigh. "Good G(Xi."
Hawk nodded. "You don't approve of the site?"
"It's okay, I suppose. I just don't know as I approve of
putting all those men in one place, one room, and leaving
out Hassan A1-Chir."
"I'm inclined to agree," Hawk replied, dropping his
bulk into a chair and leaning back. "But the Israeli contin-
gent, as well as our own, were adamantly opposed to rec-
ognizing A1-Chir's existence as even a negotiator."
"But by inviting him they could at least keep an eye on
him,"
Hawk shrugged expansively, a pained look on his face.
• 'That would have been my preference, but politicians have
their decorum to think about. How are the ribs?"
s 'I can go a hard ten rounds if I keep running fast
enough."
"Good. I want you behind the scenes at Schloss Val-
kyrie."
Carter raised an eyebrow. "How far behind the scenes?"
"On the surface, check and double-check all security.
Even though the meet'll be in Luxembourg, Germany is
acting as host country, and Peter Reinbold, BfV, has the
nod as head of security."
"Wise choice," Carter said, nodding. "I've worked with
Peter. He's thorough and he doesn't make mistakes."
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"You'll be unofficial backup for him from our side.
That's on the surface. Underneath, I want you to nail Al-
Chir or this Ja'il, whoever he is, before he puts a monkey
wrench into the works."
Carter took a little time before speaking again, using
some of it to light a cigarette. "With some of his own
brothers there, do you really think A1-Chir will try any-
"l do," Hawk said with emphasis. "By agreeing to snub
A1-Chir, I think the Arabs have waved a red flag in front of
him. I think he'll go to any ends to prove that he's still the
one to be feared. Have you updated with Farrell?"
Carter nodded. "Just a few minutes ago. Ja'il is still a
total mystery. The name doesn't show up anywhere. One
interesting thing ..
"If Ja'il is A1-Chir's alter ego, then he's probably as
good or better than the old man himself. I think it was Ja'il
who killed Modina at the villa. I think he was the bomber
who almost got me."
"It would figure."
"But he didn't get me," Carter added. "On purpose."
He went on to explain about the remote mechanism on
the bomb in the Audi. Hawk listened intently, clipping and
lighting a fresh cigar. When Carter finished, he leaned for-
ward and punched a button on his telephone console.
"Bateman."
"Yes, sir?"
"What kind of transportation do we have for Nick?"
'SMilitary transport out of Edwards tonight at nine into
Brussels."
"Thank you." He shifted back to Carter. • "That gives
you the afternoon. Get back down to Records and go over
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your old cases. If this Jaiil didn't plaster you all over the
pavement, maybe he owes you one from some other meet."
"Will do," Carter said. rising. "If this Ja'il does show
upv I'd like to try some kind of a scam and maybe lure
A1-Chir himself out of Tripoli. "
Hawk's grin was almost evil. "You have my every
blessing."
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EIGHT
The cottage was all charm, half-timbered and thatched
roof sitting on two acres of land thick with -old birch trees.
Gerald Raymond parked his car on the shoulder near the
gate and walked up the narrow land. Halfway, he saw her
burst from the front door and sprint to meet him.
With her dark hair flying and dressed in jeans and a
baggy sweater, she looked more like the little girl he had
grown up with than a mature woman.
"Gerald!" she cried, and flung herself into his arms.
"Ynez, I thought you were in Spain," he lied, laughing
and spinning her around and around.
"I got back a few days ago." He returned her feet to the
ground and they stood facing each other, "Things didn't
work out," she whispered.
"Ah, your lover jilted you." It hurt to see the pain in her
eyes, but he had to say what he did to completely distance
himself from any suspicion. As far as Ynez knew, he had
no knowledge of Yusef Modina or their affair.
'*No, not that," she replied, her cheek coming against
his chest. "I don't want to talk about it."
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-"All right, little one. Then how about an ale for your
thirsty adopted cousin?"
She brightened. 'One ale coming up, and in one hour
dinner with all the dishes we loved as children!"
"Where is Harvey?"
"In his study, waiting for you."
In the cottage, she ran to the refrigerator while Gerald
lifted the covers from pots and sniffed with appreciation.
"Mmm, I can't wait."
"Go say hello to Uncle. I'll call you both when it's
ready."
Gerald Raymond ambled from the kitchen, through the
•garden, and down a narrow, graveled path to the old sum-
merhouse that had converted into a study.
Harvey Raymond stood when the younger man slipped
through the door, closing and locking it behind him.
The older man was an inch or two taller than Gerald,
with broad shoulders bulkily emphasized by a heavy wool
sweater. His gray hair was a tousled mop over a high,
scholarly forehead and long face. Two shaggy gray brows
arched above a pair of dark eyes.
"Gerald, lad."
"Harvey, it's been too long."
The two men embraced and seated themselves side by
side on a huge, lumpy leather sofa.
"You saw Ynez?"
"She ran to meet me. How is she taking it?"
"Philosophically, as I have taught her to accept every-
thing. She is better off. Meeting Mcxlina was a bad twist of
fate. She'll find another, more suitable lover, and forget
the fool."
Gerald Raymond ncxlded in agreement. Both of these
men were committed to Hassan A1-Chir and what they did.
But they had both mutually agreed long before that Ynez
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69
would never know of their Palestinian connection, nor
have a part of it.
K.illing Yusef Modina had a twofold purpose.
'*How is Hassan?"
"Getting old with creaky bones and bitterness, but still
hungry."
The older man chuckled. "Tigers stay hungry until the
day they die."
Gerald Raymond poured from the bottle to the glass,
and perused the various and maps spread before
them on the coffee table.
"What do you have for me?"
"Raab is in place. He has employment with a roofing
firm in Trier, here, in Germany."
"Are we sure he'll be used?"
"Definitely. One of our people got to the castle weeks
ago, when all this was only in the planning stages, He
managed to dislodge several tiles and use an acid solution
on the tar insulation beneath. By now there will be
several leaks in the rcx)f. Here is a plan of Schloss Val-
kyrie, inside and out."
The handsome young man set his glass aside and leaned
closer over the table.
"All the bedrooms that will be used by the delegates are
on the third floor in these two wings. Their meals will be
taken here, in the large dining room. The talks will be
here, in the small great room."
"Meals would be too risky," Gerald Raymond said.
"Anyone with an upset stomach might miss a meal."
"Exactly. That is why our man treated only the roof
directly over the conference room. Any day •now; with the
snow melting, the repair people in Trier will be called."
"And Leba?"
"'She has rented a hunting lodge just south of St. Vith,
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in Belgium. It is here, within two kilometers of the fron-
tier, Heavy wcxjds. It will be child's play for you to slip
back and forth."
"And the materials?"
"She's working them out now in Wiesbaden. By the
time you meet her tomorrow evening, everything should be
ready."
"Do we have anyone inside?"
"That is being taken care of right now." Harvey Ray-
mond checked his watch. "Probably at this very moment.
The woman reslN)nsible for the food at the conference is a
career employee with the Bonn government. She is also in
charge of getting the castle shipshape for the meeting and
its maintenance during the stay of the VIPs. Her name is
Ilse Baunstaffer. She has a daughter, seventeen years old,
named Therese."
Gerald Raymond nodded impassively. He didn't have to
ask. Somewhere that night, in Bonn, enlerese Baunstaffer
would be kidnapped. Her ransom demand would not be
money.
"It looks Gerald Raymond said. "I'll work out
the details of the escape after I sjæ the layout of the vil-
"That," the older man replied, "will be the most danger-
ous part. Once the conference room g€ES up, they will seal
off every road and cart path out of the country."
Gerald Raymond smiled, his eyes glazing slightly.
"That is part of the challenge ... the best part."
Static came from a small near the dcxr, fol-
lowed by the voice of Ynez.
"Hey, you two, my dinner is on the table!"
"Let's eat," Harvey Raymond said, rising and rubbing
his hands together. "Hungry?"
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"Starved," the younger man replied with a smile. "Like
a tiger."
The two men walked briskly toward the cottage and
their meal, both of them easily setting aside, for the mo-
ment, the plan they were devising to murder forty
and fifty ÆEople.
Carter handed his bag up to a waiting Air Force officer,
and then climbed into the big cargo jet himself.
Just before they buttoned the plane up, a dark, un-
marked sedan pulled up and a man jumped out. He passed
an envelope to the officer in the door and returned to the
car.
Carter buckled himself in and waited for takeoff. His
eyes burned. He had spent the entire aftemoon going over
his own reports of past missions. Nothing had jarred his
memory and he found 00 mention of Ja'il. His memory for
detail, even for events that had taken place many years
before, was excellent. He trusted it. If he could not re-
member Ja'il, or find anything in his own reports referring
to that name, there must not be a connection.
He guessed that the deliberate miss in the parking lot
could only be attributed to A1-Chir•s possible squeamish-
ness about killing an American agent and stirring up more
heat against him.
"Mr. Caner?"
"A messenger brought this just before we off."
Carter ripped the envelope and scanned the five
pieces of paper. Something? Maybe, he thought, just
maybe.
Ynez Khadivitt and Gerald Raymond were cousins,
niece and nephew of Harvey Raymond.
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The background on the old professor was interesting. In
fact,- Carter thought, it was intersting enough to double
back to England in the next day or so after checking secur-
ity at Schloss Valkyrie.
"Hello."
'Good evening, mein HerT," responded the girl briskly.
"May I help you?"
She was a tiny thing, standing little more than five feet
tall, pretty, with short brown hair, pale skin, and eyes that
slanted slightly like a cat's.
"I need some flowers for a lady."
The young girl's smile grew wider. The man didn't look
much more than twenty, only three years older than she.
and he was very handsome in a Latin or North African
way. She also loved the way he spoke German with a little
singsong effect.
"Do you see anything on display that strikes your fancy.
mein Herr?"
He looked around with a puzzled frown on his face, and
then back to the girl. "Not really. Is this all you have?"
"We have some of our more exotic things in the rear
cooler."
"Might I have a look?"
"Of course. Ihis way."
She held the little gate open until he pa«ed through,
and then led him into the rear of the shop.
"Are flowers for your wife?"
"No, my mother. I'm not married."
Ihe girl flashed him a coquettish smile. He seemed to
reciprocate.
God, she thought, he is handsome. And with Mother in
Luxembourg, I can stay out as late as I want!
"Right in here .. 4"
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Suddenly an arm came around her, tEtween her breasts,
the hand gripping her side and pulling her back. Another
hand came over her face holding a damp cloth.
She started to scream, but no sound came. Her head was
whirling and she felt as if she would vomit. She struggled,
throwing her head from side to side, but he was far too
strong.
When her body went limp, he laid her gently on the
floor and rushed back to the front of the shop. He closed
the blinds, locked the front door, and killed the lights.
She was no more than a feather in his arms as he carried
her to the rear door and on into the alley. Two cars sat,
their engines idling. Without being told, two men emerged
from the lead sedan and lifted her.
"The bracelet, that should do it. I'll call from the fron-
tier after I've made the contact."
The two men nodded. They wraprEd the girl in blankets
and placed her in the rear seat of the lead sedan. Seconds
later they were driving off.
The young man climbed into the rear sedan.
"Luxembourg," he barked. "With any luck we should
make it by midnight."
Ilse Baunstaffer said good night to her driver and stum-
bled through the gate and up the walk to the small cot-
tage they had rented for her. She had a room at the castle,
but after putting in fifteen- and sixteen-hour days, she
couldn't stand to sleep there as well.
The door opened easily with her key, and she walked
through the darkness of the hall into the small living rcx)rn.
Once there, she snapped ona lamp and went directly to the
bottle she had brought with her from Bonn.
It was nearly one in the morning, but without a glass of
schnapps, Ilse knew she would not be able to go to sleep.
NICK CARTER
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It was the same every night. Her mind refused to shut
down. Without the schnapps she would go over every room
in the palace, making sure everything was clean and in its
proper place. She would go over the and purchases
for them, as well as the security of the help and each of
their jobs.
Armed with the schnapps, she fell into the one comfort-
able chair in the and kicked off the sensible shoes-she
always wore that always hurt her feet.
It was then that she saw the envelope lying on the floor
in the hall. She started to rise and fetch it, but she was just
too tired.
She drank her schnapps. She would open her mail in the
morning.
But she didn't get her mail here at the cottage; she got it
at the castle. And she had rarely received any mail anyway
in the two weeks since she had arrived.
Maybe Therese .
The glass fell from her hand as weariness overcame her.
It was just after two in the morning when the phone
rang. Automatically, her hand fumbled and found it.
"Ja, ja, " she mumbled groggily.
"Frau Baunstaffer?"
"Jat dis ist Frau Baunstaffer. "
"Speak English, please."
"Yes, what is it? Who is this?"
"Have you 01Rned the envelope?"
"Envelope? What.. And then she remembered and
managed to focus her eyes. "No, I have not... what is it?"
"Get it. Open it."
She lurched into the hall, picked up the envelcw and
it open.
"Ach! Mein Gott!" Awake now, she ran back to the
phone. "Who is this?"
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"Do you recognize the bracelet?"
75
"Of course I do! It to my daughter, Therese. I
gave it to her for her last birthday. What—
"Don't talk, Frau Baunstaffer, just listen. About four
hours ago we kidnapped your daughter from the flower
shop in Bonn."
"Ohs no!" the woman screamed. "Why? What do you
want from me? I have no money.. u"
"We are not interested in money."
"What do you want?" she cried.
'*Be quiet, woman, and listen! Tomorrow morning you
will call the headmistress of your daughter's school and tell
her that Therese has joined you for a few days. You will
also call her employer in the flower shop, and inform her
that Therese is ill and will not be in for a few evenings. Do
you understand?"
"Yes, I understand, but why—
"You will learn that soon. Tomorrow you will go
through your day as if nothing has haplEned."
"How in Gcxi's name
"We don't care how, Frau Baunstaffer, but you will do
it. No one must suspect. Tomorrow evening you will leave
the castle earlier than usual. You will a car, and
drive yourself to the capital. Are you listening?"
'*Of course I am listening, damn you!"
A low chuckle. "Good. A little café, La Belle Marie, on
the Rue Notre Dame—it is near the Hotel Schintgen. Be
there at ten sharp. You have all this?"
"I do," she managed to reply breathlessly.
warn you, Frau Baunstaffer, from this mornent on
you will watched. If you are followed tomorrow night,
one of your daughter's ears will be mailed to you the next
morning."
The phone went dead, and Ilse's face went white. She
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76
staggered to the table for more schnapps, and then back to
the-phone.
She dialed her apartment in Bonn and let it ring twenty
times before hanging up.
Then, for a full half hour, she paced. If they didn't want
money, then what did they want?
She thought she had a pretty good idea.
She got her address book from her purse and dialed
Peter Reinbold's private line at the castle.
She managed to dial four of the six numbers before
slamming the phone back onto its cradle.
An ear? Dear God, would they really cut off one of her
baby's ears?
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The Killmaster was issued an Air Force car and a Spe-
Cial Forces sergeant for a driver. From the look in the
man's eyes and the patchwork of ribbons on his breast,
Carter guessed the man might come in handy.
A little conversation on the way to the Luxembourg
frontier confirmed his suspicions. Besides being a small
arms and hand-to-hand expert, Ebert also knew his way
around explosives.
'*Just a couple of things, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir?"
"Three things. It's Nick, not sir."
"Yes—Nick."
"And get out of that uniform when we get to Valkyrie.
Put on workman's clothes, whatever they wear around
here."
"Okay. What else?"
"Dump this crate and get something with some piss and
vinegar under the hood, even if we have to rent. I'll give
you a card number."
"Gladly."
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'EAIso, did you check to make sure everything I put on
that list got into the trunk this afterncx)n?"
"I did," the sergeant replied with a low chuckle. "Are
we planning a raid on East Berlin?"
"Not quite," Carter said, "but damned close."
Security was tight at the frontier, with Luxembourg peo-
ple doing the front-end work. Neither Carter nor the ser-
geant missed the plainclothes from Germany's BfV
and France's SDECE massed in the background. They
were like customs people at all over the world:
sharp-eyed and stone-faced.
Even in the staff car and with in uniform, the
border people went over their with a hard eye.
So far, so gcK)d, Carter thought when they were passed
through. He spread a t01x)graphical map out on his lap.
' 'There's a back road up here not far to your left. Take
it."
Moments later they were rising and falling through hilly,
heavily forested countryside. Now and then, both to their
left -and right, they could see the rcx)fs of large mansions
rising through the trees.
"Pretty country," Ebert commented, gearing down to
nearly a stop on the dangerous curves.
"Yeah," Carter replied, "and I'll bet at night you can't
see a foot in front of your face. That turnout up ahead ...
stop there."
The sergeant parked. Carter pulled a pair of B)werful
glasses from his bag and they both got out.
'*We walk ... up there."
*I'he snow was soft under their feet, making the climb
precarious. They both slipped several times before reach-
ing the top.
"Jesus," Ebert gasped, "is that it?"
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- '*That's it," Carter said, bringing the glasses up to his
face.
Schloss Valkyrie lay a mile away in the shaggy hills
toward the sunset. Sitting alone across a jagged, treeless
it seemed to shimmer out of a Dark Ages fairy tale.
Three-foot-thick walls seemed to grow right out of the
rock of the mountain, topped by crenellated battlements.
Six towers soared above the walls, and through the glasses
Carter could see watchful men posted at each of the old
firing slits.
"It's a fortress," Ebert whispered.
"It was meant to be."
Carter shifted the glasses downward. All forestation had
been removed from the base of the castle to the very foot of
the mountain. There, a modern, fourteen-foot-high chain
link fence had been erected. Five strands of barbed wire
angled outward from the top of the fence, and Carter could
see red warning signs every few feet.
"The fence is electrified and the cliffs are he
said aloud. "If our boy gets in, my guess is he'll have to do
it legitimately, by breaching security from the inside."
"He could steal a chopper and just blow it to hell."
"He could try," Carter replied, "if he were suicidal. But
I still don't think he would get through. Look there."
He handed Ebert the glasses and pointed to a clearing in
the trees about two hundred yards down from the base of
the mountain.
"Gunships!"
"Four of 'em," Carter said. "And I'll two'of them
will in the air every minute the VIPs are in there."
The Killmaster took the glasses back.
In the rear of the castle was a large lake. That was
where the fence ended, but he guessed there were sensors
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somewhere in the water. The only road came down the
mountain from the front of the castle, through gates, and
angled through the forest to the village of Anberg about
two miles away.
"I've seen enough," .Carter said. '*Let's go down to the
village and find a room. Then we'll pay our respects at the
Schloss Valkyrie."
They made their way back to the car and found three
men leaning calmly against it pointing machine pistols at
them.
"Good day, gentlemen," said the tallest of the three.
"Could we see your palk.rs, please?"
Carter smiled as he handed the man his identification.
Peter Reinbold wasn't taking any chances.
Gerald Raymond stepped from the train to the platform
in Wiesbaden and made directly for the exit doors of the
station.
He was dressed as a laborer, in heavy trousers and a
checkered shirt beneath a bulky winter coat. He carried no
bag, and wore a multicolored woolen cap pulled low over
his forehead and ears.
He walked through the lightly falling snow at a steady
but unhurried pace toward the Rhine. Once at the river, he
paused for a few seconds, got his bearings, and bore to the
right. Nearly a mile from the center of the city, he left the
river and moved into a residential section of large, old
homes that had been chopped up into apartments.
The house he headed for was gray stone with light blue
shutters long since faded. He bypassed the front entrance
and walked down a narrow, cobbled path to the rear. Steps
and an iron railing led down to a basement apartment.
His knock brought movement at the curtained window,
and the door opened at once. Raymond stepped inside, the
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door closed behind him, and Leba Fani moved into his
The kiss was almost perfunctory, with passion but
muted •with the mutual knowledge that sex would come
later, after business had been completed. This knowledge
was at the core of their relationship.
"Any trouble?" Leba asked when the kiss ended.
"None," Raymond replied, shrugging off his w•oat. "A
fishing boat across the Channel, a train across Belgium to
the German frontier where I walked across, then another
train here. Should anything go wrong, I'm in the Cots-
wolds sipping sherry with my uncle or recuperating from a
bad cold in my London flat."
She brushed her lips over his cheek. "It is good to be
working again. Drink?"
"Please. Whiskey."
"We're terrible Muslims," she chuckled.
"I know. "
Raymond watched her body move across the room in a
clinging dark blue robe. A model or a movie star of the
same height might have weighed ten pounds less, but Leba
was not at all heavy for the broad, full design of her bcxiy.
