August, 1944

The present time

Carter caught the early-morning train out of Kitzb�hel and arrived in Salzburg before noon. He checked the schedules and found he had forty minutes before the express to Vienna pulled out.

There were two ranks of pay telephones, one at each end of the terminal. He idled by one bank of phones until he had a number, and then walked across the terminal. He dropped the required coins in the slot and waited until a husky female voice answered with the number he had just dialed.

�Tell Gunter that an old friend wants to talk to him,� Carter said. �The number is Salzburg 779�101.�

He hung up and walked leisurely across to the other bank of phones.

No one paid him any attention.

He waited nearly five minutes in the booth before the phone rang. �Yes?�

�All my old friends have died from bad drink and loose women. Who is this?�

�Gunter, you fat old thief. I�m glad to hear they haven�t shot you on the other side for short-changing and overcharging.�

�How could they?� replied the gravelly voice in barely accented English. �I am the answer to their black-market prayers. I haven�t heard from you in an age. You must want something.�

�I have to go over,� Carter said, �and I don�t want to be made.�

�When?� The voice suddenly got serious.

�Tonight, if possible.�

�That might be arranged. You�re in Salzburg?�

�Yes. I�ll arrive in Vienna around seven.�

�Should be enough time. Take a taxi from the station out to my country place. You remember it?�

�I do.�

�I�ll try to have everything ready.�

Carter hung up, bought a paper, and boarded his train.

He had a light lunch in the dining car and slept fitfully all the way to Vienna.

The snow had turned to a light rain, making the streets of the old city glisten. Clutching his light bag, he ignored the taxi queue outside the station and walked several blocks before hailing a passing cab.

�Where?�

�The country. I�ll direct you.�

In no time they had left the city. The windshield wipers flicked steadily. They drove past stolid-looking houses surrounded by stone walls and dripping trees. The streets were as silent as the hills that rolled behind them. Eighteen miles out of the city they exchanged the highway for a mountain road that climbed up through dripping fir trees to a sodden expanse of pastureland. The farmhouses were dark and isolated. Dogs barked as the headlights lit the barns and outbuildings.

They had climbed another three miles, when a building loomed out of the mist, fields stretching behind it into wet darkness.

�Here,� Carter growled.

The driver braked. The headlights shone on a wooden chalet surrounded by an ugly wall built of stone and iron piping. Water ran from the gutters. The shutters were closed. Not a single light showed. Carter gave the driver his shillings and added a large tip.

�Thanks for your trouble.�

The man pocketed his money, glanced across at what looked like a deserted chalet, and drove off.

Carter walked around to the rear and opened a gate in the stone wall. He could see light in the first-floor-rear room, mostly obscured by heavy curtains. He waited a minute or two before crossing a patch of broken concrete and then onto a stretch of lawn.

Interesting, he thought. Gunter Forbin was probably worth millions, yet his �country house� was little more than a dump. But then, when one made one�s millions by not paying duty on Western goods smuggled into Eastern bloc countries, it didn�t pay to advertise one�s wealth.

The ground sloped down and there were steep steps to the basement. The opaque glass door was open as promised. Carter stepped into the passage; there was a wedge of light at the far end. As he moved, the light widened until the whole of the far end was illuminated and Gunter stood silhouetted like a giant against the far wall.

�It�s me,� Carter said.

�I know,� came the reply with a peal of laughter, �I could hear your catlike stealth from the grave. Come in, I have schnapps.�

The room was plain. Carter supposed that the two doors leading off were to a bedroom and kitchen. There was a new armchair, and a table pushed into a corner looked new. There wasn�t much else. Photos of impossibly structured nude women hung from walls badly in need of paint and plaster.

The Killmaster took the offered tumbler of schnapps and set his bag on the table. �You really should spend some of your money, Gunter,� he said with a grin, making a face as he surveyed the room.

�Oh, but I do, I do!� the big man roared. �In Paris, Rome, New York! But not here. Here, I am a poor man. Prosit!� He drank and wiped his mustache with his fingers.

�What have you got for me?� Carter asked, draining his own glass.

�You have my fee, of course?�

�Of course,� Carter replied, withdrawing an envelope from his jacket and dropped it in the big man�s lap. �There�s a little extra in there. I�ll need a few things on the other side.�

�No problem.� As if by magic, a passport and a fist of papers appeared on the table in front of Carter. �For the time you are there, you are Emil Bunder, a relief lorry driver. I used one of your photos from the last time. Here is your union permit, your driver�s license, and your visa for three days of holiday. I assume your business will take no longer than that?�

�Let�s hope not. I�m going over in a lorry?�

Gunter Forbin nodded. �As a relief driver. You�re in luck. I have a shipment going over legally at midnight... seed and packaged manure.�

�In the dead of winter?� Carter said.

The big man shrugged. �My Communist customers like to look ahead.�

�What�s under the seed and shit?�

Forbin grinned. �Perfume, cosmetics, blue jeans, rock and roll tapes... just more shit. Come along, my friend, and we�ll wardrobe you.�

From a closet and drawers in the bedroom, Carter outfitted himself from the skin out in used, locally labeled clothing. The pants and shirt were worn denim, and the old fur-collared leather jacket was cracked with age.

�What will you need over there?� Forbin asked.

�I�m going skiing. Everything should be used. Oh, and a gun... something local to the country.�

Forbin nodded. �Check into the Pension Galpi, on Lenin Korut. It will all be waiting. Will you be shooting anyone?�

�I hope not,� Carter said.

�Then you won�t need extra clips. What about wheels?�

�I�ll rent a car there.�

�Good. Let�s have another schnapps and talk about women.�

An hour later, a knock came on the rear door and Forbin admitted a man nearly his own size, with long, lank black hair and a simian forehead that practically covered his eyes.

His name was Klaus, and he would drive the lorry over.

The Cozamor Lodge was a sprawling, attractive-looking place nestled against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains and black forests.

Carter took a turn around the parking lot before heading for the entrance. There were several two-door Volga sedans, several black, so it was impossible to tell if the blonde � who had disappeared somewhere in the village below � had preceded him.

There was valet parking, and the young man informed Carter that all his gear and bags would be delivered to his room.

Inside, a sloe-eyed beauty behind the reception desk gave Carter a nice smile, a room key, and copied down all the details from his passport. Two bellmen appeared with his belongings and led him through a maze of corridors.

The cell-like people�s luxury room had bare, unpainted cement walls, a single, narrow bed, a chair, a washbasin, and sound-deadening wall-to-wall rubber matting on the floor.

Carter tipped the two bored bellmen and succeeded in wrestling the window up an inch to let out some of the stiflingly excessive heat.

He built a drink from a bottle in his bag, and shaved. At seven sharp, sporting a change of clothes, he walked back out to the lobby. He was passing the desk, when the girl with the sloe eyes called out to him.

�Herr Bunder, there is a message for you.�

She handed him a small white envelope. The alias, Emil Bunder, was scrawled across the front of it along with his room number. The hand was definitely feminine, and the flap was tightly sealed.

He tore it open. The message, in the same hand, read, I am in the bar.

Carter turned to the receptionist. �Who left this?�

�I really don�t know, mein Herr,� she replied with a shrug. �I was in the rear at the switchboard, and when I returned it was here on the counter.�

�Danke.�

He pocketed the envelope and the note and moved on through the lobby. At the entrance to the disco, he paused and glanced inside.

The music blasted through the small, darkened room, amplified by several hundred watts of electronic equipment. The crowd was varied, men in suits and ties and women in clinging dresses, dancing hip to hip with young boys in jeans and child-women in tight sweaters and unbelievably tight stretch pants.

Carter couldn�t spot the Volga-driving blonde, and moved on through the nearly empty dining room into the bar.

There were three men at the bar and two others at a nearby table. But what caught Carter�s eye was the woman who sat alone at a table next to the windows. She must have just come in because she still had snow in her dark brown hair. She was wearing dark corduroy slacks and a short leather jacket.

She glanced up just as Carter stepped through the door. Her eyes seemed to leap at him from clear across the room. He was about to move forward, when he suddenly spotted color and movement out of the corner of his left eye.

The color was red, a matching sweater and slacks outfit. The movement was the Volga-driving blonde.

She curled an arm around Carter�s neck and came up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. �Emil, you got my note,� she breathed. �Over here, I already have a table.�

Carter darted a last quick look at the brunette, and followed the blonde with a light sigh. He had almost made a very real blunder.

You will be contacted, Lorena had said.

He had almost tried, mistakenly, to do the contacting.

He moved around the table and held the chair for the blonde. She sat down, and he found himself staring down over her shoulder. It was quite a view. A long mane of honey-blond hair and firm, full breasts filling the front of the sweater.

There was a carafe of wine and two glasses already on the table. She poured as Carter took the opposite chair.

�Since we�re such old friends,� he murmured, �you�d better give me a name to call you.�

�Jarvia.�

�And you drive a black Volga sedan,� he said, taking the envelope and a pen from his jacket pocket.

�I did today, all the way from Budapest. I almost contacted you at the pension, but decided to wait until you got here.�

�Oh?�

�Yes. What�s this?� she asked, as he slid the envelope and pen across the table toward her.

�Would you mind writing on that? Something like, �I am in the bar.��

Her smile was magic, wide with white, gleaming teeth, as were her eyes, blue and bright. �Of course.� She wrote. Carter checked it against the note. They matched perfectly. �Satisfied?�

�For now,� he replied. �When do we go skiing?�

�We don�t have to. He is here, close by. Go to your room and get a coat. Meet me just over the hill there, beyond the tennis courts.� She nodded her head to the window.

Carter followed her gaze and saw a swimming pool covered for the winter, and a line of snow-covered tennis courts surrounded by tall fences.

�There is a path just beyond the courts,� she continued. �Follow it to the top of the hill. I�ll meet you there.�

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. �Just whom am I meeting?�

�Still testing me?� The toothpaste-ad smile hadn�t left her face.

�Just answer the question.�

The table was mirror-topped. She bent forward and breathed hard on it. Then she printed with the tip of one finger: VADIM VINNICK.

Carter erased it with his sleeve, and stood. �Five minutes.�

Carter walked along the freshly plowed street toward the lift station. The snow was piled high on the sides, soft and powdery.

At the lift station he was relieved to find he was not the only guest who had decided on a midnight run. There were about fifteen people lined up for tickets.

Carter studied them carefully as he waited in line. They were young, the men tall and athletic, and the women attractive in snug-fitting ski outfits.

Ilse Beddick was not among them.

He got his ticket and walked along the railed corridor toward the cars. Again he looked at the sky. There would be a moon before long, not a full one, but it would be too bright for comfort. He decided to remain in the shadow below the big wooden platform until his number was called. He could hear the shuffling feet and laughter of the people above him. Most of the conversation was in Hungarian, with a sprinkling of German.

Carter waited for the last seat and dropped into it while it was still moving. There was no one behind him, and no one who had gone before him had given him a second glance.

At the top, there was a large sign directing skiers to the five runs and indicating their degree of difficulty.

Carter smiled to himself.

Number Two on the north was by far the most difficult. Ilse Beddick had made a good choice.

To a man and woman, the group in front of Carter fanned out to the easier runs. Carter found himself alone at the top of number Two.

He killed a little time by crouching and coating his skis with oil from a hand roller. When he could hear no more chatter from the others, he discarded the hand roller and poled his way over the precipitous lip.

Then he was plunging downward, gathering speed into the first bank. Startled birds exploded from the neighboring pines as he accelerated. He felt the exhilaration of taking the course as fast as he could. A line of trees came up quickly, a flat area unexpectedly dark, shielded from the brightness of the moon.

And he felt ice suddenly under his skis and the sudden burst of speed that came with it. His legs bent lower and he felt the pull on his thigh muscles. The jump, as it came up, was not so high as it was unexpectedly fast, and he made a mental note of it. He sailed into the air, came down on a flat slope that immediately became a traverse of steep bumps and rolls. A right turn came at him and he felt soft snow, leaned into it hard, and took it without slowing.

A line of trees again, longer, the shadows deeper, and hard, blue ice. He saw the green shapes hurtling past as another traverse came up and he went airborne and down, airborne and down again in a twisting path where a single error would mean crashing into the trees and almost certain death.

Coming out of it, the slope flattened, rose, and went into a long schuss that looked deceptively simple as he gathered speed only to find it dotted with bumps and rolls.

Then he saw the sign and leaned into a hard right turn that sent powder swirling in a twenty-foot arc.

The alternate trail was narrower and the snow softer, slowing his descent.

In seconds he saw her figure on a rise in front of him. When she was sure it was Carter, she turned and sped off. He fell in behind. Not more than two minutes later, she left the trail and wove dangerously through the trees.

Carter had to admire her skill. It was all he could do to keep up with her, and his heart was pounding like a trip-hammer.

Then he saw the farmhouse, light in the downstairs windows. It was steep-roofed and loomed large in the moonlight.

The woman slid to a halt and Carter came up beside her. They unbuckled their skis and mounted the steps to the porch. Carter expected some kind of watchdog, and when no one appeared, commented on it.