And Raymond knew all too well what she could do with
that body. She was more than a match for any man with the
deadly speed of a cobra.
"To success," she toasted, handing him one of the two
glasses.
"And survival afterward," he murmured, eyeing her
over the rim of the glass.
Her two most striking features were the wide, deep
green eyes, ingenuous yet provocative/ and the prominent
cheekbones that gave her beauty an almost feline, sinister
quality. The wild mane of hair, down now, was an unquali-
fied black. Her legs and arms were strong and graceful, her
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hips properly parabolic, her breasts high.
-All in all, Raymond thought, he would probably be her
lover even if he were not her coworker. Besides, the idea
that she was fully capable of turning on him at any time—
and killing him—gave an interesting fascination to the re-
lationship.
"You are thinking about my body rather than my mind,"
she teased.
Raymond smiled. "I take your mind for granted. How
far along are we?"
-"The car, a four-door Renault, nearly new. It was stolen
four weeks ago in Geneva, and the engine and were
worked over in Paris. It's in the parking lot at the rear. I
rented the hunting lodge in St. Vith as a blonde. We'll be
newlyweds, with the name you'll be using as a workman."
"Gocxi. And the materials?"
"In the bedroom, this way."
In the apartment's only other room, he helped her move
the bed aside. This done, she used a crowbar to lift four
wide planks from the floor. Together they withdrew too fat
bundles wrapped in leather thongs.
Inside the blankets were two Uzi submachine guns, each
packed with two hundred rounds of ammunition already in
magazines. The only other arms were three Heckler and
Koch VP70 machine pistols, also with several extra maga-
zines.
"Silencers?"
"Still in the cartons, there."
Raymond nodded. "None of this is traceable?"
"All stolen over a year ago from the depot near Frank-
fun."
Next he removed a plastic box and opened the lid. In-
side were twenty eight-ounce, paper-wrapped cartridges of
Gelemax.
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"l prefer Quarrex," the woman said.
83
'Too unstable for this job. Gelemax can be molded
more easily with the hands and retains its better.
Also, it doesn't react to heat or cold. What about the elec-
"Two transmitters, two receivers, the detonator, a dozen
transistor batteries, and the aerials." She counted all these
items on her fingers. "They are already at the lodge."
Raymond smiled. "You're as thorough as ever, my dar-
ling," he said, rewrapping everything and replacing the
bundles in the floor space. "I assume the car has been
Leba nodded. "Added sections of the gas tank and the
frame... plastic, but oil- and dirt-stained. I checked; it's
impossible to detect."
Back in the large living room, Raymond poured himself
another drink. "You've made contact for my papers?"
"I called on the union hall here in Wiesbaden this morn-
ing and made contact with Herr Ernst Bachmann. He as-
sured me that they have several thatching experts who can
repair our villa."
Raymond leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes with
a satisfied sigh. "You have done well, I.„eba, as always.
What about Raab?"
' 'He is difficult to work with at times. Hatred clouds his
brain. But he has done his part thus far. He has five sur-
face-to-air Sidewinders, and he has been checked out on
the launcher. And he had no trouble getting employment at
the roofing company in Trier." She paused, smiling. "It
seems two of their best men had a serious automobile acci-
dent last week and they are shorthanded."
"Then all we need is the makeup job on me in the morn-
ing to get my working papers, and we are go."
Raymond opened his eyes and smiled.
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Leba had stood and discarded the robe. Now she
directly in front of him, completely nude.
"Now that you are satisfied about business, I think we
should relax."
As she removed his clothing, Raymond let the supple
beauty of her body inflame the passion in his.
Naked, her athletic bcxiy was even more erotic than he
remembered it, There were no blemishes or scars, no un-
sightly sags. The rounded fullness of her breasts was
marred by only the sightest suggestion of veins. The lush
mounds were capped by aureoles that were wide and very
dark. They swelled under the ministrations of his hands.
"Do you still let Hassan make love to you?"
"Now and then," she replied without emotion.
"Is it good .... with him?"
"It is functional. Why do you ask? Don't tell me there is
jealousy as well as ice in your veins, Gerald."
"No, just curiosity," he lied.
He did feel jealousy for the first time. Why? Was he
getting weak, beginning to care?
He had failed to kill Carter when he knew it was the
best thing to do. Now he suddenly wanted to possess Leba
instead of just using her.
'Ihe thought of experiencing any genuine emotion
frightened him. He considered it a sigmof weakness, and
weakness meant failure, or, worse yet, death.
He buried it by concentrating on her body, taking her
right breast between his fingers. With a gentle laziness he
shook it back and forth, and at the same time lowered his
-lips and teeth to the nipple.
"Harder," she gasped. "You know what I like!"
Raymond responded to her remark by increasing the ac:
tion of his tongue and teeth on her rigid nipple, At the
same time, his fingers cruelly squeezed her pliant breast,
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She responded with a groan of pain filled with desire. It
worked, erasing the previous emotion he had felt, leaving
nothing but the purely physical desire of a male body for
one that is female.
Leba released a tortured moan and her fingers worked in
his hair. As he continued punishing her with his hand, he
brought his mouth to her lips. He toyed with her tongue,
then chased it back into her mouth.
Suddenly she closed her teeth tightly against his tongue
and tensed the tip with the rubbing rotation of her own. At
the same time she dug her nails viciously into his back and
slammed her body against him.
Passion surged through Raymond, demanding its re-
lease. He pushed her down to the floor and fell with her,
moving his hands upward over the inner part of her agi-
tated thighs. They yielded at once. He positioned himself
and fell forward on his elbows, running his hands beneath
her body and downward to clasp her tensed buttocks.
"Yes, now... hurt me with it, Ja'il!" The words
emerged like a growl from her chest.
Lifting her slightly, he pressed forward and shifted until
he found her. She twisted, but he held back, maintaining
only external contact.
"Don't tease, damn you!" she hissed.
When he persisted, her hand arced through the air, the
sound of her palm on his cheek like the crack of a rifle.
Only then did he plunge into her, moving her a full fcx)t
on the carpet.
She cried out and her feet left the floor. He felt her heels
skinning up his thighs to pound his back.
"Yes!" she screamed. "Hurt me with your need Ja'il!"
Her legs almost strangled him in her need, and Ray-
mond squeezed her buttocks and began giving of himself in
avid concentration, letting his hips go their own way
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thrusting, rolling, rocking from side to side.
"Yes, yes! I love it, Ja'il!" she moaned as she responded
to each motion with a countermotion of her own.
As their tempo gradually increased, he released her but-
tocks and moved his hands high beneath her to clasp her
upper body against him. Her anxious hips began to pound
in trip-hammer fashion, not satisfied with what they were
getting, wanting more and wanting it faster.
He respnded, cruelly driving up the steep slope of pas-
Sion with short avid thrusts, each one taking him just that
much closer to the top. He worked against a tremendous
pressure that was closing in on him engulfing him .
thickening... swamping his senses... letting him know
and feel nothing except the throbbing need of his desire as
it struggled for release.
He could feel Leba nearing the top also. Her mouth was
open, her head tossing from side to side. She was making
low incoherent sounds, which then changed to a higher-
pitched series of soft little cries. She had lost all semblance
of restraint now and her lithe txxly was hammering up at
him.
Raymond thrust wildly, and suddenly the woman tight-
ened and seemed to hang in She cried out just
as he clawed at the pinnacle, over it, and plunged
downward into a chasm. Released, he fell across her per-
spiring body.
"Animals," he gaslEd. "We're animals."
'*No, we are human," I eha replied vacantly. "Animals
eat the flesh they kill."
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              глава 





The snow had txgun during the early evening, before
she had left the castle. Now, three hours later, it rained
down in huge white fluffs, dancing crazily in the channels
of wind in front of the car:
Ilse Baunstaffer, her knuckles white on the steering
wheel, made several wrong turns before she found the Rue
Notre Dame. It was one 6f the oldest streets in Luxem-
bourg's tiny capital, at the rail station and ending
several blocks away at the cathedral of the same name.
When she saw the vertical, faintly lit sign of the Hotel
Schintgen, she pulled to the curb and parked.
It was five minutes before ten, but she didn't get out of
the car: She had to gather her thoughts, put her analytical
Germanic mind in order.
Ilse had not smoked in three years. She had started
smoking again that morning. Peter Reinbold, head of se-
curity at the castle, had noticed.
"You look worn out, Ilse. Why don't you take the day
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TEN
off? We have time."
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She had declined, but the he had given her had sent
chills of fear up her spine.
No one must suspect, the voice on the phone had said.
Go through your day as if nothing has happened.
Good God, Ilse thought, how can I act natural?
She mashed out her cigarette and narrowed her red-
rimmed eyes, searching for a sign. The headlights of pass-
ing vehicles reflected dully off the wet pavement, while
streetlights glowed ineffectively like old gas lamps through
the falling snow.
The snow is melting as fast as it falls. The leak in the
roof over the conference room will be even worse by to-
nwrrow. She would have to call the roofing people in Trier
back in the morning.
And the linen for the bedrooms was a mess. It would
have to be redone.
"Damn," Ilse suddenly cried aloud, and struck the
steering wheel. And again cursed herself silently.
Her daughter's life was in danger and she was thinking
about her job.
And then she saw the faint, flickering sign, several
doors beyond the hotel and across the street: La Belle
Marie.
Forcing herself to move, Ilse pulled up the collar of her
coat and stepped from the car. With each step she felt that
there were a million eyes watching her.
Two doors from the entrance to the café, she was halted
abruptly by a voice coming from a darkened doorway.
"You have done well so far, Frau Baunstaffer. See that
you continue."
She started to whirl toward the dcx)rway.
s not turn and do not Continue on up the street
to the cathedral. Go inside. Light a candle at the altar, and
exit by the side door: That is all. Now, walk."
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Ihe next minutes passed in a snowy haze. Ilse managed
to light the candle, and even took time for a brief prayer.
Just as she stepped from the alcove to the street, a small
dark sedan slid to a halt in front of her. The rear door
opened and a figure emerged from the shadows behind her.
Powerful hands propelled her into the car, onto the floor-
boards.
She started to scream, but it was cut off when some kind
of a bag was thrust over her head, and the car lurched
forward.
"Don't do anything but breathe, woman. It will not be
long."
Ilse thought it was the same voice from the doorway.
For the next fifteen minutes she lay like a stone with two
pairs of heavy feet holding her down.
The car had barely come to a halt when she was dragged
from it. A door opened and she was half dragged, half
carried up a flight of steps, Then she heard another door
opening, and she was slammed into a chair and the hood
removed.
She was seated at a desk, a high-intensity lamp in front
of it shining directly into her eyes. Beyond the lamp she
could make out the shape of two or three men, but no
faces.
"You are a wise woman, Frau Baunstaffer." It was the
voice she had heard the previous evening on the telephone.
"There are four Polaroid photographs on the desk before
you. Examine them, please."
Ilse looked down and gasped. All four photos were of
her daughter Therese. One by one she picked them up with
a shaky hand. The first and second were close-ups of her
daughter's elfin, frightened face. The third showed Therese
sitting upright on a bed, her hands bound tightly together
and a blindfold across her eyes.
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Unconsciously, Ilse's habitual compulsiveness took in
every detail of her daughter's clothing and the room. It was
a woman's room, with fresh flowers in a vase along with a
telephone on a bedside stand. There was also a radio on the
stand. The bed was oak spool with a white spread. Near
the bed was a chest of drawers with an oval mirror over it.
A brightly colored fabric runner covered the top of the
chest. In the mirror she could see two windows with white
lace curtains.
"Please hurry, Frau Baunstaffer... the fourth picture."
This one did bring a tiny scream from Ilse's throat.o It
was a close-up of the side of Therese's head with the hair
pulled back. There were two male hands in the picture, one
holding the top of her daughter's ear away from her head.
In the other hand was a straight razor.
"Good God, what do you want?" she gasped.
"Not much. Just some cooperation. If we get it, your
daughter will be retumed to you without tEing harmed."
"What are you going to do?"
The man ignored the question. "Did you make the tele-
phone calls as we instructed?"
"Yes."
' 'Good. Do you know the firm of Feltner and Sons, fur-
niture refinishers in Leuven?"
Ilse wracked her troubled brain, but she couldn't recall
the name. "No ... why?"
"The table in the conference room at the castle is an
eighteenth-century Fineburg, is it not?"
Ilse's features mirrored her jumbled mind. "Yes, it's an
antique of the region made by August Fineburg in 1752."
'There are six legs on the table. Two on one side were
weakened some time ago when the table was moved from
the great hall. Correct?"
"Yes." How, she thought, could they know all this?
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"Also, because of clumsy movers, there were several
small scratches on the two legs, as well as on the top."
"Yes, that is so."
"Tomorrow morning, Frau Baunstaffer, you will call
Feltner and Sons to pick up and repair the table."
"I can't do that. I've already discussed the table with the
castle's custodian, and we both agreed that there was no
need to repair the table. He himself put a brace on the
legs."
"No matter," the dry, disinterested voice continued.
"You will send the table out for repairs."
"I can't, damn you!" Ilse cried.
"You are in charge, Frau Baunstaffer. You can do any-
thing you want to do."
"I cannot! Besides, this company, Feltner and Sons,
isn't on our approved list."
"Then put them on the approved list!" the voice barked.
Suddenly a gloved hand reached forward into the light
and turned on a portable cassette player she had not no-
ticed.
'*Mutti, I am all right now, but they say they told
me the most awful things they would do to me... Mutti,
there's a man with a razor, he said he would send pieces of
me——
"Stop! Stop it!" Ilse screamed, covering her ears with
her hands.
The tape was killed.
"Tomorrow morning, Frau Baunstaffer, you will make
the call. And you will tell no one of this. Believe me, we
have ways of knowing. If you do, we will kill your daugh-
ter, and, I assure you, the body will never be recoyered."
The voice was cold, a monotone, and the words were
said with such calm conviction that Ilse was sure every
word was meant.
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The light woolen dress she wore beneath her raincoat
was- soaked with and her eyes had become
glazed with fear.
"Well, Frau Baunstaffer, what is your decision?"
"What are you going to do, put a bomb in the table?"
"You don't really want to know."
Ilse put her arms on the table and dropped her head to
them. For twenty years she-had been like a rock, devoted
to duty. Her whole being had, over the years, been trained
to obedience and loyalty. What this man was asking her to
do went against all her strong moral fiber.
"I don't have all right, Frau Baunstaffer."
"Yes , yes, I'll do it."
"Take her back to her car."
The lake was shimmering black in the mist beginning
three hundred yards before them and ending a quarter of a
mile beyond in the jagged rcx•ks at the base of the hill.
"See 'em?" Carter asked.
Sergeant Tom Ebert nodded as he lowered the night
glasses from his eyes. "There are two. One's moving along
the edge of the lake, there. He does half a perimeter and
comes back. The other one's in that thicket, about forty
yards back from the lake. I'd say he's working a sound
sensor from the way he's been moving."
"They in contact?"
"Yeah," Ebert replied, "every few minutes with wal-
kies. Also, Nick, I'd say there's a third one somewhere as
a backup. He probably doesn't show unless they flush
something. "
Carter smiled and gently patted the top of a cage at his
feet. "That's why we have 01' Sly here."
From behind the wire mesh of the cage, the bright eyes
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of a small red fox stared dolefully out at the two men.
"I'll take the left flank and nail him when he shows
himself," Carter said. "You move in as soon as the control
man zeroes in on Sly. Give me a count of fifty."
Ebert's darkened face nodded, and Carter moved off si-
lently, being careful to stay outside the effective range of
the sound sensor.
Both men wore dull black wet suits with hoods. Their
only weapons were West German-manufactured Magnar
stun guns, effective up to about twenty-five feet, Tied to
the backs of their utility belts were hard-soled oilskin
boots, hard rubber cleats attached to the soles. The last
piece of equipment was the most necessary: a pair of hard
rubber claws that could be attached to the wrist and would
extend out over the hands and fingers. The fingers of the
claws were long and sharp, and when used properly, acted
exactly like the front paws of a cat.
Under his breath, Carter was counting. When he
reached fifty he stopped and brought his own night glasses
into play.
He barely heard the rustling sound to his rear and right,
but through the glasses he saw the control man's head
come up alertly. A split second later he brought a walkie up
to his mouth.
Beyond the contact man, Carter saw the sentry at the.
lake take off. With any luck he would spot the fox and
drop his guard long enough for Ebert to nail him.
Sound to his left made Carter whirl the glasses in that
direction. Ebert had been right. He was just in time to see a
sentry in full camouflage gear drop out of a tree and head
in the direction given him by the sensor control man.
Caner to his belly and moved forward on a line
that would intersect. He did, twenty seconds later, and
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dropped the man like a tree with the stun gun.
He had scarcely hit the ground before the Killmaster
was on him. He strapped the sentry's helmet under his chin
and took the battery pack and earphone. As he moved for-
wards he put the pack in his belt and the plug in his ear.
It was only a receive unit, so he wouldn't have to reply
to the control man.
"Kohl, you're heading right for it. Hans, go left ... no,
left, you fool! You're heading right for me!"
Seconds later, Carter was five feet from him, and stood
up.
The control man swiveled his head around. "Hans,
damn you..
The helmet fooled him for only a few beats, but it was
long enough. Before he could unshoulder his machine pis-
tol, Ebert lunged up behind him like a detached shadow
and engufled his face with two big hands.
It took about two breaths and he was out. When the man
was limp, Ebert lowered him gently to the ground. He
tossed the soaked pad away and placed the man's helmet
under his head like a pillow.
S 'How much did .you give him?" Carter whispered.
"Enough for major surgery," Ebert replied, already
moving toward the lake with Carter close behind.
They went into the water side by side, and breaststroked
across. A low stone wall ran along the water's edge. They
stopped just short of it, and both of them took small, bat-
tery-powered pulseometers from under their suits. Carter
squinted at the jumping needle and looked up at the top of
the wall.
"There..
"And there," Ebert said. "About four feet apart, going
two ways?'
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They walked directly to the wall and raised their hands,
poising the small instruments together.
"Ready?" Ebert nodded. "Now!"
As one, they set the pulsers down on top of the wall and
anxiously watched as the needles kept up their rhythmic
jumping as they intercepted and reflected the silent pulsa-
tions from the other two already on the wall.
One at a time they scrambled oven When the boots and
claws were in place, they started up. Though the rock face
was sheer to the eye, up close there were edges and even
holes of erosion caused by centuries of weather. The
climbing was much easier than they had expected. It took
just less than a half hour to reach the upper wall.
Again, a pulser was used to check for sensors. When
none was found, they began to work their way around to
the side below the conference room.
"There may be dogs," Ebert hissed.
"I'm sure there are," Carter whispered, "but more than
likely they're kept just for sniffing out explosives. When
they're not being used, they're probably kept in the court-
yard on the other side. Up you go!"
Carter boosted Ebert to his shoulders.' The sergeant was
able to get a good grasp on the top of the wall. When he
did, Carter crawled right up his legs and over his body.
When he was flat out on top, he helped Ebert up.
Head to head, they lay on top of the wall. Below them
was a small courtyard. On the inner side were steps leading
up to the next level, one tElow their objective.
Silently, they dropped into the courtyard and padded
across. Just short of the steps they paused to unscrew the
rubber cleats. This done, they tied the claws back to their
belts and continued.
An iron gate, padlocked, barred them at the top. It took
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fifteen seconds for Carter to pick it,
They were in the walkway directly below the conference
room. The wall up was made of uneven stone. Between
where they stood and the base of the windows was about
forty feet and two ledges.
It was the easiest part.
Again, Carter used the pulse detector.
Nothing.
They started up, and just as they hit the first ledge
Carter knew it was all over:
There were over a hundred roosting pigeons. Half of
them were frightened into flight, and the other half raised a
din that could be heard a mile away.
SB)tIights came on from both nearby towers, illuminat-
ing the entire wall and the two human flies clinging to it.
It wasn't five seconds until the walkway below them
was filled with armed men. The windows above them
opened and more machine pistols pointed down at them.
"Climb down slowly! Let me warn you, any offensive
move and you will be shot!"
"Goddamned pigeons," Carter muttered. "The oldest
alarm system in the world."
Ebert chuckled. "So much for high-tech terrorism."
By the time they reached the walkway, a beetle-browed,
cigar-chomping Peter Reinbold, in a bathrobe, was await-
ing them.
"You are both under arrest! Take them—
'Good evening, Peter," Carter said, pulling the hood
from his head. "Charming little place you've got here."
"Carter... Nick Carter!" the man replied in English.