�Too risky,� she replied. �Only the two of us know about this meeting. Come this way.�

He followed her around to the side of the house. She rapped twice on a pair of French doors, and they entered a large, cozy room heated by roaring logs in a huge fireplace.

In a rocker by the fire was a gaunt man beneath a lap robe. His face was a sickly, sallow color, and his tangle of wiry gray hair was an invitation for nesting birds. He was approaching his sixtieth birthday, but he looked an ailing twenty years older than that.

When he looked up, his eyes were dark and cavernous, but they were also alert, and they assessed all of Carter in one penetrating look.

�Ah, Carter. Please sit down. You�ll forgive my rudeness at not standing. I must conserve as much strength as possible. You see, I am dying.�

The place was called the Rotten Apple, and it smelled worse than its namesake. It was on an alley with no name off Dream Street in one of the worst red-light districts in Hamburg.

They sat at a corner table looking out at the dancers moving frantically on a postage-stamp-size dance floor. The music was loud, pounding the walls, and, Carter was sure, damaging his ears.

Sitting across in a pair of hip-hugger jeans, a purple shirt open to expose his chest, and a pair of Gucci loafers, was Count Otto von Krumm. Otto was somewhere close to forty, claimed to be thirty, and bragged that he hadn�t bedded a woman over eighteen for twenty years.

Otto von Krumm�s father had been in the SS. He had survived the war with only the family castle near the village of Bundesdorg, on the West German/Nether-lands frontier. Eventually the old man had died, still saluting the Fuhrer. He had left young Otto the castle, the grounds around it, and a brilliant criminal mind.

For the first thirty years of his life, Otto had stolen everything he could get his hands on and invested it wisely. When he was rich enough, he retired to become an aging hippie who liked a challenge now and then. Quite often Carter offered that challenge.

Von Krumm leaned over and shouted into Carter�s ear. �I like it here.�

�I can see that,� Carter replied. �Can we talk in front of her?�

The German threw an affectionate arm around the voluptuous blonde who sat beside him, his hand accidentally sliding downward to partially cover a breast.

The blonde smiled at Otto. It was an animal smile, earthy and anticipatory. Carter noted that she didn�t have any pupils in her eyes.

Carter tried again. �I said, can we talk in front of her?�

�Of course,� von Krumm bellowed, and grinned. �She doesn�t speak any English at all. Even her German is terrible. But she has the strongest thighs you have ever seen. They are really quite remarkable. Dear me, look at that. And she seems quite taken with you, Nicholas.�

Carter followed his stare toward the knot of dancers on the floor. A couple seemed to have taken up residence right in front of their table.

The man was uninteresting, small and swarthy with a moronic face. But the woman was startling. She was barefoot, with long legs and a hard figure ensheathed in a shimmering lame dress. Her platinum hair was cut short and contrasted sharply with a deep tan.

Each time the couple made a revolving turn, the woman smiled at Carter and ran her tongue along her lower lip.

�Very nice,� von Krumm remarked. �I would look into that if I were you... in a manner of speaking, of course.� He laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh.

Carter got his lips as close as possible to Otto�s ear. �Can we talk?�

�Must we? I assume it concerns money.�

�It could.�

�Gruesome but necessary, I suppose,� von Krumm sighed.

�Somewhere else,� Carter insisted.

�Very well, we�ll go to my flat.� Otto rose and nodded toward the platinum blonde. �Why don�t you ask her along? We�ll have a little entertainment after we talk business.�

�No, Otto.�

�Very well, follow us to the flat.�

�I have the address,� Carter said. �I�ll meet you there.�

Von Krumm led the way out, holding the blonde by the hand. With one eye Carter was watching the shift of her hips as she moved. With the other eye he was watching the hard-eyed little man leave his platinum-haired dancing partner.

Outside, they turned right. Halfway to the corner, Carter whispered, �When you get to your car, drive around the block and keep circling until you see me in your rearview mirror.�

Von Krumm nodded and Carter darted into the alley adjoining the club. He made his way around to the rear and walked into the kitchen. A burly man at the door stood to block his progress. Carter waved a fifty-mark bill in his face and he was waved on in.

The Rotten Apple didn�t much care if you paid at the front or the rear for entrance, just that you paid.

He was halfway through the knot of dancers when he saw the platinum blonde on a stool at the end of the bar, alone.

�Hi,� he said, moving in beside her, close.

�You,� she murmured. �I thought you left.� Her accent was Belgian or French.

�I came back. Where�s your boyfriend?�

�Boyfriend? Haven�t got one yet. You interested?�

�The short, dark little guy with the wilted eyes. Where is he?�

�Don�t know, don�t care,� she said, running her hand over Carter�s crotch. �Want to dance?�

�No.� Carter laid his hand on the inside of her thigh, squeezed, hard.

�Owww, damn you, that hurts!� she exclaimed.

�It can hurt worse. Who is he?�

�Don�t know, I swear. He gave me some marks to dance with him. Said he wanted to dance right by your table. That�s it, I swear.�

Carter believed her. He peeled off another fifty and stuffed it into her cleavage. �Thanks. I like your hair.�

The big one at the rear door just shook his head when Carter exited after so short a time. He moved through the alleys until he was four blocks away, on the street where he had parked the rental car near Otto�s Mercedes. Keeping to the shadows, he moved up the street until he was in the same block, then darted into a doorway. He had already spotted the little man slouched behind the wheel of a beige Audi parked at the corner.

A hand dropped on Carter�s shoulder and he froze.

�You looking for fun, darling?�

He turned slowly, letting the stored-up air in his lungs escape with a hiss.

She was on the wrong side of forty, with a mask of makeup for a face. She wore a thin, clinging black dress relieved by a string of phony pearls and a leather belt with a big silver L on it as a buckle.

�Not fun,� he murmured, �but maybe something else.�

�What else is there?� she said with a throaty laugh, and stepped forward a little so the dim light from the hallway behind lit her.

She had big, heavy breasts, and she showed them by way of a low vee cut to her dress. Her legs were still good where the short skirt revealed them to the darker panty part of her pantyhose. Her skin was dark, swarthy, and it made her nearly white hair stand out like snow on a black stone.

�I can do you back there, at the end of the hall.�

She lifted the skirt. There was no crotch in the pantyhose.

�I�ll take a raincheck.�

�Raincheck? What the hell is raincheck?�

Carter pulled her forward a little. �See that Audi down there, the man behind the wheel?�

�Ja.�

Carter told her what he wanted. As he did, he unrolled two more fifties from the wad in his pocket and curled them into her hand. �Okay?�

�Sure, okay. But for another fifty I give you a quick one to boot.�

Carter saw von Krumm and his blonde go by. �Just do a number on him. That�s enough. And remember � you just forget whatever you see. Go!�

He waited until she was across the street and headed down the block before he moved out himself. He pulled the Rommer and held it at his side as he moved from doorway to doorway.