"What the hell
'VLet me say, Peter, that your night security is impecca-
ble. If your daytime watch is as good, we should be home
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The tall German smiled. "I should have guessed when
you didn't check in with me earlier this evening."
"Well, now that I have, the least you can do for the
sergeant and me is buy us a beer."
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ELEVEN
Gerald Raymond awakened early to the business of the
day. He made coffee and a light breakfast for the two of
them. When they had finished, Raymond showered and
very carefully shaved. This done, he returned to the bed-
room and, naked, sat a lighted mirror.
Leba Fani had already laid out her materials on the
dresser. Across the room, a sheet had been stretched across
the wall, and in front of it two lights and a large press
camera on a tripod had been set up.
For the next hour, she worked with deliberate patience
on Raymond's face. Using a mixture of spirit gum and
latex, she aged his forehead, his cheeks, and the skin of his
neck. Plastic tubes gave his nostrils an aristocratic flare and
also thickened his nose. Carefully, using just a touch of
makeup on her thumb, she worked graying shadows into
the latex as it set.
"You are a genius, Leba."
"I've done it enough times on myself," she replied,
chuckling low in her throat. "Now the hair."
Using clippers and comb, she restyled his curly hair: A
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light application of mousse and a dryer removed the curl
enough so it could be combed straight back, giving even
more severity to the aged face. Meticulously, she combed
gray into the temples until only a hairdresser at very close
range could detect that it wasn't natural.
The previously made mustache also contained light
flecks of gray, With the proper addition of makeup around
the edges of the pantyhose material to which the mustache
had been spirit-gummed, it, too, was impossible to detect.
At last Leba stood back. "Voilå Herr Whoever-you're-
going-to-be."
"Is the camera ready?"
"I'll load it while you dress."
Raymond put on a workingman's heavy blue shirt, a
rather ragged tie, and a cap. By the time he was dressed,
Leba had loaded the camera and focused the lights.
She four shots, two side and two frontal views.
"I'll have these developed by the time you get back,"
Raymond undressed and dressed again in a conserva-
tive, dark blue pin-striped suit, white-on-white shirt, and
dark tie. The suit had been especially tailored and padded
to add several pounds where a man of his new age would
have pounds.
S'I should be back in not more than two hÖurs."
Leba only nodded. She was already at work.
Raymond walked the eight blocks to the Guild Hall 'and
arrived at precisely nine, the moment the doors were being
opened.
"My name is Nathan, John Nathan. I my wife
spoke to a Herr Bachmann yesterday about a workman for
our villa in Luxembourg."
"Jay Herr Nathan," the young woman replied. "Please
go right in there. Herr Bachmann is expecting you."
The guildmaster was a paunchy little man with specta-
CK CARTER
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cles, a jovial, wheezy manner, and a red face. He jumped
to attention the moment Raymond stepped into the office.
"Your wife mentioned that you wished the fellow to be a
journeyman roofer, and that the work would be in Luxem-
bourg."
'That is correct," Raymond replied. "About three
months, I expect."
'Good, very good. I think I have just the man for you. I
have brought three in for you to interview. Of course, to
work in Luxembourg, he will have to acquire a permit for
foreign labor if he doesn't already have one. That will be
between the two of you."
understand."
"But I do have the forms right here."
He passed two forms across the desk. Raymond folded
and pocketed them. Bachmann leaned his thumb on the
console button in front of him. He kept it there until the
door opened and the young secretary stepped in.
"Have the three roofers come in yet?"
"Ja, mein Herr. They are all here."
"Would you show Herr Nathan the way to the hall,
"Ja, mein Herr. This way, please."
Raymond followed the woman into a huge room fes-
tooned with slogans and No Smoking signs. There were
long benches down the middle and cubicles along the
walls.
"Right there, Herr Nathan," she said. "Those are the
three men Herr Bachmann has called in."
Raymond scrutinized each of them carefully. One was
barely five foot three and far too young, even if he had a
decided bald spot right on the top of his head. He would
never do.
"I'll interview the middle one first."
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She crooked a finger, and the middle man trotted over to
follow Raymond into one of the cubicles.
"Good morning," Raymond said. "Do you speak Eng-
1ish
"Ja. My name is Gortmann."
"The work will be steady for three months, with good
pay and transportation back here every weekend."
"Abroad, eh?"
"Luxembourg."
"Oh." The man's hand dived into his jacket and with-
drew a large piece of official-looking paper. Proudly, he
displayed it.
"I have working papers for Luxembourg."
Then, Raymond thought, you will never do.
He went through the small, youngish man with cursory
questions, and then motioned in the third.
He was about the right size and weight, and was defi-
nitely the right age, with dark hair and smoky gray eyes.
Beneath the desk, Raymond crossed his fingers and
asked the question.
'SNO, sir, I have never worked outside of Germany."
"How dCES the sound of it hit you?"
"Fine, sir. My wife and I have had it hard lately. We
could use the money." His voice was eager.
"Can you leave in a few days' time?"
'SOh, yes, sir."
"And what is your name?"
"Freehof, sir. Ludwig Freehof."
Raymond studied him. The man was the right height
and the eyes were perfect. Also, he had no tattoos on his
hands or arms, and no scars or distinguishing marks.
"You'll do," Raymond said. "I'll tell Herr Bachmann z
it's settled. You do have a copy of your work record
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"Yes, sir, right here."
-As they walked back toward the guildmaster's office,
Raymond asked offhandedly," You do know you'll have to
get a Luxembourg work permit?"
"Yes, sir. I'll qualify, sir; my sheet's good."
"I'm sure it is. And you'll have to have your birth certif-
icate..
"It's at home. I can get it in an hour, sir."
"Excellent. While I'm in here, get a couple of pictures
of yourself at the Rapid Photo booth there in the hall."
The man scurried away, and Raymond reentered Ernst
Bachmann's office. It took only a few minutes to sign the
forms and get Bachmann's assurance that he would send
the notice of employment to the Labor Commission within
the hour.
He picked up Freehof in the lobby and guided him
across the street to a bar. At a table, they ordered and
Raymond took out the two application forms.
"I'll give you a hand filling these out."
The man wrote, tongue-guiding his pen, giving age,
birthplace, and description.
"No, no, don't sign it. We both have to sign it in front
of a notary solicitor."
Raymond paid, and they walked two blocks to a solici-
tor's office he had spotted earlier.
The man barely glanced at the forms and both men's
driving permits and passports. Even if he had
closely at Raymond's he wouldn't have realized that they
had been manufactured in the basement of a hotel in
Tripoli, Libya.
"Well now, that was easy, wasn't it?" Raymond said
with a smile as they exited the solicitor's office.
"Yes, sir.'V
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' 'Why don't I just walk along with you and pick up your
birth certificate? I'll take care of the rest of this myself this
afternoon. "
The man was more than happy to oblige.
Raymond followed him across the city. The farther they
walked, the more the area deteriorated. Small, dimly lit
stores, many of them dusty basement shops, interlaced
with old stoops in front of run-down residences. Eventually
they entered an even shabbier tenement section.
Buildings, separated by entrances to pitch-black alleys,
were crumbling, Raymond saw soggy heaps of debris and
dented, overflowing garbage cans in the alleys.
Freehof saw the look on Raymond's face. "As I said,
sir, we've fallen a little on hard times."
He the dcx)r with a key, and a thin, sallow-faced
woman met them. The news that her husband had found
employment did little more than bring tears to her weary
eyes, but she did manage to thank Raymond in broken
English.
"I'll get the birth certificate."
Freehof left the room, and Raymond was left awk-
wardly with the wife.
The woman looked sick, skinny to the point of emacia-
tion, all elbows and shins. Her skin had a waxy, translucent
look. She wore rimless glasses, and the plain dark dress
looked like a tent on her frail body.
"Here we are. I'd forgotten where it was for the mo-
ment."
Raymond took the birth certificate and pressed a sheaf
of bills into the other man's hand.
'*I'll be back to you day after tomorrow. in the mean-
time, there's a little advance."
Quickly, Raymond exited before the man could count
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the money and begin to wonder why he deserved a full
month's pay before he even started work.
True to her word, Leba had the photographs ready when
he returned to the apartment. "You found one?"
"Yes, he's perfect," he snorted.
"You don't have to take my head off."
"Sorry."
Without saying anything else, Raymond changed into
the workingman's outfit and left again at once.
At the labor office, he paused to study a set of regula-
tions he knew by heart: Only under exceptional circum-
stances would foreign stamped work be issued
before the prescribed time.
Inside the door of the main entrance, a young woman
sitting behind a switchboard was handling telephone calls
and greeting visitors. The churlish look on her plain face
and the abruptness with which she pulled out and plugged
in the spaghettilike cords clearly demonstrated a disaffec-
tion for the role. But there was little in her manner or
appearance to suggest that the switchboard would have
much competition for her attention.
"Could you help me, please? I've got a job in Luxem-
bourg and I need work papers and a foreign stamp."
"It's not on this floor," the girl answered sourly.
Raymond resisted the temptation to shove a handful of
the wires down her throat. s *Well, can you tell me where I
have to go?"
"Renewal or first application?"
"First application."
"Trades or domestic?"
"Trades. I'm a roofer."
"Third room three-twelve," she answered, yawn-
ing in his face.
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Raymond carried his cap in his hand into 312. "My
name is Ludwig Freehof," he said to the txyred man behind
the counter. "I think Herr Bachmann at the Guild Hall sent
over a notification of employment for me."
The man nodded, his pale blue eyes impassive.
Raymond laid the two applications on the desk along
with Freehof's birth certificate.
"Pictures. "
He laid out the four photographs Leba had taken of him
earlier.
"It says here you start work tomorrow," the man mused.
"That's very short notice."
'€1 know, sir. I need the job very badly. I've been unem-
ployed for almost a year."
The man nodded and flipped the pictures over. "You
didn't sign the photographs."
Raymond's gut froze, but his inner turmoil didn't show
as he picked up the pen with a steady hand and managed to
maneuver the signed application form to a place right be-
side the photos.
The scrawl was a childish one, easily duplicated with a
wavering hand.
You're slipping, Ja'il. Damn, but you're slipping.
The man gathered up the photos and the palErs and
disappeared through a door him.
Raymond sat down and lit a cigarette. He knew the pro-
cedure. Somewhere behind that partition there was a
looker, a man who did nothing all day long but at
photographs on applications. He would blow them up on a
screen and compare them with mug shots from police de-
partments all over Germany, as well as mug shots of
known terrorists from the BtV.
At least on that score Raymond felt safe. The only pic-
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tures in existence of the face he was wearing were the ones
he had just given the clerk.
He looked up as the man reentered the room and sent a
flurry of stamps across the papers.
"Pay your fee in room nine, basement. There will also
be a small rush charge."
With his cap still in hand. Raymond went down to the
basement, handed over the materials, and paid the fee.
'Three o'clock."
"Pardon?"
"Your paEErso .. they will be ready at three o'clæk."
g 'Thank you."
Raymond walked to a corner bar, cursing himself every
step of the way. Slipping, you're slipping. What else have
you forgotten?
He had lunch standing at the bar. Suddenly he pushed
the beer away and ordered a whiskey. It was hot in the
heavy jacket and shirt.
Or was he just sweating?
He ate the rest of his meal with an effort, recognizing
the necessity of eating. He forced down that were
too floury, meat whose flavor had been left in the pan, and
vegetables that weren't cooked. He managed to finish the
whiskey, thankful that it took the edge off his anger toward
himself.
There was still an hour to kill.
He bought a pad and envelope at a nearby store, and
wandered into a park. On a bench, he scrawled a note of
am)logy to Ludwig Freehof, telling the man that he
wouldn't need him after all.
Then he put the note, the birth certificate, and some
bills—for any inconvenience—into the envelope and
mailed it on his way back to the Labor Commission.
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His paixrs were ready.
107
As he walked back to the apartment in the brisk after-
noon air, he knew there was no doubt of it.
He was sweating.
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TWELVE
Carter didn't know what to expect, so he was only
mildly surprised at Ynez Khadivitt's war-rn reception when
he stepped from the car.
"Some business in Portsmouth," he explained.
"Thought I would just stop by on my way back to Lon-
"I'm glad, so glad you did."
She linked her arm through his and guided him into the
cottage, Carter watched her face, her eyes, to see any
change in her expression. She had never told him her
uncle's address in England, so it would be natural for her
to wonder how he had found her.
She didn't. The open innocence never left her eyes, nor
the smile her lips.
Ynez sat him down in the kitchen and immediately went
about making tea.
"How is everything?"
"You mean my mental condition?" she replied.
"Yes, I guess I do."
"Fine, really. Uncle has helped me understand. Yusef
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was involved in something he couldn't It's all for
the best, really. Our lives would have been awful. Cream
"Neither," Carter said. "Is your uncle here? I'd like to
meet him."
"No, this is his lecture night. He won't be back until
late this evening. He'll be sorry he missed you. I've told
him about you ... in Spain."
"Have you?" Carter masked his face with his cup and
mentally prepared himself to cover her reaction to the next
question. "And your cousin, is he here?"
"Gerald? No, he was for a day, but he returned to Lon-
don. He wasn't feeling well, and he said he was just going
to hibernate in his flat rather than give us whatever he'd
caught."
They chattered through a second cup of tea before the
perplexed frown he had expected appeared.
"You know Gerald?"
"Yes, I met him at a couple of parties. He mentioned
Cambridge and the American University in Beirut. That,
and the name, put it all together."
She nodded and the frown disappeared. Carter breathed
a silent sound of relief. Everything might be coincidence,
but he had learned through' the years that too much coinci-
dence could breed interesting connections.
"It was Gerald, actually, who introduced me to Yusef
originally. Needless to say, he feels very badly about it
now."
"Yes," Carter agreed, "I suppose he does. Ynez, tell
you what ... why don't you pop over to London with me
tonight? We'll take in a show and dinner. You can stay with
Gerald, and train back in the morning."
Her face was like a two-hundred-watt bulb coming on.
"Oh, that would grand! It is getting a little boring here.
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Uncle spends nearly all his time in his study."
"Then let's do it. -you change and pack an overnight
bag."
She bounded up, kissed him on the cheek, and was
gone.
The main floor of the cottage was small. Coming
through it to the kitchen, he had seen nothing like a study.
He guessed "Uncle's study" was the summerhouse in the
rear of the garden.
"Ynez he called up.
"I love English gardens. Do you mind if I roam
"Not at all. Make yourself at home."
He didn't head directly to the summerhouse, but mean-
dered through the manicured hedges and tall, stately trees
first.
Once he looked up at the cottage's second floor. He
caught Ynez's eye in the window and she waved. He
smiled, waved back, and moved on.
AXE and London Central had givenhim a complete line
on Professor Harvey Raymond. Early on, the man had
been a hard-liner against the State of Israel. He had also
done several exhaustive studies on the Palestinian refugee
problem. Even as late as a year earlier, he had written an
article that partially condoned the extremes of terrorism in
the world as a propaganda tool for Third-World countries.
Taken individually, the facets and facts of Harvey Ray-
mond's life and views were not very different than a great
many other British intellectuals. But lumped into a whole
and puzzled out as a pattern, they stamped the man as more
than a nodding friend of one or all the Arab movements
dedicated to eradicating the Jewish state.
The summerhouse was sealed up like a tomb. There
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were drop-lock hinges on each window, and a double
dead-bolt on the single dcx)r. Carter could have gotten in,
but it would have taken a little time, and the upstairs win-
dow of the cottage had a clear view of the summerhouse
door.
He took a gravel path beyond the house and then, out of
sightof the window, doubled back. In the rear he had to
stretch to his to look in through the double, curtained
windows.
The summerhouse was one large room, with a bathroom
off a small alcove. The interior was dark; the walls, where
there were no bcx)kcases, dark A mammoth orien-
tal rug seemed to float on a sea of dark parquet. In the
center was a large eighteenth-century desk. Beside it sat a
smaller table with an electric tYIEwriter on it. Books, raw
manuscripts, and random were stashed everywhere
on the and the desk.
Carter sighed with exasperation. There was very little he
could learn on the outside looking in, and there was no
time to get in.
He started back around the comer, and suddenly
stopped. The house was half-timbered stucco, with full
running up all four corners. On this comer was a
television antenna. Its stem started about four feet from the
ground and ran up to atxyut three feet above the roof line.
Something was wrong, didn't jive. The wings of the
aerial weren't high enough above the roof, let alone the
tree line. Also, the tube holding the couplers was as big as
his wrist, when it only needed to be the diameter of his
thumb at the most.
He trotted back to the window.
for indentations, pssible cabinets, even
the desk itself, and the ceiling area. Nowhere in the room
did he see anything resembling a television set, or a piece
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of furniture or wall space that would hide one.
His mind clicked back to an Oxford professor he had
heard comment years before on the mass medium of the
tube: "Telly?... God, it's only for those who have
less than enough brainpower to use the time on their hands,
or prisoners in solitary confinement with no access to a
library!"
Quickly, yanking a Swiss army knife from his pocket,
Carter returned to the aerial. In seconds he had the base
screws undone and was gently pulling the outer tube and its
inner guts out from the timber.
One quick look told him. 'Ihe six, finger-thick cables
inside the casing had nothing to do with a television an-
tenna. Not only that, but the coupling connections on each
of them were designated in Cyrillic.
The Killmaster wasn't psitive, but he was willing to
lay long odds that the cables he was looking at didn't lead
to a television but to a high-powered squirt transmitter.
He memorized the Russian identification numbers, and
quickly screwed the whole of the tubing back into the
timber.
By the time he returned to the cottage, Ynez was wait-
ing for him in the kitchen, dressed, a small bag on the
table.
"My, my," Carter said, grasping her by the shoulders,
"dress you up and I could take you anywhere."
She pouted. '*Is that an insult?"
'Quite the contrary. You look lovely."
And she did, in a mink coat over a two-piece knit dress
that clung to her firm young body. Hatless, her dark hair
was pulled back and very shiny. She had added just enough
makeup so that she still looked engagingly fresh while add-
ing a touch of mature mystery to her natural beauty.
3
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"What I mean is, you look very different from the gypsy
café hippie I met in Spain."
"Is that or bad?"
He slid his arm around her waist and grabbed the bag.
"A little of both I hope."
She smiled up at him. "Thank you for coming, Nick.
I'm glad you did, and I'm forward to a glorious
evening."
"It will he said, not looking directly at her. "And
we may even surprise Gerald before it's over."
It took only fifteen minutes for Harvey Raymond to
make his decision after finding the note Ynez had left. It
might be pure coincidence that the American agent, Nick
Carter, had shown up in the English countryside and
"dropped by" to see his niece, but the old professor didn't
like the feel of it.
Certain phrases in the note had set off warning bells in
his head: "staying the night with Gerald"... "sorry he
missed you, would like to meet you" '*knows Gerald,
met him at a party or two A"
With the cpation in Luxembourg moving so fast,
nothing could now be overlooked.
When the computer was warmed up, Raymond typed in
the message directly from his head. After explaining every-
thing in detail, he went back and underlined the last phrase
for emphasis.
Imperative, repeat, imperative: if action is taken, all
procedures to insure safety of female must be taken. Re-
peat, this must be stressed.
This done, he set the freqdency and activated the key-
through that would the full message from the com-
puter to the transmitter.
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It took only seconds for the electronic transformer to
warm to maximum. When it did, he depressed the red but-
ton.
The message was three hundred or so words, about six-
teen hundred characters. It took to the air in a scrambled
squirt that took 1/1000 of a second to transmit.
The needle had scarcely settled back to zero when the
old man shut down the transmitter, rotated the aerial with a
hand crank from inside the house, and activated the re-
ceiver.
A half cup of tea later, the reply came and was automat-
ically unscrambled on the computer screen.
Transmission received. Will treat with utmost priority
London. Understand caution and will comply.
The restaurant was tiny and in one of the more disrepu-
table areas of Southwark near the Thames. By American
standards it was little more than a greasy spoon with a
printed menu, but Carter loved it and they served the best
fillet of sole in London.
The dessert and coffee had come and gone. Now they
were lingering over brandy.
By mutual agreement, they had passed on seeing a
show. A leisurely dinner and talk suited both their moods.
Shortly after arriving, Carter had excused himself and
called London AXE. The duty officer had assured him that
he would have the information on the Russian numbers
back in less than an hour.
Ynez called Gerald Raymond's flat to inform her cousin
that she was in town and would staying the night. While
she was gone, Carter found himself hoping that Raymond
would indeed be in the flat and sick in trd. It wouldn't
simplify matters, but it would put some of his suspicions to
rest.
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"No answer," she said when she returned to the table.
"He was probably called out somewhere on business.
He brokers for importers, you know."
' 'No," Carter said, "I didn't know."
"No matter. I have a key to the flat." Here she laughed.
"It was my flat in the first place. It's still in my name."
That, Carter thought, was why he could find no known
address on Gerald Raymond.
Another piece in place.
He sat across the table from her, looking at her in the
glow of the table lamp. Her face was finely deli-
cately boned, but inexpressive and immobile at the mo-
ment, as if she were deep in her own thoughts.
Carter didn't know what she was thinking, but he knew
what he was thinking and he had a twinge of conscience
it.
He had already started the ball rolling, playing on her
loneliness. Three before dinner, a bottle of wine
during, and now a brandy. It was already showing in her
speech and in her heavy-lidded, long-lashed eyes.
A burly waiter in a black apron to avoid showing the
dirt appeared tBide the table. "Your name Carter?"
"Yes."
'Telephone, pay box by the door."
"Excuse me."
It was London AXE.
"Carter here."
"Checked out your numbers and they refer to both a
transmitter and a receiver: It's a high-powered Soviet
LMF-270, very handy little piece of gear."
"Did you check with M15?"
"l did. Portsmouth and Glasgow have picked up squirt
transmissions from that area of the Cotswolds before, but
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they haven't been able to get a fix. ne transmissions are
infrequent and they don't have any particular time. Also,
one of their experts told me the sender could have an alter-
nate booster antenna hidden somewhere miles away that
bounces the signal."
'*Just how powerful is this LMF-270?" Carter asked.
"On a clear night, under the right atmospheric condi-
tions, he could be heard loud and clear in Moscow."
"Thanks, I'll be back to you."
The Killmaster hung up and headed back to the table.
Now it was more important than ever that he spend a little
time in Gerald Raymond's apartment.
If Harvey Raymond's transmissions could be heard in
Moscow, then they could surely be copied in Tripoli,
Libya.
"It's getting late. I'll take you home."
Ynez shrugged and walked with him to the door.
'*You look grim ... bad news?"
"Maybe. I won't know for a while yet."
He paid the check and rejoined her at the They
were just leaving when the cashier opened the door behind
them and called, "Mr. Carter, another call!"
"I'll meet you at the car." He moved back inside and
picked up the receiver. "Yeah?"
"M15 just called. They want to know why you asked."
"Any special reason?" Carter replied.
"Yeah, your man just squirted again."
'*When?" Carter asked, little men starting to pound in
his head.
"About forty minutes ago. What should I tell 'em?"
"That I'll get up with them."
The car was parked near the Embankment: He nearly
missed it in the fog. Ynez wasn't standing beside it, so he
lit a cigarette and moved to the wall.
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fell out of a tree as a child."
119
Then they were on the bed, the dark tan of his body
blending with her naturally olive-toned skin. He twisted
her head so her mouth came up to meet his. It was a savage
kiss. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and both
arrns clung desperately about his neck and a low moan
escaped from her throat. Her head fell back away from him
limply and her eyes were closed, her face peaceful now
with a strange look of content.
"Hurry," she whispered. "I don't want to change my
mind."
"You mean you might?"
"No ... yes, no .oh, hell, I don't know."
A shudder traversed the length of her body. She opened
her eyes to his gaze and there was a little girl pleading in
them.
Carter turned to lower her unresisting body back onto
the bed. She lay back limply and closed her eyes again. A
tremulous smile fluttered across her lips. He lay beside her
and lowered his face within inches of hers. She lay with
eyes closed, quiescent and waiting, only the gradual in-
crease in the tempo of her breathing betraying the inner
excitement gripping her.
Carter kissed each eyelid gently. He moved his mouth
down her cheek to the slightly parted lips and across them.
She began to shudder again and her hands reached for him.
They came together fiercely, locking at once in a tight
union. Ynez writhed, gasping and whimpering alternately.
Carter didn't know if the were caused only by
desire, or also, to some extent, by pain; since the joining
of their bodies had been sudden and forceful.
He needn't have been concerned, however. It soon be:
came obvious that the woman was experiencing excruciat-
ing pleasure. She began to grind her hips and toss and roll,
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back and forth against him. The extreme friction was
thrilling.
He went at her avidly, not FErmitting her size to slow
him. He hurt her, he knew. But he also knew that she liked
it. Her clawing hands told him that, as did her wild little
cries and the drumming of her heels. He bucked up and
down and felt himself ascending the mountain far faster
than was usual for him. He stopped moving.
"Don't!" she shrieked. "Keep going!" A sob exploded
from her.
He started up again. She tossed herself against and
around him all the stronger, and he knew that there was no
stopping then. He only hoped that Ynez would be with him
when they tumbled over the passion crest.
As he upped the tempo, she emitted a sharp "Ah! Ah!"
Then she cried out loudly and seemed to rise to him in an
ascending spiral.
He finished at the next instant, and it was sharply ex-
plosive. When he came to rest on his elbows, to protect her
slim body from his full weight, her arms and legs were
limp as those of a rag doll.
Slipping from the bedroom, Carter closed the door
soundlessly behind him. Even though he knew the girl, in
her present state, would sleep through anything short of a
tornado, he made as little noise as possible searching.
The living room offered nothing. Even the few books
and personal items could have belonged to anyone.
Gerald Raymond's bedroom also smacked of someone
very transient. The furniture was Spartan and the desk top
was clean. A locked drawer yielded nothing but a pile of
ledgers listing purchases, sales, and commissions on every-
thing from Moroccan rugs to brass teapts.
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121
Evidently Raymond did in fact dabble in the import-ex-
port trade.
Several hand-tailored suits, a rack of ties, and three
pieces of expensive luggage were all he found in the closet.
Carter knew the luggage, and knew that that set had
three bags. Unless Raymond traveled with a very small
bag, he hadn't packed anything on his current trip.
The dresser's contents was equally sparse: a few shirts,
socks, and some underwear. The contents of his jewelry
box was exrEnsive but not lavish.
Another ten minutes of looking at what could have
hiding places revealed nothing more than a rack of shoes
beneath the tEd.
Carter stocxi in the center of the room, slowly turning
full around.
Gerald Raymond had expensive tastes but lived in a
Spartan atmosphere. It was as if the shirts, suits, and sh(B
were used rather than worn. It was the trappings of a man
using a cover, as if the clothes were a skin to be shed or put
on when necessary.
It was obvious that Raymond occupied this rcx)rn, but
did he live here?
Did he live anywhere? Or was he just passing through
life, and a small part of it was here?
The only personal items in the room was a row of
framed photos on the small mantel. One by one, Carter
picked them up and examined them.
There was a shot of Raymond and Ynez, psing for-
mally in front of the Cotswold cottage. They were both in
their teens. Another was Raymond with a tall, gaunt, gray-
haired man. Both were smiling, and Raymond was dressed
in a dark graduation gown. Carter guessed the older man
was Uncle Harvey.
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There was a ravishing shot of Ynez posed in an off-the-
shoGIder gown, inscribed "I will always look up to you and
adore you, dear Gerald ... Ynez."
Carter was about to set the photograph down, when he
noticed two edges along the bottom where it was slipped
into the frame. Using his fingernails, he tugged until a
second picture, under the photo of Ynez, slipped out.
It was of three people, a broad-shouldered, slightly
graying man, a handsome, dark-eyed woman, and a young
boy with clear bright eyes and a mop of black hair that
curled down over his forehead.
Carter stared and stared at the picture. Something about
it was jogging his memory. The old car? The whitewashed
house with the stark hills in the background?
He crossed the room and snapped on the bedside lamp.
The woman 'was beautiful, but Carter was sure he had
never seen her before. And the man could have been...
any Arab.-
Suddenly he froze, flipping the photograph over. On the
back was a photographer's signature, stamped, and above
it, in ink in Arabic script with a precise, feminine hand,
was written, "Leila and Omar Rahman, Ja'il, aged 8."
Carter flipped it back over and brought it up close to his
eyes. For a full minute he squinted at the boy, and then let
his eyes close.
It came back. The traitor in Summa, Abu Rahman. The
young boy, his back torn to shreds by splinters. The moun-
tain at the first light of dawn, binding the boy's wounds
with the torn djellaba.
No matter. I will have to kill my uncle.
The frail, almost naked body standing at the mouth of
the cave.
You have saved my life, Nick Carter, American. -I thank
you.
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123
Now the Killmaster knew why he had not been blown to
hell along with the Audi.
He replaced the picture in the frame and reset it on the
mantel. Then he slipped back into the other bedrcx)m. In
the from the window he found Ynez's purse.
From it he withdrew her wallet.
In the fourth plastic window he flipped, he found a
smiling head shot of Ja'il Rahman as he was today: Gerald
Raymond.
Ynez slept on soundlessly as he dressed and
her a quick note.
He waited until he was in the hall t*fore slipping on his
shoes. Then he hurried down the street and jogged toward
the rental car.
As he ran, he went over in his mind what he would do
with the picture, and how much good he hcpi would
come out of it.
The street was quiet, deserted. His mind was distracted.
That was why the thud on the roof of the car and the fol-
lowing whine froze him for an instant, instead of galvaniz-
ing him into action.
The second slug jerked at his coat, and Carter felt a
burning sensation across his left ann and wrist.
That moved him. He lurched across the street and then
went into a dive toward the opposite walk. He hit the ce
ment with a breath-pounding jolt, digging under his coat
for Wilhelmina.
At the same time, a third slug whined off the cement a
foot from his head.
But this time he saw the rifle, the orange spray flared
even more than normal because of the silencer. It came
from an office building across the street, third floor, comer
window.
Carter was up and running in the shadows. Another slug
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hit the pavement but several feet away.
He hit the door and found it læked. He tried kicking it,
but it was too solid. It did have a small glass pane. Using
the solid butt of the Luger, he broke it out, reached in, and
unlocked the door'
Inside was a small alcove and a stairway leading up. He
took it three steps at a time.
Third The window with the flashes had been on
the third floor, comer.
He stopped at the second-floor landing and listened. It
was an entire floor devoted to small offices—lawyers, a
dentist, a copy service, a secretarial pool—all closed down
and dark.
He heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing
and his working heart pounding blo«i through his system
at a few hundred miles
He left the hallway that led down to the second-floor
offices and moved up the stairs, the Luger ahead of him, a
live round in the chamber and the safety off, his finger on
the ü•igger with a slight pressure. There would be no time.
When—if—it came, there would be no time for anything
but just one quick reaction.
He reached the third-floor landing. It was a duplicate of
the second. Small offices on either side of a long hallway,
at the end a fire exit.
Carter paused, studying it. Everything was still, almost
peaceful. Had the guy already made it out of the building?
He could have gone down the fire escape.
Sound, the slight scrape of a chair, from one of the
offices near the end of the hallway to his right.
He moved forward in a crouch, keeping to the left, the
Luger ready and out to the right, waist high.
Just as he reached the door, there was a sudden move-
ment behind him and carpet sound. He wheeled, his finger
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taking up the slack on the trigger.
125
He'd been suckered. Yeah, the first shooter was in the
office, but he had two backups waiting in one of the offices
Carter had just pac«ed.
If the shooter didn't get him on the street, they wanted
him to come up after him. Ten to one there was another one
of them down on the street in a car somewhere.
The two behind him were rolling out of an open door
when Carter fired. He caught the upright one with two in
his middle. His gun clattered to the floor and he toppled
forward, trying to hold his guts in.
Number two was more dangerous. He had a shotgun
and was all set to spray. He was also lying flat out, which
made it a much harder shot.
So instead of shooting, Carter did just the opposite. He
let go with an ear-piercing wail and ran forward directly at
the man.
Just as the barrel of the shotgun came up, Carter
launched. He went flying over the prone body as the shot-
gun roared. The pellets smashed glass and plaster all down -
the hall, and Carter came down on his side. He rolled and
came to one knee, firing.
He emptied the magazine all along the length of the
man's body, not caring what he hit just so long as he did
hit.
He did.
Two screams and silence.
Carter holstered Wilhelmina and grabbed the shotgun.
As he ran he pumped a hot shell into the chamber.
He came down the hallway opposite the door where he
had heard the shifting chair. When he reached it, he raised
his foot, kicked it in, and fell forward on his stomach.
From carpet level he swept the room.
Nothing.
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He was in an entry cubicle that led into a lot of chrome
and leather. Carter was about to rise, when he heard the
fire exit door slam open.
He was up and running, holding the shotgun at
The fire door was Carter went through and fell into a
crouch. His man was between the first floor and the street,
taking the steps five at a time.
Impossible shot.
He started down himself. By the time he was at the
landing, his man was loping up the alley toward
the street. Carter stopped, balanced the shotgun on the fire
escape's iron railing, and fired.
There was a scream and the man flew forward, doing a
four-lx)int into some garbage cans.
Carter took off again. In the distance he could hear
sirens. In the alley he saw his quarry'pulling himself to his
feet and stumbling forward.
The distance had been too great for the shotgun to make
a complete kill. But in the light of a streetlight Carter could
see that it had been a hit. Most of the man's jacket and shirt
had been blown away and his back looked like raw ham-
burger.
Caner wiped the shotgun free of his prints as he ran and
tossed it away. There had already been too much noise.
By the time he hit the the wounded man was
heading toward a black sedan half a block away, its engine
already revved up and whining.
'Ihe car's light came on as Carter steadied the Luger on
the running figure. Its beams flashed into his eyes, making
him squint.
Just as he was about to fire, the front of the car lifted
and the rear tires screeched. The screaming of the tires was
nothing compared to the scream of the wounded man as he
was smashed forward and thrown to the pavement. By the
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127
time the sedan's rear wheels had passed over his body, he
was silent.
So much for honor among brothers in terror, Carter
thought, as the sedan shot on down the street.
And so much, he thought, as he ran like hell for his own
car, for Ja'il keeping me alive!
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FOURTEEN
Carter stood at one of the castle's umrr, slitted win-
dows, looking out at the bright sun glinting off the pre-
vious night's snowfall.
It was nearly noon and he had the whole morning,
after only two hours' sleep, going over the rest of security.
The little things they hadn't covered on the night of his
abortive raid, they had gone over in minute detail that
morning.
After the mess in London. he had phoned AXE Central
and told them the cleanup would best be handled by British
M15. Also, he wanted a rundown on identities and back-
ground of the bodies.
The AXE duty officer had almost blown his stack.
'X:hrist, Carter, if you don't let these in on just what
war you're fighting, they're not going to give you crape"
"I'm about to do that," Carter had answered calmly.
"I've got two hours before I get a plane back to Brussels.
In that time, I'm bringing a photograph in. I want it dupli-
cated and passed all over tie U.K. and Europe, especially
the Luxembourg frontiers. I'll take a good-sized stack of
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them back with me for Schloss Valkyrie security."
129
The man calmed down. "You think you've got your
"I haven't got him, but I've got a damned good line on
him. The subject in the Cotswolds is one Harvey Ray-
mond. He's a guest lecturer at Cambridge and an expert on
the Middle East. My guess is M15 has a dossier on him. If
they haven't, pass on the one that we've put together in the
last few days."
"Got it."
"Now, this is important. I want surveillance only on this
Harvey Raymond. No bugs, no arrests, and hopefully no
leak that we're on to him. That's top-priority important. If
they kick, tell them to contact me at the Schloss Valkyrie
and I'll put a NATO fire under their ass. Okay?"
"Right on. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Get the records of every airline flying in and out
of Algiers for the past year. I want to know if a British
citizen was on any of those flights, name of Gerald Ray-
mond."
There was a moan from the other end of the line.
"Every flight?"
"Every sent on every flight."
"Good God."
Carter chuckled. "That's what computers are for, pal."
Now every frontier guard and every security person at
the castle had a photograph of Gerald Raymond. Carter
didn't have much hope that it would do any good, but at
least they were trying.
Peter Reinbold's voice, cented at a table behind Carter
in the center of the room, brought him out of his reverie.
"Then you're satisfied with what I've done so far?"
"Hell, yes," Carter said. "You've done aine job, Peter.
I just have a gut feeling it's all a waste of time."
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130
"Come on, Nick, how so? My God, this place is tighter
than your Fort Knox."
"So was Troy... they thought."
Carter got himself a cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and
joined Reinbold at the table.
"Look, we've got the perimeter controlled. The air
space above this castle is out. There will be two choppers
in the air twenty-four hours a day."
Carter nodded. "So far, so gcx)d."
'The night before the meeting, the conference room will
be swept. The dogs will be brought in to sniff for explo-
sives, and then the room will be sealed and gets in
until the meeting itself. What more can we do?"
Carter shrugged and his coffee. "Pray."
Reinbold groaned and threw up his hands. "You still
think he'll try?"
"You're damned right I do. If I didn't before, I do now.
That try for me in London was for real. They know I'm
here and I'm poking. If this Ja'il doesn't come at us from
the outside, he'll do it from the inside."
"Nick, I'm telling you it's imB)ssible!" Reinbold
blurted in frustration. He waited for Carter to reply, and
when he didn't, continued. "All right, if you're so sure,
tell me what more I can do."
"I've already told you and everybody else who will lis-
ten. Convince the Israelis and the Arabs to invite Hassan
A1-Chir. He won't blow himself to hell."
Reinbold dropped his head into his hands. "We're still
trying."
'*Any results?"
"My government and yours have agreed. So have the
French."
"But not the Arabs and the Israelis."
Reinbold's lips curved in a humorless smile. "Have you
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131
ever known them to agree on anything? But we're still
tying."
"Mark my words," Carter growled, rising again and
walking to the window, "you'd try harder."
The telephone rang and Reinbold grabbed it. The con-
versation was short and terse. When he hung up, he spoke
to Carter.
"That was Bonn. They haven't got a lead on Bretoff,
but they've located his girlfriend in Wiesbaden. She's
hoisting steins in a beer hall. Why so interested in Bret-
"Because this Ja'il is a bomb man. He likes specialty
stuff like Gelemax. Gunter Bretoff has been the major
source of Gelemax in Germany and most of Europe since
the Baader-Meinhoff days."
"Maybe so, Nick, but no one has heard a whisper from
Bretoff since he went underground two years ago."
"That doesn't mean he isn't still in business. If Ja'il is
going to use Gelemax, he'll try to buy it at the source, in
Germany. It's too difficult and dangerous to transport long
distances, and he's cautious. That's how he's stayed clean
all these years. Peter ...
"What's with all the vans down there?"
The German joined him at the window and stared down
at the vast courtyard teeming with vans and rEople.
' 'Three of them are ours, unmarked and painted a neu-
tral color. That one is the caterer's. We decided to bring the
food in. That way we don't have to use a kitchen staff. Our
own security people will act as waiters. -Don'! worry about
them. Frau Baunstaffer has them all checked out; down to
the salad chef and the dishwasher."
S *Who tElongs to the blue one?"'
"Furniture people. They're taking a- table to be refine
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ished and some legs repaired." Here Reinbold laughed.
"What's so funny?" Carter asked.
"Zigmann, the custodian. I had to get between him and
Frau Baunstaffer this morning. The old man claims he did
a fine job on the table and sending it out is a waste of time
and money."
Carter smiled. "Evidently the woman won."
"She usually does. I think that's another reason old Zig-
mann battles with her. Besides hating women in general,
he can't stand having one for a boss."
Carter wandered back to the table and gazed down at the
mass of detailing every facet of the elaborate security
setup.
"Okay, Peter," he sighed, "let's •go through it all again.
There's always a hole. somewhere."
Peter Reinbold groaned and popped into his mouth his
tenth antacid tablet of the morning.
The small café was on Route 49, about a mile from the
Luxembourg frontier toward Trier in Germany. It was'
crowded with Swiss, Germans, and a sprinkling of French-
men.
Gerald Raymond, in the workingman's clothes that had
become like a second skin to him, stood at the bar sipping
coffee.
Through the front window, he saw the white van pull up
and the driver get out.
Hans Raab was a short, wide man with a face the color
of raw beef who walked solidly on the thick soles of
square-toed black boots. His very broad shoulders were
bulkily emphasized in the tight blue coveralls he wore. A
matching blue, billed cap was shoved back on his balding
head from a sweating brow. Even though it was freezing
outside, he wore no jacket.
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133
Raymond's stomach took a little jump as Raab came
through the door. He had only worked with the man pe-
ripherally, but he knew a great deal about him.
Raab was efficient, tops at whatever he did, loyal to the
point of puppy-doggishness, and a thorough sadist.
Raymond guessed that the worst part of this job for
Raab would be not being able to see the mangled bodies
the bomb they were about to plant would create.