When the hooker crossed back toward the Audi, Carter dropped into a crouch and moved over the sidewalk to the line of parked cars.

The hooker was doing a real number. She had the short skirt balled around her waist, the merchandise pumping through the open window practically in the guy�s face.

�What are you, cheap?� she was taunting.

�Get lost, whore.�

�Who you calling whore...�

All of it took no more than three seconds. Carter yanked open the passenger side door and dived across the seat.

�Head just like that,� he hissed. �Don�t move. Hands on the wheel.� For emphasis, he thumbed the hammer back on the Rommer.

�What�s this, you her pimp?� the little man snarled.

The hooker took off. She hadn�t seen a thing.

�Start the car, nice and easy.�

�Fuck you.�

Carter cradled the man�s head with his free hand and ground the barrel of the Rommer viciously into his ear.

�All right, all right!� He started the car and eased slowly from the curb.

�Turn right,� Carter barked. The man turned. Three blocks farther on, Carter spotted a deep alley. �In here.� He reached over and killed the headlights as they turned. �Stop here!�

They stopped and Carter pocketed the keys. Practically in the same movement he opened the door and shoved the man out. He had barely sprawled, when Carter had him up against the wall, his legs spread.

�Look, I don�t know��

�Shut up.�

A fist in the kidneys brought a painful grunt but no more words. A search gave him a fat wallet, a passport, a credentials case, and a Heckler and Koch UP70 automatic pistol.

Inside the credentials case was a badge and an ID card identifying the man as Bruno Lunt, detective inspector, shield G4991411, St. Pauli District, Hamburg.

Carter shook his head in amazement. �What do the police want with me?�

�Routine.� The little man shrugged. �Picked you up at the airport. Suspicious acting.�

�On whose authority?� Carter asked.

�My own.�

�You just lounged around the airport, spotted a suspicious character, and followed me?�

�That�s right.�

�And what flight was I on?�

�Lufthansa 4113 from Belgrade...� He clamped his jaw shut, but it was too late.

Carter gave him another good shot in the kidneys and he went to the ground. The Killmaster put his foot on the back of the man�s neck, and ground.

�I�m the police, you fool!� the little man cried.

�I don�t give a shit. Someone spotted me getting on the flight in Belgrade and phoned ahead, right?�

No words, but a lot of wriggling. Using his hair, Carter bounced the man�s forehead a few times on the bricks, then returned his foot to the back of his neck.

�Right, Bruno?�

�Yes, Jesus, yes...�

�Who?�

�I don�t know. I never know. I just get a call from Berlin now and then. It�s always surveillance. I report, I get an envelope.�

Carter thought this over. It was a good guess that little Bruno had already made Otto; von Krumm was far from unknown. But that might not pose a problem if the count moved out fast.

�Get up.�

Bruno crawled to his feet. Carter pushed him to the rear of the car and opened the trunk.

�What�re you going to do?�

�More important, Bruno, what are you going to do?�

Carter took his State Department ID out and waved it in front of the little man�s eyes just enough so he could read the official seal and not the name.

�You might not know who those callers are in Berlin, Bruno, but I think you can guess. I�m into something big, bigger than anything you�ve ever known. The report you�re going to file is that you lost me tonight. You got that?�

�Ja, ja.�

�If I hear different, and I will hear, I�ll have the West German BfV on your ass like flies on shit. You got that?�

�I lost you right outside the airport.�

�And my friend?�

�What friend?�

�Good. Stick to shaking down hookers, Bruno. One of those phone calls will put you in a grave someday. Get in the trunk.�

The little man scrambled in and Carter shut the lid.

Back at his own car, he waited until von Krumm came by again, and fell in behind the cream-colored Mercedes.

At noon Carter descended to the lobby. The desk clerk caught his eye and beckoned him over. It was a message from Lorena: Room 712, the Americain.

Carter went to a phone booth, called the hotel, and asked for room 712.

�Yes?�

�How about lunch?�

�Sounds marvelous,� she replied.

�The Papeneiland is near you.�

�Twenty minutes,� she said breathlessly, and hung up.

Carter dialed a second number and waited several rings before it was answered. There was no vocal response from the other end of the line, just silence.

�I would like to speak to Mortimer, please.�

�Who wants him?� came the gravelly reply.

�Nick.�

�A minute.�

It was almost five before the familiar voice came on the line. �Mr. Carter, is it?�

�It is, Mortimer. How goes it?�

�The usual aches and pains but I manage to get around. What can I do fer ya?�

�I have a job. It starts here and goes over the frontier. Probably take a couple of weeks. Want to talk about it?�

�Love to. Business has been terrible, it has, what with this AIDS problem. All me girls are thinkin� of becomin� secretaries, they are.�

�At the place around six. Be dark by then.�

�That�ll be dandy, Mr. Carter. We�ll have us a pint.�

�Cheers, mate,� Carter said, and hung up.

He walked to the main canal and turned up Prinsengracht to number Two. He passed the tunnel entrance to the caf�s cellar that once led under the canal and was used by seventeenth-century Catholics as a secret way of getting together for worship. The Papeneiland claimed to be the oldest caf� in Amsterdam, tracing its history back to its first coffin-maker owner who served drinks on the side when business was slow.

�One, sir?�

�Two, for lunch,� Carter replied.

He was shown to a table in the depths that needed the candle on the wall to read the menu.

Lorena appeared right on time, looking a bit frumpy in a scarf, a loose-fitting tweed coat, and knee-high boots.

�Welcome to Amsterdam,� she said, brushing his lips with her own and taking the opposite chair.

�I�m having beer.�

�Fine,� she said with a nod.

The waiter brought a second beer and two newspaper-sized menus. Lorena waited until he was gone before she spoke.

�Thank you for taking this on.�

�I didn�t have much choice. A very hard lady named Ilse let me know that if I didn�t, she was going to make a corpse out of me.�

�Ilse tends to exaggerate.�

�Oh?� Carter said. �How well do you know her?�

�Not very well, but she is devoted to my brother.�

�I know. And I don�t think she was exaggerating.�

�You�re mad at me.�

�A little,� Carter admitted, �but I�ll get over it. The stakes are too high not to.�

�How does he look?�

Carter decided to be blunt. �Like any dying man with the wolves nipping at his heels.�

Lorena took it without blinking. �You had problems?�

Carter told her the whole story. At the part about burying the woman in the snow he thought she might crack, but she held up.