He paused a few steps into the room and looked around,
from face to face. When his eyes found Raymond, they
paused. Raymond broke a thin cigar in half. He put one
half in his pocket and lit the other, then took his coffee to a
nearby table.
Raab sat at a vacant table next to his and ordered coffee.
For several minutes they sat, sipping, not even looking at
one another.
"Excuse me," the big man said, getting up and reaching
across Raymond's table for an extra sugar cube. In the
process he dropped a key in Raymond's coffee.
One 'swallow and, with the key in his mouth, Raymond
rose. He paid his bill and walked outside. The van was
parked with the rear end of it away from the café.
Within five seconds of disappearing behind it, Raymond
had used the key and was inside. By the time Raab crawled
into the driver's seat and started the engine, Raymond was
also in a pair of blue coveralls.
"l expected a much younger man."
Raymond only grunted. Good, he thought, the disguise
was working. He might not have to kill the big German
after all.
"You have the explosives?"
Again Raymond didn't reply. He pulled up the legs of
both his coveralls and his own trousers to reveal the
packets of Gelemax taped to his legs.
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Raab leered. "I like Gelemax."
Raymond looked up for the first time into Hans Raab's
clear blue eyes. He saw mirrored there such depths of sheer
depravity that he felt revulsion. Those eyes were old with
sin and with hatred for his fellow man.
Raymond decided he would kill Raab after all, if for no
other reason than to cleanse whatever conscience he had
left.
"Which toolboxes?" Raymond grunted.
"The two black ones. The false bottoms are released by
turning the lid release three extra times to the right. Find
"Yes."
s The grease and garlic solution is in the white kit by
your foot. "
Raymond spread it carefully over each packet of Gele-
max, and then placed that packet in the false bottom of one
of the toolboxes. By the time they had reached the frontier,
the job was done and Raymond was in the passenger seat
puffing on his cigar.
Serge Gussman was German. He had done various odd
jobs for Hassan A1-Chir over the past two years. This was
the strangest job he had ever done, but in many ways the
easiest and most profitable. The two Turks he had hired to
help him he had gotten for Irnnies. Raab worked directly
for A1-Chir, so Gussman wouldn't have to cut him in at all.
It was a snap.
Gussman listened to the woman on the other end of the
line.
'The woman has followed instructions. The table has
been delivered. You'll get a call sometime late tomorrow
evening if the release is go. Do you understand?"
do."
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The phone went dead.
135
Gussman lowered the telephone gently to its cradle. He
Stodd without moving for a moment, thick shoulders
hunched forward slightly, straining the seams of his care-
fully tailored tweed jacket. He had smooth, chubby fea-
tures with a deep cleft in his chin that gave him a deceptive
look of almost innocent boyishness. Until you looked into
his eyes. They were neither innocent nor boyish.
Gussman's eyes were round and slightly protuberant.
They were such a light blue as to almost white, an
effect that was heightened by fragmentary brows so blond
that they were practically invisible. The result was curious
and somehow frightening.
Gussman pulled a ski mask over his face and walked
into the bedroom. It was an ordinary bedroom with the sort
of furniture that comes with a rented house. The gray light
of late afternoon carne through a single window to illumi-
natethe bed on which the girl lay.
She lay on her side with her face toward Gussman,
twisting and straining futilely against the belt buckled
around her knees and the length of clothesline that bound
her wrists behind her back. A bathroom sponge was
jammed into her mouth for a gag, held in place by a soiled
handkerchief bound around her head.
Disheveled dark hair was splayed about her face, and
one eye blazed with anger at him and the other two men in
the room, who leaned casually against the opposite wall,
idly chewing on matchsticks and watching her struggles
with the impersonal interest of two scientists observing an
impaled specimen.
Her face was pale and drawn. Even with the anger in
her eyes, she looked like a child. But the breast that had
escaped from the ripped print dress and lay exposed was as
round and full as that of a mature woman..
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One of the Turks leaning against the wall moved his
head-a fraction of an inch in her direction and spoke past
the matchstick between his teeth. "Some nice stuff there."
Gussman spke dispassionately. "She's only seventeen
years old, you pig." Gussman hated Turks. He would
rather kill these two than pay them off, but it would pose
t(X) large a problem getting rid of the bodies.
"Hell of a body for seventeen."
Gussman ignored him and stepped to the to look
döwn at the girl "Can you breathe all right?"
She nodded.
"Are you hungry?"
She shook her head.
"Your mother did as she was told. You should be free in
a couple of days." He turned to the two Turks. "Follow
They did, closing the door behind them. Gussman
st01pi at the table and began counting out two stacks of
money.
"You are sure you don't want us to stay around and help
you dump her off?"
"I'm sure," Gussman replied, handing them the money.
"Your part is done. Both of you get back to Frankfurt and
stay there."
*Ihey shrugged and headed for the door.. Gussman
peeled off his ski mask and SiX)ke again just as they
outside.
"And, both of you, listen good," he said, his voice gut-
tural. "Forget this. Even if you get picked up for some-
thing, don't remember this."
As one, both nwn shrank away from the distilled vitriol
that dripped from his thick lips.
They didn't have to ask what would if they re-
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memtered. As one, they ran for their car.
137
The sound of the engine had barely died away when
Gussman set about arranging Therese Baunstaffer's
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FIFTEEN
Early-afternoon cloud cover had drifted in by the time
Hans Raab and Gerald Raymond reached the guarded pe-
rimeter of the Schloss Valkyrie and had their credentials
gone over scrupulously by three stern BfV men.
"Drive on into the courtyard," the last one said, waving
them through die tall iron gates. "But go no further until
you have seen Frau Baunstaffer."
Raab drove slowly up the lane and into the
huge courtyard. As Raab conferred with the inner gate
sentry, Raymond looked to the sky and a tiny
smile to crease his newly aged lips.
The cloud cover reached farther than the eye could see
now, completely blocking out what little heat the sun had
beamed down earlier. It would be bitterly cold up on the
roof.
Raab called out to him in the stern voice a journeyman
would use to his assistant. "Get the tools and materials out
of the truck. They have to be gone over by the dogs."
Raymond nodded and opened the rear door of the van.
By the time he had the materials and the tcx)lboxes spread
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out on the ground, another officer was bringing up two
German shepherds. For a full ten minutes the two men, the
materials, and the open toolboxes were sniffed and re-
sniffed.
"Nothing," the man replied, leading the dogs away.
Raymond let the little knot that had formed in the center
of his gut unfurl. The very worst hurdle was over. The
combined grease and garlic oil had shielded the distinctive
scent of the Gelemax from the dogs.
Raab was calling him over. A tall woman with a thin
figure, slightly graying hair, and harried features was going
over their
"The dogs found nothing?"
"No, Frau Baunstaffer."
The woman turned an appraising eye their way. "You
are not the same two who were here before, the ones who
botched the job?"
ONein," Raab replied. "That is why we are here."
"Let's do it right this time," she barked, handing their
back, turning to the sentries. "One of you help them
carry their supplies up to the roof, and, as usual, stay with
them."
The two men exchanged a quick, guarded look as they
hoisted They had both noticed the little
twitch at the corner of the woman's eye and the slight
shake in her hands. They also knew that their security
check and interrogation had been more formality than sub-
stance.
Frau Ilse Baunstaffer was far more worried the
table she had sent out that morning than she was about the
patching of a roof.
As Raymond walked up the stone stairs towaéd the rcxyf,
he glanced to his left. There, behind a large bay window,
staring directly at him, was Nick Carter.
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He tensed for only a fraction of a second, and then re-
laxed- as he remembered I eha Fani's near genius at
makeup.
He also noticed that Carter was not looking at him. The
man was precEcupied, looking straight through him.
"It's for you," Reinbold said, extending the telephone,
"as usual."
Carter crossed to the desk and grabbed the instrument.
"This is Carter."
"Nick, Jarvis Whitney, London."
Carter sighed and then chuckled. Whitney was the head
of AXE Central, London. He was glad they had brought in
the first team.
"Yeah, Jarvis, what have you got?"
'SLooks like you're on the right track with this Raymond
character. He flew into Algiers three times last year.
February, July, and November. Also twice this year, and
the last time was eight days ago."
' 'Go on," Carter said, the dark, curly hair and the chis-
eled features swimming in front of his eyes.
"He has an import-export license for the U.K., and he
did make buys •while he was there, but nothing that would
support the ex1Ense of the trip. Also, M15 did a check on
his bank accounts—expenditures, taxes, the works."
"And," Carter growled, "he doesn't make enough to
support his life-style."
"Exactly. Financially, he's about on the same level as a
shoe salesman. Impossible, on his income, to travel the
way he does."
"What about the old man, Harvey Raymond?"
"Under surveillance. He hasn't moved. They managed a
tap on the phone, but all he's called is his garage."
'Thanks for the info on Raymond, Jarvis. Stay with it."
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"Will do."
141
Carter hung up and turned to Reinbold. "Gerald Ray-
mond is our man."
The big German ncxided. "Now all we have to do is find
the bastard."
They had the tiles removed and set aside. Just as they
had IX)th the sentry who had come up with them
had retreated to the cover of a nearby chimney to get out of
the freezing wind.
Raab had the kerosene heater going strong, and the
roofing tar was bubbling nicely above it. There had been
one tough moment to get through, when the tiles were re-
moved while the sentry was still standing over them. A
blind man could see the large spot in the dried tar that had
been eaten away by the acid.
The sentry had barely glanced at it and then burrowed
his face deeper into the wraparound collar of his heavy
coat.
'SHow close?" Raab asked.
"Just a few more minutes. I'm almost down to the layer
next to the wood. Bring it out and start kneading it."
Raymond continued digging at the dried tar with a flat
trowel while the German lifted each cake of Gelemax, one
at a time, from the false bottom of the toolboxes.
Every now and then he glanced up at the sentry as he
flattened each chunk of explosive out on a tile and then laid
it aside like a pancake.
"Splash a little tar on each one for color as you finish,"
Raymond murmured.
"1 am. Shit!"
Both men looked up. One Of the wrappers had blown
from Raab's hand and flown across the roof. As they
watched, it swirled in the wind and then flattened itself
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againsg the stone not six inches from the sentry's shoulder:
Raymond hissed, "stay here!"
He stood and teetered across the stationary tiles and
over the to the chimney. As he moved he took a cigar
from his pocket and it.
"Could I get a light from you?"
"What? Oh, sure."
The sentry produced a lighter and both men to-
gether as a shield over it. Carefully, Raymond sneaked a
hand up over the other man's shoulder and walked his
fingers along the stone until they the
Gently he pulled it into his fist and wadded it.
"Thank you."
"How much longer? This wind keeps up, they'll find us
frozen up here come spring."
Raymond laughed. "Another half hour at the most."
Back with Raab, he slipped him the wrapper. "Burn the
paper in the heater as you unwrap the stuff."
Raab gritted his teeth and went back to work.
Fifteen minutes later they were ready with the pancakes
of Gelemax. Carefully, they laid them out,until there were
none left.
"All right," Raymond said, "time to share a cup of cof-
fee with our friend there."
Raab grabbed a thermos and headed across the roof.
Raymond went to work.
From a large flashlight, he extracted two small batteries
and carefully lx'und them together with black
tape. Gingerly, he mashed a metal tutE filled with fulmin-
ate down into the Gelemax. This was the detonator. An
insulated lead wire, dead, was run from the detonator
across the layer of Gelemax to an Olrn space that would be
covered by a series of tiles.
Then he took a common Accutron watch from his wrist.
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143
The watch wasn't running because its tiny transistor battery
had been removed.
He attached the detonator wire to the hand mechanism
of the wristwatch. Then, using finer wire, he very carefully
attached the receiver to the battery terminals of the watch.
The last thing was to attach the batteries to the receiver
and test it.
No problem.
When the time came, Raymond would activate the re-
ceiver from a place in the village they had already chosen.
The receiver, run by the batteries, would set the minute
hand in motion. Thirty minutes later it would hit the hour
mark, letting the charge from the batteries flow to the det-
onator. The fulminate would burn through and... boom.
"Are you going to drink coffee all day? I'm ready to
replace the tiles!"
Raab quickly returned, and together they reset all the
tiles in place.
"Will the weight of the tiles be enough?"
"More than enough," Raymond replied. "They will
force the blast downward. Also, those two skylights will
take care of anyone the blast misses. The whole room will
be filled with flying glass."
Raab almost giggled.
Just before settling the last tile in place over the cornlk)-
nents, Raymond attached the aerial to the receiver.
"Could you give us a hand with the toolboxes?"
The sentry was only too happy to oblige. His lips and
nose were turning blue.
As Raab and the sentry hauled the boxes across the
roof, Raymond strung out the aerial. Carefully, he laid it
along the tiles so it was impossible to see with the naked
eye unless the observer was on his hands and knees less
than a foot above it.
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When the aerial was secured to the chimney, he rejoined
Raaband the sentry on the climb down.
"l hope it's fixed now," the sentry said.
"Oh, it's fixed," Raab replied. "I doubt if it will give
you any trouble for years."
Facts, figures, theories, suppositions, and a hundred
other things running through Carter's mind awakened him.
His watch said midnight. He looked down, saw that he
was fully clothed, and remembered.
Ilse Baunstaffer, and he had eaten an
early dinner in the small alcove off the kitchen. All three of
them had tried to be jovial and talked of everything except
the approaching meeting and the security for it.
But, eventually, talk dwindled and the three of them had
sat, silently sipping brandy, absorbed in their own
thoughts.
Then the woman had started jabbering, almost aimlessly
but with a common thread.
She had done everything she could do. She had faith-
fully carried out every duty assigned to her. She had come
to the end of her rope, how could they expect more of her?
And then she had broken down in tears.
Reinbold had tried to comfort her: Carter had sat back
and surveyed the situation with a jaundiced eye. He had
gone over the files on everyone involved with anything at
the castle. If anyone could be considered a rock of stability,
including Peter Reinbold, it was Frau Ilse Baunstaffer.
Now, suddenly, she had done two things that didn't fit
her background or her character profile. She had taken far
t(X) much to drink during, and after dinner, and she
had broken down in tears.
Reinbold had insisted that she stay at the castle that
night rather than return to her cottage in the village. Then
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he had escorted her to the rx)rn allotted her in the castle.
When he returned, Carter voiced his questions concern-
ing the woman's stability.
"It's nothing. The woman has just been driving herself
too hard. I've worked with her before... believe me, she
is reliable."
The Killmaster accepted the explanation, but he wasn't
convinced. Years of inside people told him that Ilse
Baunstaffer was tEginning to crack. And if she were
cracking, he guessed that there was a bigger reason for it
than overwork.
He cpled his eyes wide and reached out a long arm for
his lighter and a cigarette. Lighting it, he puffed heavily
and watched the gray-blue whorls of smoke drift upward
and float across the ceiling.
He forced thoughts of the woman from his mind and
concentrated on Gerald Raymond. It all fit now, and even
though he didn't know all of the details, he could piece
most of the intervening years together.
That evening he had received a report from Israeli intel-
ligence on the Summa debacle of twenty years trfore. A
second report from M15 on Raymond had brought it up to
date.
The two reports, plus a detailed account of Hassan AI-
Chir's terrorist activities through the years, cemented it.
Ja'iVGerald had been the hand that had carried out Al-
Chir's demonic plans—and probably masterminded many
of them. The legend that had been built up as Hassan Al-
Chir was, in fact, Gerald Raymond.
It was an impressive legend, and the reason Carter was
now having so many doubts was that he was sure, no mat-
ter how tight their security or how many precautions they
took, Raymond would find a way.
Groaning, he mashed out his cigarette and rolled his feet
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146
to the floor. He was nearly undressed when the telephone
buzzed. The buttonfor the in-house connection was lit.
"Nick, we just got a call from Washington and a con-
firm from Brussels."
Sweat broke out on his forehead and, to his surprise, he
found that the hand holding the telephone was shaking.
"Talk to me, Peter—tell me we've got an early
Christmas present."
"It looks that way. Israel and the United Arab delegates
agreed this afternoon. Contact was made in Libya earlier
this evening."
"And.. 2"
"Brussels got the word about twenty minutes ago.
Hassan A1-Chir has agreed to attend the meeting."
Caner whooshed out the air he'd been holding in his
lungs. "Peter, we just might make it."
"Let's put it this way we've got a hell of a lot more
points on our side now. Get a good night's sleep for a
change."
"I do believe I will," Carter chuckled.
He slid under the thick down quilt with just that in mind
for the first night in several.
A good night's sleep.
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Raymond cut the Renault's engine and rolled silently to
a halt. Predawn fog had formed over the nearby river and
was now rolling over the town of Leuven.
"%at's it," I eha Fani said, pointing toward a small sign
a half bl(Xk away. Raymond strained his eyes, piercing the
fog to read the sign: FELTNER AND SONS. "The loading
is in the rear. We go down that alley."
He nodded and they both steplEd from the car, IcEking
it tEhind them. From the trunk Leba took a small tcx)lbox.
Raymond lifted a four-foot bundle carefully wrapped in
heavy blankets and twine.
Wordlessly, they moved down the alley and turned into
a second. It led them behind squat, two-story shops with
graying bricks and dirty windows. Leba counted off the
rear entrances under her breath, and came to a halt.
"Here."
"No regular rear door?"
"No, only the big one, there on the loading platform."
Rayrnond nodded and climbed the few steps with the
woman right behind him. Carefully, she hewi him set the
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bundle down, and then opened the She handed
him the tools as he asked for them.
"There is no quicker way?" she asked, nervously
watching him dismantle the lock mechanism.
"Yes," Raymond said dryly. "We could just blow it apart
or break one of those windows out. Then we could just
leave a sign when we leave, telling them we dropped by to
plant some explosives."
"I just asked," she replied tartly.
It took nearly twenty minutes before they could raise the
door enough to move it. After making sure that all
the pieces of the lock were carefully laid out on the con-
crete of the loading dock for reassembly, they moved inside
and lowered the door behind them.
"You go first with the flash," he said, hoisting the
blanket-wrapped bundle to his shoulder, "and keep it
shielded. "
Noiselessly, they moved toward the interior of the build-
ing, weaving their way around furniture by the light of the
narrow pin spot.
"It must still be on the first
Raymond grunted behind her and they descended to the
lower floor. The air was thick with the smell of
varnish and other ingredients for the refinishing of furni-
ture.
And then they saw it, sitting dead center in the large
workroom, a light dust cover over its gleaming top.
So often had they rehearsed the procedure, they now set
to work by the numbers.
Carefully they removed the blankets from the pedestal
leg Raymond had carried in from the car. As he compared
it to the leg already on the table, Leba set out the they
would need. This done, she wheeled over a small padded
jack and set it in place under one side of the table.
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"Did you mark the jack?" he asked. "We must leave
everything exactly as it was."
"I did. Do they match?"
"Perfectly. Whoever the lathe man is that Hassan used
in Paris, he's a genius to make such a perfect duplication
from just a photo."
Leba jacked up one side of the table while Raymond
went to work on the leg.
It was just as he had The Feltner and Sons work-
man, trcause of the need for had used modern
screws instead of wooden dowels and plugs to repair the
leg.
Carefully, he removed the braces and then went to work
on the leg itself. When it was off, he laid it beside the copy
and compared them again.
Perfect, on the outside.
The only difference was in the fat, top post of the copy.
Its center was hollowed out a full foot down into the leg.
Inside this hollow a thin lead container had tEen inserted.
By the time Raymond had satisfied himself that the
copy was perfect, I Cha had already unwrapped the equiva-
lent of two pounds of Gelemax. Together they kneaded it in
their hands and then molded it to fit in the lead container.
As each cartridge of the plasticlike explosive went into
the container, the wrapper went into the toolbox.
This done, Raymond inserted the detonator and strung
out the lead wire. He then sprinkled turpentine-soaked
wood shavings over the Gelemax and tamped them down.
He and took the batteries, watch, and receiver
from her. Hastily he duplicated in the top of the leg the
detonating device he had already planted in the roof of the
castle.
When a grease-and-garlic-smeared cover had been;
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placed over the wood shavings, he gently squeezed the bat-
teries, watch, and tiny receiver down in the hollow.
"Perfect fit," he exulted. "Give me the aerial wire!"
With the aerial wire attached, they both reset the leg.
Raymond screwed it on tightly and reattached the braces.
Using the tines of a fork squeezed together, he poked
the wire in the tiny space between the top and the connect-
ing side boards.