�Then the situation is much worse. He has many enemies in the agencies of the other Eastern bloc countries.�

�That�s his problem,� Carter said. �Mine is satisfying his demands and getting that list. What about Fabian Huzel?�

�I�ve been following him for the last three days. He is as wily as a fox. He has a house in the Boorstadt district west of the city. Also two flats. One is in Dijkstraat, off the New Market. The other is on Amstrel on the canal. He never stays in the same place two nights in a row. He also has four cars scattered around the city. He constantly changes them.�

�A very cautious man.�

�Very. The house and both flats are like fortresses. He even keeps dogs in all of them. I managed to get close to him twice on the street. He�s armed at all times, a pistol under his coat in the back and another in an ankle holster. And I�d say from the looks of him he can use them.�

�What about business?�

�Legitimately, he�s a member of the Diamond Exchange, but he�s rarely there. He also has a small shop on Potterstraat where he buys and sells... legally. It probably makes a pittance compared to his fencing. The shop is run by one of his mistresses.�

�One?� Carter replied, cocking an eyebrow. �How many does he have?�

Lorena smiled. �Four, besides the one in the shop. He�s like a pimp, only they don�t sell their bodies. They are contacted by thieves all over Europe and the Middle East when the thieves make a score.�

�Huzel picks up and pays off through his mistresses?�

She nodded. �Huzel himself never actually meets the thief. The police can�t touch him.�

�Not an easy man to pin down,� Carter murmured. �But there must be a way. In the meantime, let�s eat.�

They ordered hutspot, a steaming beef stew with kale, potatoes, and sausage, all of it washed down with excellent beer. Over coffee they resumed the discussion.

�How about routine?�

�The women contact Huzel if they have anything. He picks all of his messages up from a service.�

�My God, Lorena,� Carter growled, �you�re making this as difficult as hell. From what you�ve told me, there is no way of figuring any one place he might be.�

She leaned forward, her voice scarcely a whisper. �There is one thing. It�s a little bit of a long shot, but...�

�What is it?�

�He�s flying out tomorrow morning. The first leg is to Paris, but I did a little bribing and found out that he�s bouncing from plane to plane. The last leg is from Lisbon to Buenos Aires.�

Carter�s eyes narrowed. �That means he�s on his way to meet our pigeon. Doesn�t leave much time...�

�Nick, I think I�ve found two weaknesses, maybe the only ones he has, and they could put him into the open. Huzel is deathly afraid to fly.�

�So?� Carter said, listening with only half an ear now, his mind racing, trying to pick apart what Lorena had already told him.

�As I said, it�s a long shot, but... well, the other weakness is his mother.�

�Lorena...�

�Let me finish. His mother�s ashes are interred in a tomb in Christ�s Church. That�s in Ijmuiden, about ten miles west of Amsterdam. I hit on it when I was going over the file my brother sent me on Huzel.�

�I went over that file,� Carter said. �Wait a minute. I remember now. He visits that tomb every Sunday afternoon. But what good will that do us? Tomorrow is Friday.�

�I was out there, Nick. I had a cup of tea with the caretaker, told him I was a writer doing a story on cemeteries. I got the conversation around to people who regularly tend the graves. Huzel comes so often that the caretaker remembers him. Nick, he remembers several other times � other than Sundays � when Huzel came out to the grave.�

Carter�s eyes were wide. �You mean he�s so afraid of flying that he goes out and talks to Momma before he takes off?�

Lorena nodded. �The dates match with the travel record we have in his file for the last six months. It�s a long shot, but...�

�But it�s better than nothing,� Carter said, dropping some bills on the table. �I�ll call you at your hotel.�

Lorena grasped him by the elbow. �Why don�t you just come by?�

�A lot to do, but I�ll try.� He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as they parted in front of the restaurant.

He took a water taxi on the canals as far as he could go toward the western part of the city. He got off at Leidsestraat, the wide boulevard that led to the highway into the west country. He found a cab idling at the curb when he climbed the stone steps from the water�s edge to the street.

�Ijmuiden, Christ�s Church cemetery.�

Twenty minutes later he gave the driver some bills to wait, and walked the old cemetery until he found the Huzel tomb. Then he walked the perimeter, checking out every tree and finding the caretaker�s shack.

Basically the area was level, but there was a rise about forty yards from the entrance to the tomb. There were a few trees and two large grave markers that could be used for concealment.

It would have to be done from there. Anywhere on the road itself or the approaches to the tomb would be too open.

He returned to the taxi and had the driver troll the streets of the village until he spotted a long-term parking lot beside a grocery co-op. One look told him that it was also used as a commuter lot for the bus stop into Amsterdam. The coin machines would belch out tickets for up to a week�s duration.

�Where to now?� the driver asked.

�Back to the city,� Carter replied, checking his watch. �Just drop me a little east of the Damrak.�

The driver�s eyebrows shot up a bit, but he flipped his windshield wipers back on and slipped the taxi into gear.

Carter could almost read the man�s thoughts. There was no way a local could figure out a foreigner�s tastes. The well-dressed gentleman had visited a fine old cemetery, and then wants to be taken to the red-light district!

It was still dark when Carter checked out with his small flight bag and took a taxi to the Yum-Yum Club. In the rear of the club he found the motorbike, a big BMW.

One light rap on the door of the club and it was opened by the bulky Chinese. Wordlessly, Carter was handed a set of leathers and a helmet. He changed right there in the tiny hallway and stuffed his clothes in the bag. As he was leaving, he traded the bag for a long, leather-covered case. This he strapped to the BMW and kicked it into life.

Minutes later he was in the western part of the city fighting a slight drizzle and heavy fog. The fog, he thought, would be both good and bad. Hopefully it wouldn�t deter Huzel from talking to his Momma.

In Ijmuiden, he located the long-term parking lot and fed coins into the meter until he had enough slips for a week�s parking. Back on the bike to the cemetery and church.

Everything was quiet and there was no light on in the caretaker�s cottage. He went directly to the spot he had picked out, and hid the case containing the air rifle and the case among the stones. Then he jogged around the perimeter to the two rear entrances. As quietly as possible, he closed the gates and hung the No Admittance signs on both of them.

The fog was still heavy but the gray light of dawn was valiantly trying to penetrate it as he rode back to the village of Ijmuiden. He located a small roadside caf� and sat at a front table by the window and had breakfast.

He was on a second cup of coffee when he spotted the ambulance go past. His watch said a little after nine o�clock.

He paid for the breakfast and rode the bike back to the cemetery. At the main entrance he saw no sign of the ambulance, but Mortimer, in a pair of blue coveralls and a heavy jacket, was moving litter around with a rake.

Carter rode on through the cemetery to the caretaker�s cottage and honked twice. The door opened and Lorena�s head popped out.

�Done,� she murmured.

Carter nodded and wheeled the BMW around to a lean-to in the rear of the cottage. He killed the engine and jogged through the stones to his place of concealment.

When he had the air rifle out of its case and assembled, he lifted one of the two darts that Mortimer had supplied and pulled off the plastic cap over the point. Then he crimped the fine plastic flanges and slid it into the firing chamber. Next came the CO₂ cartridge. When its head was pierced, he heard the slight whoosh of air release that would fire the dart. Carefully, he removed the second dart�s tip and set it on the gravestone beside him. With the scope sight and the short range, he was sure he wouldn�t need it, but it was there just in case.

Then, resisting the desire for a cigarette, Carter wormed his way down between the stones to wait.

The flight was long and boring, a Lufthansa out of Frankfurt nonstop to Rio. He�d seen the movie twice before on other flights, the food, even in first class, still tasted like half-cooked plastic, and the foghomlike snoring of the passenger seated behind him kept Carter from getting much-needed sleep. Even the attentions of the comely and well-endowed flight attendant did little to ease the boredom. The 5:30 A.M. landing came none too soon.

Customs gave him no trouble with the Fabian Huzel passport, and less than an hour after landing he was in a suite at the Leme Palace.

He direct-dialed the Rio office of Amalgamated Press and Wire Services, Buck Waters�s private number. He let it ring three times and hung up. He dialed again, let it ring once, and hung up again.

Then he dialed the switchboard operator. �I�d like to send a telegram, please, and charge it to my room.�

�Go ahead, senhor.�

�Senhor Enrique Bolivar, Rancho Corinto, Paranavi. Have arrived Rio. Await your instructions transportation. Suite Eleven-ten, Leme Palace, Huzel. That�s it.�

The girl read it back. �Will there be anything else?�

�Not for the moment. Thank you.�

Carter took the elevator to the basement and the exercise, steam room, and pool.

�Just towels and a locker, please,� he said to the attendant.

�No massage, senhor?�

�No.�

He undressed at the locker and showered before doing a few laps in the pool. Then he tied a towel around his waist and entered the steam room. Two men were already on the benches, a fat, wheezing businessman, and Buck Waters.

Carter climbed to the top bench, settled back with his eyes closed, and let the soothing steam envelop him. Fifteen minutes later the fat man left and Waters slid down the bench until he was right beside Carter. He took a Beretta automatic from between his legs and passed it to the Killmaster.

�What else do you need?�

�Put out the word that an old SS general named Erwin Bittrich is heading this way to contact his Odessa pals.�

Waters chuckled. �What�s left of the Odessa is a bunch of old, old men who could care less anymore. After Mengele went, the rest of them gave up. The Fourth Reich is dead, Nick.�

�I know that and you know that, but some people might still get antsy.�

�Is someone really coming?�

Carter nodded. �Traveling Swiss under the names Otto and Magda Goldolph. The Mossad got anybody down here left as bait?�

�Yeah, a couple. I do a little checking now and then for them, but they haven�t turned any stones over for a while.�

�No matter,� Carter said. �Put Otto in touch with them. He�ll take the ball from there. And let it be known that he�s looking for an old traitor, a Gruppenf�hrer named Graf von Wassner.�

�Will do. Then what?�

�Get Otto four good men, all locals and armed to the teeth. He�ll take it from there.�

�Anything official on this?�

�Nothing on paper.�

�Jesus, Nick, the crap you come up with.�

�Nature of the beast,� Carter replied, rising. �I�ve been in a steel cocoon all night. Gonna get a few hours� sleep, then lay down a bit of a smoke screen.�

�You want some company?� Waters asked.

�Not yours,� Carter said with a grin. �Got a hunch I�ll have someone on my heels from the other side until I leave Rio.�

Back in the suite, he stripped and passed out.

Hernando�s occupied the basement of a condo high-rise overlooking the ocean. It came with a canopy over the sidewalk and a doorman who resembled a solemn bear in a heavy coat with brass buttons.

He bowed Carter into a small gilt-and-red-velvet lobby. There was a leather-padded door leading to the inside of the restaurant.

Carter was surprised to find the place was large and comfortably appointed. There were round white tables scattered around the room, and the chairs were upholstered in the same red velvet as the lobby. The subdued lighting came from recessed ceiling fixtures. Taken as a whole, the room seemed rather French and was somehow soothing.

The ma�tre d� was instantly at Carter�s side. �Table for one?�

�I�m with a party. My name is Huzel.�

�Of course, this way.�

Carter followed him toward a rear booth. It was occupied by an enormous man in a white suit and a voluptuous brunette with a pouty mouth in a bland face.

�Ah, Huzel, welcome!� For his size the man was quick on his feet. His handshake was limp with a sweaty palm.

Again Carter relaxed. Obviously the man had never met Fabian Huzel face to face. �Bourlein.�

The same guttural laugh Carter had heard on the phone. �I thought you would know it was me. Allow me to introduce my secretary, Nanette.�

The woman rolled her eyes up and cased Carter. She seemed to like what she saw. A little life came into her face.

�Bonjour.�

�Mademoiselle,� Carter said with a slight bow, and the two men took their seats.

�A drink, senhor?�

�A double scotch, neat,� Carter said, and the ma�tre d� glided away.

�It is good to meet you at last,� Bourlein said, spreading pate thickly on a chunk of bread.

Carter�s drink came and he sipped it, watching the jowly man over the rim of the glass. �Is it?�

�Of course. I admire good competition, and you and I are the best.�

�What about Verna Rashkin?�

Bourlein dismissed the name with a wave of his hand. �A ruthless amateur. The woman uses her sex instead of finesse and good business practices.�

�She paid a visit to my room,� Carter said.

�I expected she would,� the fat man chuckled. �It is her way. Did she try and seduce you?�

�Yes.�

�And?�

�None of your business.�

�Then you didn�t succumb. Good.�

The brunette asked to be excused; her makeup needed tending. Bourlein let her out of the booth and resumed his seat.

�I suppose the bitch wanted to make a deal with you?�

�She did,� Carter said, noting out of the corner of his eye that Nanette had made a detour past the powder room to a bank of pay phones. �Probably the same deal you�re about to offer me.�

�Astute,� the big man said, and smiled slyly. �Of course, my deal is much better.�

�Oh?� Carter lit a cigarette. The brunette finished her call and disappeared into the ladies� room.

�I calculate the resale on Bolivar�s gems at somewhere around sixty million. It will take time, a great deal of time.�

�True.�

�I propose to give you five million now, this very night. A tidy profit for your trip, and you don�t even have to be involved.�

Carter seemed to think it over seriously. The brunette returned. Carter tried to read her eyes, but there was nothing there.

�What if you are still outbid by Rashkin?� he said.