Through the center of the table, beneath the top, there
was a half-inch modern steel bar. It had been added years
before to combat warping and reduce the strain on the
wooden dowels originally used to hold the whole together.
When the aerial wire was attached, the steel bar acted as
a perfect conductor for the signal.
When the jack and dust cover had been replaced, Ray-
mond checked the table one more time.
"Well?" Leba asked impatiently.
"It will take more second-guessing than I think they are
capable of to figure it out. Let's go!"
It took only five minutes to reassemble the lcx•k on the
loading door.
False dawn was just breaking when they got back in the
Renault and headed north toward St. Vith.
Halfway there, Raymond stopped for gas.
"You have the pr(F coins?"
"Yes," she replied, already heading for the pay phone
inside the station.
It was picked up on the first ring.
'Gussman?"
"Yes."
"It is done," Leba said, and hung up without waiting for
a reply.
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151
In England, in the Cotswolds, Harvey Raymond was
puring his first cup of tea of the day.
It was five minutes tEfore the hour of seven.
As he did every morning, he slipÆEd from the cottage
and walked through the brisk air to his study. Inside, he
warmed up the receiver and set the frequency. When the
antenna was cranked up, he sat behind his desk and siprxd
the tea.
He fully expcted to back in the kitchen in ten min-
utes, fixing his breakfast of eggs and sausage. He was pos-
itive everything was going well. There would no
transmission this morning.
But there was, at seven sharp. He saw the needle jump
once across the dial. By the time it had settled back to
zero, he had from his chair and killed the receiver.
He then put it on internal power and activated the com-
puter.
Thirty seconds later he was staring at the unscrambled
message on the screen:
AMERICAN AGENT CARTER A MISS IN
LONDON. THREE DEAD, NET LOST. VAL-
KYRIE CANCELED. REPEAT VALKYRIE CAN-
CELED. IMPERATIVE YOU INFORM JA'IL OF
CANCELLATION AT ONCE.
"Damn!" Harvey Raymond hissed, erasing the message
from the computer's memory. With London net gone, how
in God's name do I do it? By carrier pigeon?
He paced for a full ten minutes, going over every possi-
ble option. He knew about the hunting lodge in St. Vith; it
was he who had suggested it to Leba Fani in the first place.
But there was no telephone and no contact left now in
Wiesbaden.
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152
He could contact Frankfurt, but that would involve
blowing Gerald's cover to far many Ixople.
Gussman. That was a chance, if he could get in touch
with the man. Had he left the girl yet?
Quickly, he I(Xked the study and walked to the house.
Ynez was sipping tea in the kitchen.
morning, Uncle," she said and smiled. "Must
you work txfore breakfast?"
"Just getting some air. Listen, my dear, I have to go into
the village. I won't be long."
Harvey Raymond's mood was black as he drove, and
the dismal, cloudy weather didn't make it any
Why, he wondered, did A1-Chir cancel the operation
just forty-eight hours from completion? Had something
happened to Gerald?... to Leba? No, if they had been ex-
posed, there would be no need to inform them of the can-
cellation.
"Damn!" he muttered to himself. "Damn A1-Chir for
never letting the right hand know what the left is doing!"
He parked and entered the small hotel. The proprietress,
Mrs. Lang, a short, coarse woman with fat features and
quivering hands, headed him off just before reaching the
pay phone in the lobby.
"Good day, Mr. Raymond."
"Mrs. Lang .. ." He tried to sidestep her, but one mon-
strous hip bl(Xked his way.
"Beastly weather, ain't it?"
"It always is this time of year, isn't it? Have to use the
phone. Afraid the one at the house is out again."
"The bloody cables is probably on strike, like the ones
that lays 'em," she said, cackling.
"Yes, probably so." He scrx)ted around her.
"Would you remind Ynez that we've bridge this after-
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"Yes, yes, I'll do that."
153
The contact in Brussels answered by machine:
Ccxie Red. That meant they had either gone under or been
caught up in a net. Normal. They were probably
hauling in every foreigner within five hundred miles of the
castle.
Gussman's number in Frankfurt was out of order. That
meant he would have already gotten out of the country.
Harvey Raymond would have to go himself. He called
Gatwick and got a seat on the ten flight to Brussels
and then rang Ynez.
"I'm afraid I'll have to go to London for the day, my
"Oh, Uncle, on such short-notice, and in this weather?"
"Can't be helped, I'm afraid. I'll probably be gone the
night. See you tomorrow."
He hung up and dashed for his car. Halfway there, the
cold air filled his lungs with pain, making him crouch
down and rest to get his breath.
Getting too damned old for this bloody business, he
thought, finally reaching the car at a walk but still gasping
for breath.
Between the pain in his chest and his mind filled with
thoughts of how much he must accomplish in the next few
hours, Harvey Raymond didn't notice the dark blue Bent-
ley and the white Ford Cortina.
They traded places behind him all the way across the
A40 and on south to Gatwick.
Carter paced, smoking one cigarette after another. He
was white hot with anger, but there was little he could say
or do to defuse it.
Reinbold sat behind the desk, calmly talking to the
woman in low, modulated tones: The woman herself, Ilse
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Bauristaffer, sat in a high-backed leather chair stiff as a
ramrod. Her jaw was set, her face was stark white, and the
tissue in her fingers was tom to shreds.
Carter's instincts had been right. Over breakfast the
woman had been all nerves. He had persisted. It hadn't
been a pleasant job, but his common sense had told him
that something was radically wrong.
When she had mentioned her daughter three times in
one sentence, he thought he might have it.
A few phone calls and a little more browbeating and he
got it, or at least part of it.
"Your daughter is not at home. She's not at school. The
school told us she's visiting you. She's not here, Frau
Baunstaffer. Where the hell is she?"
And then she blurted it out. Her daughter had been kid-
napped.
Reinbold had jumped right on it. Police, intelligence,
and antiterrorist squads had been alerted in four countries.
At that moment, three thousand men were •searching for
Therese Baunstaffer.
But Carter wanted the why of it.
"What did they demand, Ilse?" Peter Reinbold asked for
the umpteenth time in his quiet voice. "It wasn't money,
"No."
'*What was it, Ilse?"
' 'They wanted me to help them."
"To do what?"
*'They haven't told me yet."
"Bull," Carter growled, leaning forward until his face
was inches from hers. "What did they have you do? We've
got to know. We'll find your daughter, but we've also got
to know what you've done!"
She broke down again, her face falling into her hands.
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"I can't tell you! They will mutilate her, possibly kill her!"
"You've got to tell us." Carter's face was livid now and
his voice was a menacing growl.
"I can't I can't!"
She was on her feet screaming back at him now. Rein-
bold was around the desk in an instant, calming her, get-
ting her back into the chair. When he had accomplished
this, he nodded to Carter and the two of them moved into
the hall.
"Well, the routine isn't getting us
anywhere," Carter said, lighting yet another cigarette and
hating the taste.
"It sure as hell isn't. But I can't blame her too much,
though. That girl is her whole life."
"A1-Chir could be blowing sand," Carter said. "At the
last minute he doesn't come and we've already got a bomb
planted."
"Anything's possible," Reinbold agreed, nodding, "but
the last word is, he's on his way."
"Do we have any chance of finding the girl?"
"A fair one. They must have her close at hand, probably
on the German side of the frontier."
"Colonel ... Colonel!"
They both up. A young BfV aide of Reinbold's
in civilian clothes was running down the hall toward them,
his face flushed.
"Yes, yes, what is it, Dietrich?"
' The main switchboard just got a call from Frau Baun-
staffer's landlady in the village. You're not going to believe
this, Colonel ..
*'Dammit, man, I won't have a chance to it
until you tell me!"
' The mayor of Trier just called her. A young girl claim-
ing to be Therese Baunstaffer walked into his office a half
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hou! ago, claiming to have kidnapped. She gave him
the numtær."
"Send one of the choppers over there at once. Have her
picked up and brought here."
Carter was already running back to the office and Ilse
Baunstaffer.
Carter drank coffee and stood by, scowling as Sergeant
Tom Ebert took the old antique apart piece by piece. There
was no one else in the room.
"You're sure you don't want to split?" Ebert asked.
"I'm not kidding. This thing might have an extraction
detonator on it."
'*I've got faith," Carter said, and moved to the hot plate
for more coffee.
"Got it," Ebert suddenly whis1Ered.
Carter didn't IX)ur. He whirled and moved back to the
table. The sergeant had his head up under the side boards,
so Carter couldn't his face.
"Where?"
"Somewhere in this leg. Crank that jack up, but go
. . one crank at a time."
easy .
*Ihe palms of Carter's hands were sweat-slick as he
grasped the cold steel of the jack handle and pumped it
once.
"Again slow, very slow."
Carter did, and watched, dry-mouthed, as Ebert slowly
bent the leg and slid it from tEneath the table.
"It's cool," the man sighed. "Radio-controlled activa-
tion from somewhere outside. It activates the watch, and at
a certain time lets the juice through to the detonator."
Gingerly he pulled the metal from the center of the
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Gelemax and held it up, smiling.
"Now the stuff's just like Silly Putty."
157
"How close would the transmitter have to be to activate
that thing?"
'"Mile and a half, two at the most."
"Make me out a full report, everything, in writing."
Carter was already running toward the door and his car.
The girl was twice as calm as her mother as she sat,
sipping coffee in a long, terry-cloth robe answering their
questions.
"I really didn't know where I was, but I could see
smoke far off below me, through the trees. I just kept
walking until I found myself in the town. It was Trier."
"All right, Therese," Carter said, sliding onto the coffee
table across from where she sat on the sofa. "You say there
were three of them?"
"Yes. Two of them left last night, late. They were for-
eign, Turkish, I think. The last one was German, I'm sure
of it. I think his accent was Bavarian."
"And he left this morning, before dawn?"
She nodded. "He came in several times during the
night, but he never checked the ropes. That's why he never
noticed that I had been soaking them in the water pitcher."
"How did you know to do that?" Reinbold asked curi-
ously.
"I saw it once in a movie," she said with a laugh. "By
the time I heard his car drive away, I had them loose
enough to slip off."
Carter stood and moved to the window.' He didn't like
the smell of it. But he didn't know why.
Terese.. ."
"You say there were two phone calls?"
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"Yes. One last night the two Turks left, and one
this morning before the Gerrnan left."
Carter turned to Reinbold. "Anything on the cottage
where she was held?"
"Nothing... no items, no fingerprints. It was
rented about five days ago by a tall, attractive blond
woman. She paid for a month. We've got a description, but
I doubt if it's going to do much good."
"I doubt it too," Carter grunted. "Therese, did you hear
anything they said to each other, or anything the German
said on the phone?"
"No, I'm sorry, nothing on the phone. And the only
thing they talked to each other was me. The two
Turks wanted to rape me, I think, but the other one
wouldn't let them,"
*Ihe telephone rang.
Carter looked at Ilse Baunstaffer. Therese had men-
tioned rape as if they had only wanted to brush her teeth.
The mother looked as if she were going to faint.
"Nick, London."
He grabbed the phone like a long-lost friend. "Yeah,
Carter here."
"Nick, Jarvis Whitney. Your man got another squirt at
seven sharp this morning, and moved."
"He called his niece from the local hotel and told her he
was going to London for the day. We got it on the tap. M15
followed him to Gatwick."
Carter could feel the adrenaline surging. "Where?"
"Ticket for Brussels on the ten flight. You know
Vars Lychek?"
"Yeah. Used to be CIA Brussels."
"Still is. He's alerted, got a five-man, three-car crew
waiting at Brussels National."
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"Get back to him. Tell him I'm on the way." He hung up
and turned to Peter Reinbold. "I need one of the choppers."
"Be my guest. Something?"
"Harvey Raymond's on the way. Let's he's head-
ing for Ja'il."
In the courtyard he found a jeep and driver to take him
to the chopper pads. At the outside gate, he met EtErt in
another jeep coming in.
"Got the report, but it isn't typed," the young demoli-
tion expert called.
"Is it written?" Carter asked.
"Yeah, but my handwriting's terrible."
'*No sweat, I used to be a cryptographer."
He grabbed the sheets and motioned the driver on with a
wave.
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SEVENTEEN
The cars 'were good. One was a battered old Renault
dressed up like one of the free-lance mini-cabs that littered
Brussels. Another was an ancient Ford Cortina, and the
third a big Bentley complete with chauffeur.
"We'll use the Bentley as a control car. Also, if he hits it
on foot, we have room to spare for men to work from."
Vars Lychek was a tall, solidly built man, but with
cxidly narrow shoulders. He wore his graying hair in a crew
cut and constantly had a pilE stuck in his jowly face. All
these things, plus his tweedy dress, gave him the aprxar-
ance of an ex-Marine who had turned into a university pro-
fessor.
"They pick him up yet?"
S' Yeah. No baggage, so he through customs.
He's at the cabstand now."
"Damn," Carter hissed. "It would be tcx) much luck if
Ja'il were in Brussels. Any hint from London that he
tagged the M15 people at the airport?"
"None. A Miss Russell is with him. She's at the cab-
stand now. She'll follow until we pick her up."
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Radio Main crackled from the mounting behind the
front seat. "Vars?"
'S Yeah, Ken, go ahead."
"Subject took a cab. He's headed downtown."
"This is Vince in Two. Got him out of the main gate."
"Chuck, let's go... but stay far back."
The Bentley purred forward and in no time they were on
the wide thoroughfare leaving the airport.
"M15 agent is in a cab between us."
' 'Got you, Ken. Trade places with Vince. Does subject
look nervous?"
"Don't think so."
The next twenty minutes was nothing but seesaw talk.
Finally they hit the downtown area around the Grand-
Place and circled.
"Subject decabbing on Maison du Roi. M15 woman
agent a block behind. She's hit the bricks."
"Vince, is he walking?"
"Yeah, a good clip on La Montagne, heading your
way."
"Vars, this is Ken. I picked up M15."
"'Keep her with you for the time being, Ken," Vars said.
'GA couple looks more natural."
"Will do."
"He ducked into the Royal Windsor."
"Chuck, take a right and park, fast," Vars barked, and
turned to Carter. "There's a side entrance."
The Bentley had barely halted when, through the
smoked glass, they saw Harvey Raymond exit from the
side entrance to the hotel. He paused, looked briefly up the
street, and then started walking at a rapid clip in the oppo-
site direction.
"Hess heading back into the Grand'Place," Vars said.
"If we drive in there, he'll spot us."
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Carter one of the walkie sets. He stuffed the
thiii battery pack inside his inner pcxket, clipped the mike
to his tie, and put the earplug in his ear.
"I'll walk him," he said, leaping from the car.
He started up the opposite side of the street from which
Raymond was walking, giving the man plenty of leeway
and barely keeping his head in sight.
"This is Vince. We're parked. Subject is just passing us
head-on. Jesus, he's staggering ... his face is white as a
sheet. The bastard looks sick!"
"Carter has him on foot."
"Carter, Vince."
"Yeah," Carter breathed toward the mike on his tie.
"Head down La Madeleine—you'll run into him. And
you won't have to hurry ... he's barely moving."
"Got it."
A block later, at the intersection of Duguesnoy, Carter
saw him. The man's face was white and he wasn't moving
too steadily. Now and then he would pause, lean against a
building for support, and shake his head.
"This is Carter. He's heading for the train station, and
you're right, he looks like he's on his last legs."
Harvey Raymond couldn't understand the dizziness he
felt. It had started at Gatwick and gotten worse on the
plane.
Now he had a sudden shortness of breath and occasional
chills.
But he had to follow procedure. He was sure he wasn't
being followed, but procedure was everything, especially
when it was Gerald and Leba who would suffer if he
someone to them,
Just ahead he saw the huge brick and concrete building
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163
with the familiar logo and the words Gare Centrale above
the entrance.
He could make it once he made the last evasion and
could sit down in a cab.
Carter had stayed over a hundred yards behind the man.
But when he saw him head down the stairs toward the
express tracks, he sped up. He knew he would have diffi-
culty reaching the subway-type train if one came immedi-
ately.
He reached the platform just as the quiet, sleek train
was pulling in. Raymond was moving toward one of the
doors as the cars pulled to a stop.
"Nick, this is Vars. Look to your right!"
Carter did. 'The CIA agent was standing with a crowd
about fifty yards down the platform to his right. Vars gave
the sign that if Raymond boarded the train, he would board
with him.
The Killmaster understood. It would be his job to stay
on the platform in case Raymond tried to evade. He got
change from one of the machines, and waited.
He watched Raymond board, and farther down the plat-
form he saw Vars step into the train.
Just as the doors - were closing, Raymond quickly
stepped back through. Vars had no time. Carter stayed by
the change booth, watching the old man in the mirror of a
cigarette machine. He seemed hesitant about his next move
as he stood staring up and down the empty platform.
S' What's happening down there? This is Vince."
"Vars is on the train, southbound. Subject is heading
back to the street."
"I see him. Ken!"
"1'11 pick up Vars at the Grand Sablon station.
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Carter headed back toward the street. On top of the
steps he craned his neck to per over the heads of the mov-
ing people.
"Vince, Carter: I've lost him."
"Turn left from where you are, hit the intersection,
cross, then left. It's a little-bitty street called Rue Perot."
"Got it," Carter said, and off at a fast pace. When
he hit Rue Perot he turned left. There was no sign of Ray-
"Vince, I don't see him."
"It's a bunch of small car alleys in there. You're on your
own, buddy. I go in there driving, we blow it,"
Suddenly a female voice came through the set. "Mr.
Carter, this is M15 Russell. I am at Rue Perot and Rue
Samand. Subject just went into a pub called Le Pub.
Quaint, eh? Turn left at the next block and you'll see the
sign."
Carter did as he was told. At the comer he couldn't spot
the M15 woman, but he did see the bar.
"Water, please, just water. I'll pay for it."
"There is no need for pay, monsieur. You are ill?"
"No, no ... just a little pain,"
But it was more than just a little pain, and Harvey Ray-
mond knew it. He had almost blacked out twice in the
railway station. Now he could hardly get his breath, and
the recurring pain in his chest was constant.
Too much excitement for tcx) many years.
But not now, he thought. Why now?
*Ihe water came and he sipped it slowly, gratefully. It
helped, a little. He aware of people around him, at
the bar, in the booths, people coming in, going out. He
stared at them, through them. He was searching for a tele-
phone.
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The misty film that had formed over his eyes, the pains
in his chest, the dizziness. They all told him he wasn't
going to make it.
Ynez.
He would have to call Ynez. Gerald would curse him
for it, but there still might be a way to keep the truth from
her.
He stared harder, trying to focus his eyes.
Le Pub was a small café that had tried to model itself
after an English pub, as had so many in Brussels. It con-
sisted of a large rectangular room housing a bar, a dozen or
so stools, and a few tables and chairs against the opposite
wall. A large mirror ran the length of the room behind the
bar. In a comer, mounted above the bar, was a television
No one appared to notice Carter as he entered. Several
men were seated at the bar drinking and watching the tele-
vision. A few men and women sat at scattered tables. Ray-
mond, seated on a stool near the door, was ordering from
the bartender. It was not a good surveillance situation.
Only three stools were two were right next
to Raymond. Carter was tempted to take the one farther
down the bar, but decided instead on one of the tables
along the wall.
The moment he had ordered a beer he guessed it had
been a bad idea to come in at all.
Raymond's watery eyes were focused right on him and
they weren't wavering. The suit Carter was wearing was
obviously American or English, as was the tie. On top of
that, he had forgotten to take the two-way plug Out of his
He sighed as he paid for the beer. It had been a long
day. Hell, a long week.
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When the waiter moved out of the way, he saw that
Raymond had zeroed in on him. The man's glassy stare
was riveted on every move he made.
The Killmaster couldn't be sure, but he was guessing
that he had been made.
Just then, he sensed rather than saw the woman
down on him from his right.
"Hello, darling," she said, brushing her lips over his
cheek and then standing by the booth as if for inspection.
As Carter stared at her, he tried his IESt. not to look
perplexed. She was about twenty-five, about five-five, and
about a hundred and twenty Her head was bare,
her hair golden yellow, soft and wavy and not cut short,
but falling almost to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth
and creamy, and her mouth was full and delicate and softly
alluring, and she had a small nose with just enough tilt to it
to make it provocative. She had a well-curved, full-hipped
body and perfu•t, nylon-sheathed legs. She was wearing a
tailored gray flannel suit, and carried a large black leather
shoulder bag and black gloves.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, darling, but you know
hairdressers ... everything has to just so."
She slid into the booth, and as she kept chattering it
dawned on Carter. The woman clasping his hands and nuz-
zling his neck with her nose was Russell, M15.
He glanced at Harvey Raymond. The man had lost all
interest in them.
'*I'm just glad to see you," Carter sighed.
"l thought you would be," she replied, and then lowered
her voice. "He's getting a handful of change from the bar-
tender."
"Does he look like he's leaving?"
"Yes."
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When the waiter moved out of the way, he saw that
Raymond had zeroed in on him. The man's glassy stare
was riveted on every move he made.
The Killmaster couldn't be sure, but he was guessing
that he had been made.
Just then, he sensed rather than saw the woman
down on him from his right.
"Hello, darling," she said, brushing her lips over his
cheek and then standing by the booth as if for inspection.
As Carter stared at her, he tried his IESt. not to look
perplexed. She was about twenty-five, about five-five, and
about a hundred and twenty Her head was bare,
her hair golden yellow, soft and wavy and not cut short,
but falling almost to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth
and creamy, and her mouth was full and delicate and softly
alluring, and she had a small nose with just enough tilt to it
to make it provocative. She had a well-curved, full-hipped
body and perfu•t, nylon-sheathed legs. She was wearing a
tailored gray flannel suit, and carried a large black leather
shoulder bag and black gloves.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, darling, but you know
hairdressers ... everything has to just so."
She slid into the booth, and as she kept chattering it
dawned on Carter. The woman clasping his hands and nuz-
zling his neck with her nose was Russell, M15.
He glanced at Harvey Raymond. The man had lost all
interest in them.
'*I'm just glad to see you," Carter sighed.
"l thought you would be," she replied, and then lowered
her voice. "He's getting a handful of change from the bar-
tender."
"Does he look like he's leaving?"
"Yes."
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"Then let's fly the ourselves," he murmured,
dropping a bill on the table and heading for the door with
her in tow. "Vince?.. .Ken?"
The replies came at once.
"He's coming out... track him."
"Got him. He's backtracking, opposite direction from
Carter and the woman walked faster, took a corner, and
headed around the block.
Two minutes later, Vars Lychek's voice came back on.
"He's heading back for the train station."
"Come on!" Carter said, and they broke into a run.
In the next few minutes, his estimation of the woman
went up several points, As they ran, she the blond
wig and fluffed her real, dark brunette hair. Next she shed
her suit jacket, reversed it to a deep burgundy, and put it
back on again.
By the time they hit the Boulevard L'lmpératrice a
hundred yards from the station, she was a different woman.
"Good show," Carter said. "You stay close, I'll lay
back. There he is, heading into the station!"
She nodded and picked up her pace, slipping on a pair
of dark glasses. Carter slowed and began to amble. This
time he hoped Raymond would take a train.
There were six pay phones just inside the entrance to the
station. Harvey Raymond lurched into one and closed the
door behind him.
He punched coins into the slot and began to dial. He had
to do it by feel because it had become impossible to shake
the mist from his eyes. Also, the pain in his chest'was like
a vise now.
On the tenth ring, he rememtEred: Ynez would be at the
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hotel in the village playing bridge with Mrs. Lang and her
other fat friends.
He got an orrrator to get information in England. It
mk nearly fifteen minutes to get the and ring
through. By that tinw, he knew.
He could barely breathe and he was blacking out.
'Crown's Inn."
' 'Mrs. Lang, this is Professor Raymond ... "
"Oh, Professor, Ynez said you'd gone up to London.
How's the--—
"Mrs. Lang, I must speak to Ynez at once."
"Oh, Professor, you don't sound—
"Dammit, woman, put my niece on the line at once!"
' 'Well, I never..
It was only a few seconds, but the wait seemed inter-
minable.
"Uncle, is anything wrong?"
"Yes and no. Listen, Ynez, I want you to go to Gerald
at once."
"Gerald? Uncle, what's wrong?"
"Don't ask questions, Ynez, just do as you're told
and quickly. Do you have your passport with you?"
"Yes, I always carry it."
' 'Good, you won't even have to go back to the cottage.
Now, here is what you must do."
He told her to fly out of Gatwick to Brussels and rent a
car. Then he gave her explicit directions for reaching the
hunting lodge in St. Vith.
"And that's all you want me to tell him... 'Valkyrie is
off'?"
"That's it, and hurry! You must hurry, Ynez—it is vi-
tally important!"
"Uncle, you sound ill. What——
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"I'm fine, Ynez. Hurry!" He hung up and painfully
brushed the from his face with a sleeve. It was
a chore, a struggle, to push the folding door 0Frn.
When he did, he stepped from the booth and the final,
chest-tightening pain began.
Carter was at the newsstand. Down toward the tracks he
saw Vars Lychek. Two other agents were near the door,
and Russell was two booths down from Raymond. Carter
only hoped she was able to hear snatches of the conversa-
tion.
"Nick, he's coming out. Jesus, he's going down.. s"
Carter whirled. Raymond was on the floor, gasping,
holding his chest. Russell was already bending over him
and a crowd was gathering.
He broke into a run and shouldered people aside. "Make
way, make way, I'm a doctor."
He glided to his knees beside Raymond just as Russell
looked up and shook her head. "He's dead," she whis-
pered. "Looks like a heart attack."
By that time, Vars and his men were with them. "What
"Dead," Carter said. '*Use your clout. I want a look at
everything on him... clothes, wallet, everything."
He took the M15 woman aside by the elbow.
"Did you hear anything at all?"
"Not a word. He barely whis1Ered."
"Damn."
Carter darted into the same bcx)th Raymond had used.
"Operator, a call was just made from this number. Can
you tell me where the call went? This is a police matter."
"I'm sorry, sir, we wouldn't have that information, and
if we did, we couldn't give it out without written—
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Carter slammed the phone down and stepped from the
booth. An ambulance had already arrived. Vars Lychek
moved to his side.
"I talked to a friend, local gendarme. No problem on the
personal stuff."
"Good. Itemize it and leave out nothing. Here's a Lux-
embourg number where I can be reached."
He started to move away, and Russell, the M15 agent,
took a few steps with him.
"Sorry."
"Not your fault," Carter said. "l just wish you had su-
hearing."
He was already running for a cab. It was a guess, but he
thought he knew what had suddenly brought Harvey Ray-
mond from England.
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EIGHTEEN
They had abandoned the Renault two miles before the
frontier and walked across on snowshoes. Both were fit, so
it was steady going with only a few short stops for rest.
Now they were about three miles from Schloss Valkyrie
and descending through the thick forest.
The light was changing even as Raymond glanced up
through the dark, bare branches of the trees. The sun was
already half down behind the western crest of the mountain
far in front of them on the other side of the valley. And
from the center of the valley, the craggy hill rose like a
stone needle with its tip the fortress.
The whole area was flooded with red. It would be a half
hour to dusk, and then another hour until dark.
The timing was perfect.
They climbed another hundred yards and then de-
scended again. *i few moments later, Leba caught up with
him and grasped his elbow.
"There, where the smoke is rising!"
Raymond only nodded and veered to the left. Twenty
minutes later they stoplEd just inside the trees and dis-
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carded the snowsh(Es. The heavy hardware was dismantled
and stored in their backpacks. They carried the pistols in
their belts under their coats.
Raymond squatted and brought a pair of high-powered
binoculars up to his eyes.
Leba had chosen well. The small chåteau was far from
the main road, accessible only by a rutted, narrow lane. As
the crow flies it was about two miles straight across from
the castle. Even from there Raymond knew he yould have
a perfect view of one side and the front of Schloss Val-
kyrie.
They regained the path and walked the rest of the way
down.
The house stood on a rise amid flattish ground separated
from the rutted dirt road by a low stone wall that could be
jumped over. This they did, ignoring the rusting gate.
It stood back fifty yards from the wall without so much
as a bush or tree in front of it. But there were trees behind
it, thick, as far up the mountain as the eye could see.
It was two stories, built long and low except for two
gabled rooms, one on each wing.
"What do you think?"
"Perfect," Raymond replied. "There is more than
enough room on the front lawn for Raab to land the heli-
copter."
They walked up the stone steps leading to the wide
porch. The porch itself was wood and creaked slightly
under their feet. The door was massive, oak. There was no
electric doorbell, bui rather an old-fashioned manual bell
with a handle that had to be turned to produce a ring. The
only sound they could hear as the bell died out was the
ticking of a big clock beyond the door.
Suddenly, French doors were opened directly above
them and a tall woman in a severe black dress stepped out
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on the balcony. Herdark hair was pulled back in a tight
knot and, with the dark glasses she wore, she resembled
the old-time notion of the traditional schoolmistress.
"What do you want?"
"I'm afraid we've had an accident. Our motorbike
veered off the lane and now it's mired down. I wonder if I
could use your phone?"
"I don't tElieve in telephones. They are a nuisance.
Don't have one."
Gerald Raymond already knew this—as well as the
woman's name, Berta Kirkmann, and the answer to his
next question—but he forged on. "Then, I wonder if your
husband could give me a hand?"
"My husband has gone to hell. You'll have to help
yourselves. There is only myself and my son."
The woman started to step back into the room, but Ray-
mond called up again. "I wonder if my wife could wait in
the house while I fetch help from the village. She's hurt her
leg, you see, and it is bitter cold."
The woman's stern features got stemer as she looked
from Raymond to Leba.
"Please, my leg is very painful," Leba said in her best
little-girl voice.
The woman seemed to hesitate, but then she said, "One
moment." The closed.
Raymond pulled the pistol from his belt and held it just
behind his right leg. When the huge oak door 01xned, he
stepped forward, shoving the muzzle into the woman's
stomach.
"Where is your son, Frau Kirkmann?'? •
ne woman screeched and arced the -talons of e both
hands toward his face. But she wasn't fast enough and
Leba struck like a snake. The side of her hand thudded into
the woman's neck, and before she could right herself, Leba
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had both her arms pulled painfully behind her up to the
shoulder blades.
"What do you want? For God's sake, please leave us
"We need the use of your house for just a few hours,
Frau Kirkmann," Leba said. "Now, where is your son?"
"Go to the devil!" Another guttural scream as Leba
riPIEd the wrists upward.
"Where is he, you hag?"
"Upstairs, the right wing, second door. He's napping.
Don't hurt him!"
"l assure you, madame," Raymond said, moving up the
stairs, "the only harm that can come to you will be your
own doing. Put her in the cellar!"
He entered the room without a sound. The boy was
sleeping peacefully, only his dark curly head showing
above the quilt.
"Alfred?" He shook him gently by the shoulder.
"Alfred, wake up!"
The eyelids fluttered and lifted. Two jet-black eyes
stared up at Raymond and widened. "Who are you?"
"A friend of your mother's, Alfred. She needs you
down in the wine cellar. Come along."
They were in the conference room, standing around the
now repaired and reinstalled antique table. Peter Reinbold
and Carter silently watched Sergeant Ebert finish his mea-
surements of the room and then scratch out his calcula-
tions. It seemed to take forever.
Finally he looked up from the jumbled pad. "Fifty-
fifty."
"l like layman's terms, Sergeant," Carter rasped, "but
could you be even a little more succinct?"
"Sure. Two pounds of Gelemax, given the size of the
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room, the proximity of the people in it, and the area of the
initial concussion, you'd have a fifty-fifty chance of
knocking everyone off. I'm not saying you wouldn't have
quite a few walking wounded, but there's a fifty-fifty
chance that the blasts wouldn't kill everybody."
Carter glared at Peter Reinbold and resumed pacing. "l
think that nails it. The table's å smoke screen, a decoy. I
think there's another tx)mb."
"Oh, c'mon, Nick," Reinbold said. "Don't look a gift
horse in the mouth. We've nailed it."
"Bull. Ja'il wouldn't be satisfied with a fifty-fifty
chance. He's too good, t(X) experienced, and too ruthless.
He'd want a total body count or he would consider the
mission a failure."
"You can't be sure of that, Nick."
Carter stopped by the window. "I'm as sure of it as I'm
sure he's out there somewhere, watching... waiting.
"Yeah?"
"What would have been the risk for Ja'il that the dogs
would have sniffed out the Gelemax through the turpentine
and the treated grease?"
"Pretty slim."
Carter whirled. "But there would have been a chance?"
Ebert shrugged. "Yeah, a slim chance. Had the whole
thing been encased in lead or steel, there would have been
no chance. But if be had done that, the blast would have
been less effective."
Carter gave Reinbold another long stare, and the Ger-
man threw up his hands.
"What the hell, even in the assassination business there
has to be a margin for error."
Carter stomped to the table and sat. "Not the way Ja'il
dCB it. "
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"Christ, Nick, the man is human!"
"I don't think so. Therese Baunstaffer escaping from her
kidnappers. A seventeen-year-old girl? Bull again. These
guys don't make those kinds of mistakes. No, Peter, the
table was a blind. There's another bomb somewhere, and I
think Ja'il is just waiting to explode it."
"Point," Reinbold said. "You're telling me this Gerald
Raymond would blow up Hassan A1-Chir, the man who
gives him his orders?"
Carter mashed out his cigarette and looked from one
man to the other. Until now he had kept the theory to him-
self, but now he felt it was time to voice it.
"Harvey Raymond got a squirt transmission at seven
o'clock this morning. He went into the little village near
his cottage to make a call out of the country. He didn't get
an answer, so he hightails it to Brussels."
"To make an eyeball contact," Reinbold said.
"Right. And I think that eyeball contact was with Ja'il.
When you have a hunter deep in the bush with no way of
communication, that's the only way to contact him."
"But--
'*Let finish," Carter said, holding up his hand. "Let's
suppose the squirt to Raymond was a message telling him
to get to Ja'il and stop the Valkyrie kill."
Slowly, Reinbold's face widened with understanding.
' 'And Harvey Raymond has a heart attack, so he can't get
to Ja'il."
Carter nodded. "That's my guess. That would mean
Ja'il doesn't know A1-Chir is going to be in here. He'll go
ahead with the blow."
"Mein Gott. "
There was a knock on the door and an aide stepped into
the room. 'Colonel .. ."
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"Major Franholtz on the line from Wiesbaden."
"Excuse me."
Reinbold left the room and Carter cruised to the win-
dow. Down in the courtyard, another limousine was dis-
charging another VIP and his entourage. It would be full
darkness in another half hour, and by then they would all
be in the castle. And tomorrow morning, by ten
they would all be in this room.
Carter hopd they would all still be alive by ten-thirty.
Gerald Raymond chose the large room in the west wing
gable to set up his equipment.
It was a big round room, with windows in every direc-
tion but one, that wall stark white plaster with a fireplace
in it. An oak settle sideways trfore the mantel-
piece, and a black oak staircase, not large but graceful and
finely carved, ascended along the rear of the right-hand
wall. The dark red tiles of the floor, though uneven with
age, had been scrubbed until they had almost ceased to be
dull. There was an antique spinning wheel in one corner
and a grandfather cl(Ek in the other.
But most of all, Raymond was conscious of the atmo-
sphere he breathed, an odor peculiar to such old houses. It
wasn't unpleasant, but a combination of a faint dampness,
the smell of the polish uqed on oak, the smell of the old
wood itself. It was reminiscent of a schcx)lroom, the more
so as this particular room was lighted by only one electric
bulb hanging from the central beam.
Raymond hummed as he set up This transmitter, the
battery-powered booster, and strung the antenna, All in all,
it would be a very pleasant room in which to spend the next
fifteen or sixteen hours.
When he was finished with the equipment, he pulled a
chair next to the largest window facing Schloss Valkyrie
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O
and adjusted the binoculars.
Beneath them, his sensual lips curved in a smile. The
limousines were still arriving. Before long they would all
inside.
Behind him he heard Leba enter the She would
bringing them up some food.
"Did you check for any other way out of the cellar?"
Raymond asked.
'*Yes, it's secure. What do you see?"
He lowered the glasses and turned to her, smiling. 'The
rcx)f...
She, too, was smiling as she set the tray on a table,
stood, and pulled her sweater over her head. "I recognize
that smile."
"I knew you would," he replied, meeting her halfway.
"Yes, sir?"
"Figuring that there is another bomb, and figuring that
Ja'il is using the same equipment in the second one.. v"
"I'm way ahead of you," the sergeant replied. "It's like
I told you before ... maximum two miles, and I mean not
many feet over that. And he would have to have a fairly
clear shot at that... not t(X) many trees, and no mountains.
That signal is ground wave, like a radio signal on low
frequency. It d(Esn't skip well at short distances."
Carter moved to the other side of the room and gazed
across the valley toward the forested mountains.
"I know you're out there, you bastard," he hissed under
his breath. "But where?"
Behind him, Peter Reinbold burst back into the room.
"Nick, our people found the explosives dealer."
"Gunter Bretoff?"
"Ja, He'd carved himself out a makeshift home in one
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of the old river caves north of Wiesbaden."
179
Carter held his breath and let it out slowly. "Did they
take him alive?"
Reinbold smiled. "Better than that. Major Franholtz
took him alone so he could have a private interrogation."
It was Carter's turn to smile. He knew only t(X) well the
kind of "private interrogation" the man had been put
through. They were playing real hardball now, and there
wasn't time for games.
"Did he talk?" the Killmaster asked.
"He did. Franholtz gave him one hell of a deal: if he
talked, he could walk out of the cave alive. Nick, he made
a Gelemax sale five days ago... to a blond woman. The
description matches the woman who rented the cottage
where Therese Baunstaffer was held."
"Bingo," Carter whispered. S'How much Gelemax?"
"Ten punds."
Carter looked at Ebert. 'Two pounds in the table."
' 'I'd say," the sergeant "that eight punds of
Gelemax in the right place would just about put this room
—what was left of it—right down there in the lake."
"Peter, I want topographical maps, leases, tax records,
everything you can get me about land and buildings for two
miles around this place, and a profile on the residents."
"A half hour," the German said, and bolted for the door.-
"And one other thing. That custodian... the old man?"
"Zigmann?"
"Yeah. How long has he lived in this valley?"
'Eighty-three years. He was born here."
"Get his ass up here." Reinbold went out thedoor and
Carter turned back to the window.
"I'll get you yet, you bastard."
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NINETEEN
Ynez parked in the driveway, got out of the car, and
stood for a moment studying the hunting lodge. It was dark
and there were no signs of life.
"Gerald?" she called, and reacted with a start when her
call was answered by the guttural hoot of an owl.
At last she summoned the courage to walk forward and
up to the door. She expected no answer, and got none.
' 'Gerald... it's me, Ynez."
The lodge was spooky, and there was no end to the night
sounds coming from the surrounding trees. She ventured
around to the side, as far as she could go in the headlights
of the rented car, and rose to the tips of her toes to peer
into a window.
The place looked empty, with sheets for dust covers
over the furniture and a general aura of musty abandon-
ment.
Was Gerald to arrive? But Uncle Harvey had
told her to hurry. Perhaps Gerald had arrived and then gone
into St. Vith for dinner.
Ynez decided to do the same.' She herself hadn't eaten
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all day. If she didn't run into her cousin in St. Vith, she
would eat, and return later.
It was a short drive, and twenty minutes later she was
sitting in the dining room of a charming hotel in the center
of the village.
"Would mademoiselle care for an aperitif?"
"No, thank you, just tea, please, and... " Ynez ordered
and the woman left. She folded the large, ornate menu and
set it to the side, but the picture on its face caught her eye.
So did the large bold letters above it: VALKYRIE.
"There we are ... cream?"
"Yes, please. Uh ... what is this?"
"Oh, that's Schloss Valkyrie. It's our biggest tourist at-
traction, just over the frontier in Luxembourg."
"A castle?"
"Yes, it is quite srEctacular. You should see it while you
are here," the woman said. "Your food will be here
shortly."
She bustled away, and Ynez picked up the menu again.
It couldn't be just some coincidence. Uncle Harvey had
said, "Valkyrie is off." What did it mean? Her uncle and
Gerald were always involved in some mysterious business
deal. This one must be at this Schloss Valkyrie.
Perhaps that's where Gerald is right now, she thought.
The food came and Ynez began to eat. When she fin-
ished she would go back to the hunting lodge, and if her
cousin still hadn't arrived, she would drive across the
border tp this Schloss Valkyrie.
The old custodian, Zigmann, was a gold ming of infor-
mation. He knew everyone for miles around, and their an-
cestry back for at least two centuries. He also knew every
house, every building, and probably évery tree on every
piece of land.
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But his vast knowledge of the area and the people had
also -proved to be a detriment. He insisted on reiterating
every detail before going on to another.
It was taking time, too much time. But right now he was
their best bet.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Ebert was closeted with Ilse
Baunstaffer, going over every minute detail of work done
in, on, and around the castle since her arrival. There was
an outside chance he could come up with something.