The smile was oily and cocksure. �I won�t be. I happen to know that the bitch has been able to raise financing for only half the deal.�

�So,� Carter mused, �that�s why she came to me.�

�Of course. What do you say?�

�No deal,� Carter replied, sliding from the booth. �I already have buyers. No matter what you bid, Bourlein, I can do better.�

The jowly jaw set and the dark eyes became stones. �I don�t like to lose, Huzel.�

�Tough shit,� Carter growled. �Thanks for the drink. I think I�ll have dinner at my hotel. I�d rather eat alone.�

Carter turned and left the restaurant. There were no cabs on the street. A block to his left, he saw the black sedan. His two watchdogs had picked him up again when he left the hotel.

Then he spotted the second sedan, just like the first, with two men slouching in the front seat.

He chuckled to himself.

Bolivar was watching them all.

There was a larger, more heavily traveled avenue below, nearer the beach. Carter crossed the street and walked down two flights of narrow stone steps.

He was almost to the bottom when he heard footsteps, one man, behind him. He quickened his descent. Two more were waiting, both breathing heavily. They must have run down from the street above to intercept him.

The two figures moved closer, became faces, bodies, young faces that were hard, young bodies that moved with easy litheness.

�We want your money, senhor,� one of them hissed.

�Give us trouble and it will be rougher,� said the other.

Carter backed against the pipe railing, curling his fingers around it. Behind him, the footsteps stopped.

Carter took a roll of bills from his pocket and tossed it onto the concrete walk. �That�s all I have.�

That stopped them for an instant. The two in front of him looked at each other in a quizzical way, then the leader bent down. He put the bills in his pocket and moved forward again.

�I think maybe you got more,� he snarled.

There was a small parking area for the beach. Carter left the rail and moved to one of the cars. The one on the steps came all the way down, and all three of them advanced.

Carter was against the car now, his back to the fender. He heard the flat slap of a sap being hit against the palm of a hand, and his eyes found the weapon in the hand of the third one of the trio. The other two wore gloves on their right hands. The lead one grinned with obscene anticipation and moved forward, the other two following.

Carter waited, gauging, measuring, letting split seconds tick off, and then he exploded into action.

Using the fender of the car as a lever, he kicked out with both feet, twisting his body at the same time. The blow caught the first one full in the abdomen, and Carter heard his gasp of pain as he doubled over, went down on one knee. The other two rushed forward, expecting him to stand and swing back. Instead, he lifted himself against the fender and flung himself backward across the hood of the car. He heard the two crash against the fender as he reached the opposite side of the hood.

�Get him, dammit!� one snarled viciously. �Kill the bastard!�

Carter slipped from the hood to the ground, landing on his feet as the pair came around the front. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the third one starting to pull himself to his feet on the other side. The two others slowed, then started toward him again, and he caught the dull glint of metal in the first one�s hand. He backed, and they continued forward.

He had toyed with the idea of carrying the Beretta, and then at the last minute had left it hidden in his room.

He regretted it now.

One of them had a short length of pipe. The leader had his sap. To Carter�s surprise, it was the third one who came at him with his bare hands.

Carter didn�t wait for him to swing. He stepped forward and hit him just below the ribs. It was like shoving his fist into a concrete wall. Then it was his turn. Before Carter could get out of the way, he caught one high on the cheek. It felt as if he�d been hit by a two-by-four. Part of his face went numb, and there was a warm trickle down his cheek as he fell backward to the ground.

He looked up and saw a foot swinging at him. He rolled to one side, grabbed the foot, and heaved as hard as he could. For a brief moment he towered above Carter, tottering on his feet. Then he went down like an axed tree. His breath whistled as it was forced from his lungs.

But then the other two came on like a pair of trucks. The sap caught Carter high on the shoulder. The end of the pipe went into his gut. He rolled and came up swinging. He dropped one with a kick to the groin, but the other two were in close and working him over.

It was then he knew that they weren�t trying to kill him. They were too precise. Their intent was to cripple him, and they were doing a good job of it.

He was sinking to his knees, when the blows suddenly stopped. He got one eye open and saw the reason.

Chunky and the young one, Carter�s watchers, were methodically pistol-whipping all three of his assailants. It was over in seconds and the young one came over and helped Carter to his feet.

�Are you all right, Senhor Huzel?�

�Sore, a little bloody, but I�ll live.�

�The beach is very dangerous at night,� he replied. �Many muggers.�

�I don�t think so,� Carter grunted. �You work for Bolivar?�

�Sim,� the man said. �We are told to watch over you.�

�So watch me,� Carter hissed, and staggered forward to where the leader lay prone in front of a car. He rolled the youth over and went through his pockets.

He located the wad of bills he had tossed on the ground, and a second wad, even thicker. He shoved all the bills into his own pocket and stood.

�Bourlein still in the restaurant?�

The young man shook his head. �He and his woman left just after you.�

�Is he at the Leme?�

�Sim.�

�Give me a ride back to the hotel,� Carter said, already heading for the stairs.

Carter was the first one down the next morning. Young-and-lean and short-and-chunky were waiting for him in the lobby. They looked tense, so Carter was sure they had gotten the word on Bourlein and his busty brunette friend.

The young one grabbed Carter�s bag. �The car is in front, Senhor Huzel. The hotel bill has been taken care of by Senhor Bolivar.�

�Nice of him.�

Carter followed him out the door. The little sedan had been replaced by a Mercedes limo. Carter crawled in the back. Seconds later, short-and-chunky emerged with Verna Rashkin. She joined Carter in the rear with a smirk on her face.

�I didn�t notice your face last night. You look like hell.�

Carter smiled. �I feel fine.�

Actually, he was sore as hell. The crack across the bridge of his nose had blackened both his eyes, which were a puffy lavender-brown. His lips had swollen, giving his face an even more prognathous look than normal. The tape above his cheekbones, over his eye, and at his ear made him look like the comic-strip caricature of a man lately thrown out of a beer hall.

The limo pulled into traffic and they were silent all the way to the airport.

The plane was a twin-engine Bonanza, not new but in excellent shape. The bags were loaded and Carter buckled himself in. He was surprised when the woman seated herself as far from him as possible. He wasn�t surprised when the two watchers crawled in and took seats in the rear.

The pilot didn�t even turn around. He already had the off-side engine humming. The hatch was barely secure when the second engine burped to life and the tail swung around.

In no time they were in the takeoff area and turned into the wind. He spoke into his headpiece and advanced the throttles.

The takeoff was smooth and they climbed about five hundred feet per minute. The pilot began a 90-degree left turn, followed by a 45-degree right turn, in order to leave the traffic pattern. He leveled off at three thousand feet. The green and brown earth dropped away below, and they headed toward the never-ending blue sky.