Carter left the custodian with Peter Reinbold, and made
his way to the third-floor suites where the VIPs had been
housed with their personal bodyguards and entourages.
He was gambling that he had one last ace-in-the-hole to
play if nothing else worked.
"Hassan A1-Chir?" he asked an armed guard in the vast
hallway.
' 'The suite at the end of this hall."
A dark-faced mountain of a man with onyx-black eyes
answered his knock.
"My name is Nick Carter. I am asscw•iate head of secur-
ity. I want to see Hassan A1-Chir."
"Wait here."
The giant moved through the second door of the alcove
into the main sitting room of the suite, and a clone took his
place.
He was back in less than a minute. 'Come with me."
Carter didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't
what he found.
Hassan A1-Chir was tall, gaunt to the point of emacia-
tion. So much so that the suit he wore looked terrible and
hung on him ill-fittingly. His lips had a bluish cast, and he
was unable to hide the palsy in his hands.
So this, Carter mused, is the most feared terrorist in the
world.
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But the cynicism Carter felt was somewhat blunted
when he looked into the man's eyes. They, like the livid
scar on the side of his face, burned with an intensity that
belied the obvious sickness that had invaded the rest of the
man's body.
"Mr. Carter, we meet at last. How many years have you
been trying to kill me?"
The man's voice was low and sonorous. It was heavy
with the sound of command and authority. He didn't offer
his hand and neither did Carter.
'Too many, A1-Chir, far many."
"I assume you are not here to welcome me, so what do
you want?"
"I know that Gerald Raymond is Ja'il."
Only A1-Chir's right eyebrow raised slightly. "I am
afraid the significance of that escapes me. I have never
heard either name."
"What about Harvey Raymond?"
A shrug. 'The same."
"Then let me bore you with a little story," Carter
growled. "Harvey Raymond left England this morning. I
tElieve he was on his way here. I think he was coming here
to tell Ja'il to call off an assassination attempt. I think he
was doing this on your orders."
The smile crinkled the scar. "You say this Raymond was
in England? I haven't in England for years."
Carter's jaw clenched and he had to pause to get a grip
on himself. One quick thrust, a blow to the windpipe, and
the man would be dead.
Ah, he thought, a consummation devoutly to be wished!
But hardly feasible.
"Harvey Raymond died of a heart attack this afternoon
in Brussels. I think he died before he could get to Ja'il."
Damn the man, Carter thought, not even the flick of gn
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eyebrow this time. The man was as cold as ice.
"l leave it up to you and your Irople, Carter, to provide
adequate security. If you do not, and anything happens to
me or any of the others, the embarrassment will be yours
and the German government's."
"I could call off the conference," Carter said.
"You could. It would be a sign of further intransigence
on your sides' parts. In fact, I would almost welcome it."
I know you would, damn you, Carter thought. A monkey
wrench in this meeting is all you want anyway.
"Do you think, Mr: Carter, that I am afraid to die?"
"No, I know you're not afraid to die. if you
can take a few others with you in the process."
Carter turned on his heel and walked out.
There were two heavy trucks and one car in front of her
at the frontier. Ynez couldn't understand it. She had driven
across Luxembourg several times in the past. It had always
been a completely open frontier.
What was going on now that required all this security?
She had half a mind to turn around and go back to St.
Vith. Because of a flat tire and all the holdups, it was
nearly two o'clock in the morning. Surely, if Gerald were
at Schloss Valkyrie, it would be tcx) late to see him now.
At last it was her turn.
"Papers, please."
Ynez handed over her driver's license, the car's rental
papers, and her passport.
"Your business in Luxembourg, Fräulein Khadivitt?"
She ruffled. ' 'To see someone. What is going on here?"
"Security, Fräulein. One moment, please."
The uniformed officer moved beyond her lights and
conferred with two men in civilian clothes. One of them
approached the car.
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'"Gocxi evening, Fräulein. I am Lieutenant Hermann
Vogler, German BfV counterintelligence."
"Gcx,xi heavens, what are you doing in Luxembourg?"
He ignored her. 'SKhadivitt. I believe that is an Arab
name, is it not?"
Now she really bristled. "It's Iranian, but I am a British
subject. Now, would you mind ..
"What is your destination in Luxemtx»urg, Fräulein?"
"The Schloss Valkyrie. I'm IcK)king for my cousin. I
believe he's there on business."
As she said this, Ynez noticed sudden alertness in the
men's faces. Two of them brought their machine pistols up
and moved closer to the car.
"And what is your cousin's name, Fräulein?"
"Raymond. Gerald Raymond."
Both doors were yanked open and Ynez, her bag, and
her purse were yanked from the car she could even
begin to protest.
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TWENTY
Carter awakened at once with the buzz of the phone and
glanced at his watch: four in the morning. He had meant to
nap for a few minutes and he had slept nearly two hours.
"This is Peter, Nick. We're done, and I must say I think
I 'know every and cranny and the background of
everyone in this valley."
'TII be right up."
He was already dressed, so just a splash of water on his
face and he was bounding up the stone stairs toward the
conference room.
"Okay, what have you got?"
'iA few improbables that had to be checked recent
rentals, basements, cubbyholes. My men did it. Nothing."
"What else."
"Four rx)ssible, two probables. Come on over here by
the window. I've got the maps set up on that small table."
Carter moved across the room and stood by Reinbold.
"Talk to me."
'Okay, far over there to the left. It's a hunting lodge in
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those trees. An old man and his wife rent it this month
every year. We figure Ja'il could have moved in on them."
"No gcx»d," Carter said. "According to Ebert, that many
trees would interfere with the signal. Go on."
The other three possibles were good and would have to
be checked out.
"Okay, let's get to the two probables."
"One is right up there. You can just see the rcx)f. It's an
abandoned ski lodge, boarded up. Zigmann said a bunch of
hippies lived there all summer, but they moved out when
the cold weather came."
Carter eyeballed it through the binoculars. High, OLEn,
well within the two miles, and deserted.
"It's perfect. 'We'll take it. What's the other one?"
"Move your glasses about a mile to the left on the same
. a clear space, two-story house with gabled rooms
line
on both wings."
"Got it," Carter said. "What's the story?"
"Woman named Kirkmann and her little boy. Her hus-
band ran off with another woman about three years ago.
She's had it in for the whole world since then, lives like a
hermit up there with the boy."
"Anything odd when you called her?"
"Couldn't call, no phone. As I said, she won't have
anything to do with the outside world. One of the locals
takes groceries up there twice a month. She never comes
down to the village."
"That sounds too. Okay, get some men together.
We'll hit 'em one by one at first light."
The intercom phone was going crazy on the conference
table.
"Reinbold here. Are you serious?. . How long?...
Yes, for Gcd's sake, bring her up here, you m!"
He slammed the phone down and turned to Caner'
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-"Ihe cousin, Ynez Khadivitt, is here. They picked her
up at the frontier and they've had her in interrogation for
an hour."
"Where was she headed?"
"Here, she says, to meet Gerald Raymond."
Carter said, slowly and
"Now, Ynez... "
calmly to dilute the fear he could see in her face and hear
in her voice.
"Nick, why are you here? Is Gerald here?" Tell me
what's going on."
"Listen to me. You're sure that's what Harvey told you
to tell Gerald, 'Valkyrie is off.' That's all?"
all."
"And he gave you no other place... a building, an ad-
dress
S 'None. Just the lcxige in St. Vith. I went there last
night. Gerald wasn't there."
"Ynez, Gerald is here. He's out there, somewhere."
Her head dropped into her hands. "I don't understand all
this."
"Ynez, you're not going to believe what I'm about to
tell you, but I've got to tell you. And when I've finished, I
h01E you'll agree to help us, because you might be the key
to stopping all this."
Dawn was breaking when the nurse in a starchy white
uniform came to get him.
"Herr Carter, she wants to see you. She says she's made
up her mind."
Carter moved into the of his suite. Ynez sat at
the vanity, staring into the mirror.
'*I'll do it," she whispered.
"We'll leave in half an hour."
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He went back to the conference room. Reinbold was
waiting with the equipment.
"She'll do it."
"My have reconned the four possibles. Nothing.
Unless he's out there sitting under a tree, he's in one of the
two probables."
"Okay, we'll take the abandoned ski Icxige first. Get
everyone on the bottom floor or in the wine cellar, in case
he gets jumpy and goes anyway."
"What about A1-Chir?"
"If anything happens, get him out of here first. Use one
of the choppers."
Carter got out of the Audi and leaned back in through
the window. Ynez was in the driver's seat, her face drained
of color, but determination set in her features.
"All right, you understand this?"
Her red-rimmed eyes blinked yes and she tcxyk the
walkie from him.
"Just tell him what your uncle told you to tell him, and
try to •get him to take the radio. I have to talk to him."
She stared into Carter's eyes for a long moment, and
then dropped her gaze to the snF rifle and night scope in
his hands. "Will you have to use that?"
'SLet's just say it's a necessary precaution and hope that
I won't have to use it. Give me about a hundred count to
get into those trees over there, so I can see both you and
the lodge. Got it?"
"Yes."
Carter moved soundlessly away, counting to himself.
When he reached a hundred, he stopped. He had gauged it
atX)ut right. He was hidden, but he had an excellent view
of the front and back of the ski lodge, as well as the ap-
proach Ynez would take.
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He hated to use Ynez like this, but it was necessary.
There was no way of knowing whether Raymond would
listen to reason or not.
He heard the soft purr of the Audi's engine, and then
tracked her progress along the narrow road toward the
abandoned ski lodge. Moments later she stopped. Follow-
ing his instructions, she got out and left the lights on and
the engine running. She walked up the driveway. Twenty
yards short of the door, she stopped and began calling
Raymond's name. The words drifted back up to Carter on
the wind.
He took the scope from his eye and lifted a pair of
binoculars to scan from window to window.
Nothing.
After fifteen minutes, he gave up and started jogging
toward the car calling Ynez's name. She had barely slid
into the seat beside him when the second walkie on his
belt, connecting him to the castle, crackled and
voice came through.
"Yeah, Sergeant, I'm here. What's up?"
"Nick, I think I've got it. The clue came from the log, a
repair job on the rcx)f. I went up and found the antenna.
I'm going to dismantle it."
Carter's mind went wild. Wherever Raymond was, he
was watching. If he saw EtErt on that roof he might just go
ahead and blow it.
"Nick, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
told you—
"Yeah, I know. Go ahead, Sergeant. I'll do what I can to
save your ass from this end."
"Got you. Gocxi luck,"
"Same to you."
"What now?" Ynez asked,
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Carter motioned for her to drive. "We have one more
chance."
'*Jaiil, there's a car!"
Raymond crawled to his own window and peered over
the ledge. He saw the Audi stop and a woman get out.
'SDamn," Leba Fani hissed. "I was told that the Kirk-
mann bitch had no friends, that she never had visitors."
Halfway between the little stone wall and the house.
Raymond recognized the figure.
"It's Ynez!"
"Harvey Raymond's niece, Ynez."
"What the hell is she doing here? And there's a man on
the roof of the castle! Have they found the bomb?"
Before he could reply, Ynez stopped and called out.
' 'Gerald! Gerald, are you in there?"
"Don't answer her—it's a trick," Leba said, jacking a
shell into the chamber of her pistol and readying it by the
window.
"Put that down. I don't think she knows we're in here."
"Gerald, please answer if you are there!"
They waited tensely for a full two minutes.
"Frau Kirkmann, are you there? My name is Ynez. I
must talk to you if you are in the house. If you don't reply,
I have been told to tell you that soldiers will come and
search the house."
"1'11 get the hag and have her tell them to go away."
Raymond was smiling. "Stay where you are. If Ynez is
here, then Nick Carter is around someplace. I daresay he'll
know the hysterical Kirkmann woman is lying."
'Gerald, Uncle Harvey is dead. He had a heart attack in
Brussels. He was u-ying to get to you. He called me before
he died. Do you hear me, Gerald?'
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"What in God's name is the bitch jabbering about?"'
Leba said.
"Be quiet, damn you!"
"Gerald, he told me to tell you that Valkyrie is off. Do
you understand, Gerald... Valkyrie is off."
"She's lying! It's a trick!"
"Perhaps," Raymond replid
"It's off, Gerald, because Hassan A1-Chir is in Schloss
Valkyrie. He was invited to the conference. Do you hear,
Gerald, Hassan A1-Chir..
"Now I know the bitch is lying!" Leba cried.
She fired right through the window. Raymond saw Ynei
spin and fall. He acted on instinct, firing once, hitting Leba
high in the chest.
The pistol dropped from her hand and she clutched her
bloody front as she turned to face him, shock flooding her
face.
"Traitor... fool she's
. lying... can't you see... 'f;
Blood seeped from the comers of her mouth and she fell
forward to the floor.
Raymond ran down the stairs and into the front yard.
Caner had already spotted movernent in the front upper
window of the house. When the glasses picked up the sil-
houette of a gun, he had started to move. As he approached
from the rear, he monitored Ynez's shouted words on the
walkie.
He was almost to the rear of the house when he heard
the first shot, quickly followed by another.
That galvanized him. He ran forward and leaped the low
wall protecting an outdoor dining area. He could hear more
sounds—running feet inside the house—but he didn't
stop. He crashed through a pair of French doors and fell to
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fre floor just in time to see Raymond bolt through the front
door.
Raymond reached Ynez as she was trying to crawl to
her feet. "Where are you hit?"
"I don't know ... I don't feel anything."
He ripped at her heavy coat until he had it open. He
sighed with relief when he saw that the leather and the
thick fur lining had deflected the bullet just enough. There
was a raw, red burn, but that was all.
Raymond sighed. "It's only a scratch. You'll be all
right. Is Harvey really dead?"
"Yes," she replied. "Gerald, did you—
"He was a go«i man," Raymond interrupted. "But we
IX)th knew there would an end in all of this for us. I
have an idea his will an easier one than mine."
"It's over, Gerald. Let it over."
"She's right, Raymond," Carter said, standing behind
them on the path to the house. "It is over. Now maytE you
and I can talk atxyut Hassan A1-Chir... maybe make a
deal. It's really him I want."
Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire from the house,
the bullets tattooing holes in the snow just to the left of
Carter. He dropped to one knee and whirled.
The Killmaster saw the image in the window and
sprayed with the rifle on full automatic. What was a
woman disintegrated.
Raymond tN)Ited for the front door and Carter swung the
rifle down to point at him. "Stop, Raymond, don't do it!"
When the man didn't stop, Carter sighted.
"No!" Ynez screamed, and plowed into Carter's elbow,
sending the rifle flying from his hands into the snow.
She didn't even stop in her movement but went on by
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Carter and covered the rifle with her body.
The Killmaster one look at the death grip she had
on the rifle, and made his decision. Tugging Wilhelmina
from her shoulder rig, he sprinted after Raymond. He
stairs three at a time, following the sound of the other
man's fcx)tsteps, and moved so fast that he missed the si-
lence when they stopped.
Only when he hit the dcxyr of the tower room did he
realize that Raymond had suckered him. The man came
like a cobra from behind the door. He choplEd Carter's
wrist, sending the Luger skittering away across the floor.
A steel fist caught him in the center of the gut and his
head was slammed against the wall. Everything was shift-
ing from stark white to red and then back to white, when
he saw Raymond's face close to his own.
"I don't want to have to kill you, Nick Carter, Ameri-
can, so don't make me."
"It's over, done."
"No, not until I've finished it."
Carter brought his arrns up, hard, hitting Raymond's
chin into the air. Then he went for the man's throat, but it
wasn't there.
The man was fast, too fast.
Suddenly Raymond's hands were at the back of Carter's
neck. The man's forehead was battering his face. He felt
himself slipping, and then the battering ended.
He was lying on the floor, looking toward the window.
As the mist cleared, he saw Raymond connect the wires.
He saw the red light on the transmitter begin to glow.
"Don't do it. There's nothing to tx gained ... nothing."
"For me there is."
Then Carter knew that there •was no other way. He
crawled his back up the wall ands at the same time, tensed
his right forearm.
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Hugo into his palm. He the stiletto until
he held it by the blade.
"Ja'il Rahman, I don't want to kill you, either."
He saw the man's right hand reach for the detonator
button.
He reared back and threw the stiletto.
The hand and its twin joined it at Raymond's
neck. The razor-sharp blade had pierced his neck so the hilt
protruded from one side and an inch of the point from the
He turned, staring at Carter, staggered
once, and then fell.
Carter tottered to the receiver and held his right hand
steady with his left as he turned it off.
"His name was Raab. They spotted him near the heli-
copter pads, and he was loaded for bear... rockets no less.
He winged two of my men before they got him."
Carter nodded as ReiOld spoke. He was looking at the
two bodies on the flcx»r of the castle's great
"How is Ynez?"
"Sedated," Reinbold replied. "Shouldn't we put sheets
over them or something?"
Carter said.
"Colonel, he's here."
*Ihe aide had barely spoken when Hassan A1-Chir
walked into the room, flanked by his two bodyguards.
"I will late for the conference. What is it you want?"
Carter motioned toward the bodies. "Identification
A1-Chir stepped nearer and looked down. For several
seconds he studied the faces, and then turned back to
Carter.
"How can I identify them?-l've never seen either of
them trfore."
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Carter almost laughed. "You mean, after all they have
done for you, A1-Chir, you aren't even going to acknowl-
edge them in death?"
"'I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I've
been told these were terrorists who were going to disrupt
the meeting. I have nothing to do with terrorists. I've said
that for years, Now may I go?"
"Yeah," Carter growled, "get the hell out of here."
A1-Chir turned stiffly and left the room. Carter turned to
Reinbold.
"You can cover 'em up now," he said, and walked out
onto the balcony.
The sun was bright. It was a cold, crisp day with clear
skies and no hint of snow.
On the above the conference room, workmen were
repairing the where had removed the bomb.
It had all been for nothing.
"Think anything will come from this conference?" It
was Reinbold at his shoulder.
"No. Not a damned thing," Carter replied.
"Damn, all this for nothing."
"Isn't that the way it usually is?" the Killmaster said.
"A lot of sound and fury, and damned little substance. "
He headed down the stone stairs to find Ynez.
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NICK CARTER SPY THRILLER
PRESSURE POINT
It was well past midnight. The winds had picked up.
The temperature had dropped ten degrees. In the black fa-
tigues, with minimum clothing underneath, Carter was
cold and uncomfortable.
He had crawled down the rock face a foot at a time. It
had taken the best part of an hour. The rock had torn his
hands. The chalky deposits of seabirds had attacked his
nose and smeared the black cloth.
He had stopped to check the sentry a few times with the
glasses. The man's image grew more distinct. He was tall
and looked strong. He was dressed in an olive green uni-
form with a crest of some kind on one shoulder.
As he got closer, Carter had some luck. The guard was
relieved by a smaller man. It would have hellEd to know
how long between shift changes. No matter: This man had
just come on duty. Carter figured it would be at least four
hours before anyone checked on him. Long enough.
He was within a hundred feet. The last part would be
the most dangerous. He couldn't carry his gun or knife in
either hand. He needed both for crawling.
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Slowly he closed the gap, aware of the scraping of his
fatigues against the rock. The sound wasn't to the
sentry. The crashing of waves against drowned out
any noise.
When he was fifty feet away, Caner saw that the
man carried a sniper rifle over one shoulder instead of the
submachine gun he expected. The man alternated between
sitting, his back against the cliff, and pacing the shelf of
rcxk that was his station.
He was like sentries the world over. He was bored and
uncomfortable. He undoubtedly wished he was anywhere
but there. His mental attitude was probably the same as his
fellows, Why here? What the hell was there to see? A
stupid, worthless job.
The man's state of mind made Carter's job easier. Al-
most too easy. After more than an hour of crawling and the
concern for his vulnerable position, when he finally crept
up behind the man and delivered a karate chop to his neck,
it was an anticlimax.
He was wrong. The small man was like a hard rubber
ball. The blow that would have floored most men left him
unaffected. He swung the rifle stcx•k-first at Carter and
missed by inches. The wood shattered against the rock
face. Again, the noise was absorbed by the m)unding of
surf against
They stocxl facing each other like fighting cocks. Carter
had his but he needed the man whole and ready
to talk; the capture would have to be hand-to-hand.
The rock slab was probably fifty feet by twenty. Next to T
it, an 01rning in the cliff's face loomed black and menac-
ing. Carter would have to explore it later, but first he had
to subdue this small tiger.
The man in the olive uniform tried a blow with his left
foot that would have been devastating if Carter hadn't
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