The Bonanza followed the ribbon of coastline below. From this altitude it looked like a chemist�s bizarre experiment � browns, greens, blues, and grays moving between sunlight and shadow. The shoreline itself often became obscured by mountains dropping into the water.

About twenty minutes after takeoff there was another bank to the right and they headed inland. Carter looked down at the dense jungle and shuddered slightly. He hoped he wouldn�t have to come back out on foot.

Short-and-chunky played steward. Verna Rashkin wanted a Bloody Mary. Carter declined anything and leaned back on the headrest. He forced himself to half-doze for the next hour, until he felt the plane start its descent.

The flaps came down. They banked 45 degrees into the wind and swooped over the shimmering asphalt runway. Mountains and water diminished as the plane descended. The landing gear dropped the wheels down, and then the plane was bumping and squeaking along sun-softened pitch seams. The pilot taxied right down the runway to the first Quonset-style hangar. The crackling, robotlike voice from the control tower ceased.

The pilot turned in his seat. �This is Paranavi. The helicopter will take you the rest of the way.�

They scrambled down the steps and under the wing of the Bonanza toward a blue-and-red helicopter whose rotor was already beginning to turn.

Once inside, Carter removed a pair of dark glasses from the pocket of his jacket and put them on against the glare in the helicopter�s bubble.

�Is it far?� he asked the pilot.

�Not far,� the man replied, pointing toward the mountains. �Up there, maybe twenty minutes.�

It was nineteen. The chopper swooped low, flying over a large estate surrounded by mountains. There were several barns, fields of grazing horses and cattle, small barracklike houses, and a lake.

The chopper roared over the outbuildings and Carter heard a gasp from across the aisle. He looked, and saw why Verna had gasped.

The house was awesome, a huge, rambling affair built of stone and glass. It was set directly against a jut of mountain rock that provided perfect protection from the rear. To the right were the garages, servants� quarters, and accommodation for guards, ten of whom Bolivar kept in permanent residence, on a rotating basis. The stables for the horses were to the left, where there was more land available. The center of the huge winding drive was permanently watered, and therefore green, garden area, with a playing fountain and a blaze of flowers.

�He must own the whole valley!� Verna exclaimed.

�Probably,� Carter replied dryly, �and most of the mountains as well.�

The helicopter landed on the lawn and the engine was killed at once. They stepped to the ground to be met by a striking blond woman, so tall that her eyes were level with Carter�s. She sported a voluptuous, hourglass figure in a white crocheted sweater of an open-weave stitch, and jade green, silk slacks. A matching green cardigan draped over her shoulders obstructed most of the view. The only jewelry she had on was a large square-cut emerald on the third finger of her left hand. Its color matched almost exactly the color of her eyes. She was beautiful � ten years and twenty pounds less and she must have been spectacular.

�I am Eva, Senhor Bolivar�s housekeeper. Anything you need while you are here, do not hesitate to ask me. Senhor Bolivar is hunting at the moment. He will join us for dinner. This way, please. I will show you to your rooms.� Her accent was Bavarian and it was heavy.

They moved obediently behind her, Carter expecting at any time to hear The Ride of the Valkyries.

Up close, inside the house was even more immense and awe-inspiring. It was two stories high and shaped like an L, with the short arm cantilevered out over a sloping landscaped hill. The short arm was only a single story, and comprised the living room, with the terrace right alongside; at right angles was the long arm, two floors of bedrooms, a dining room, and probably a study as well. Carter�s room was on the second floor, near the bend in the L.

The entire building was constructed from glass and stone, and inside and out, it was sharp, clean, bare, and smooth. The unsparing, almost harsh quality of the lines was broken by the occasional use of bricks to add texture, and the low stone walls that ran around the house, screening it from the view of anyone for miles.

�This is your room, Herr Huzel. You, Fr�ulein, are across the hall. Your bags will be up shortly. The pool is in the center courtyard, if you care to swim.�

She clomped back down the hall and disappeared.

Carter looked at Verna. Her mouth was open. �Awesome, isn�t it, in the middle of nowhere?�

�It is that.�

�Care to pool it?� Carter asked.

�I think I�ll sit in a tub.�

�Suit yourself.�

Inside the room, Carter went over it. In ten minutes he found three bugs. From his window he could see a brace of four armed guards patrolling beyond the walls around the house.

Short-and-chunky entered the room without knocking and dropped Carter�s bag on the bed.

�I searched your luggage,� he grunted.

�My God, it talks,� Carter exclaimed.

�And took your gun.�

�I figured you would,� the Killmaster said with a smile.

The sound of the helicopter warming up awakened Carter. Early-morning sun slanted through the windows, already preparing the room for the day�s heat.

He moved off the bed, a bit creakily. Unidentifiable muscles and joints creaked and cracked. His feet hit the floor, and cursing Ravel Bourlein, he shot himself into an upright position and moved across to the windows.

He was just in time to see Bolivar hurry across the grass. Grossman awaited him and gave him a hand into the chopper. The moment the hatch was closed behind the security chief, the machine rose into the air. The tail twisted around and the helicopter headed southwest as it gained altitude.

Not in the direction of Rio or S�o Paolo, Carter observed, but toward Uruguay, or Argentina.

Bolivar had probably been on the horn all night trying to contact all the old Nazis he had attempted to befriend through the years.

Would they have the word yet that Otto was looking for von Wassner?

What would Bolivar tell them? He couldn�t tell them the truth. He certainly couldn�t tell them that he wasn�t the real SS Gruppenf�hrer Graf von Wassner. And if he continued with the lie that he had come to South America because of his Nazi ties, the old guard would start to insist on him telling them just what those ties were.

Carter smiled to himself. Bolivar was going to have a very busy day.

He punched the button on the house intercom and ordered coffee. Then he moved into the bathroom. The shower blasted warm and then cold needles through his body, and he felt alive again when he emerged.

Still wet, he climbed into a pair of swim trunks and a thick pool robe he found behind the door.

He found a tray with coffee and croissants on the balcony table. There was also a note on plain but expensive stationery: Huzel: I have been called away on an important matter. Please forgive me. We will conclude our business tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Carter thought. Did that mean Bolivar and his chief of security would be gone overnight? He hoped so.

He was on his second cup of coffee and his first cigarette when his bedroom door was thrown open so hard that the inner knob crashed into the wall.

A very irate Verna Rashkin stormed into the room. She wore the same nightie he had seen the previous night. The difference in appearance between then and now was in the flesh beneath and around the nightie. There were bruises on her arms and shoulders as well as her hips and thighs.

�You pig... you bastard!� She said more, but it was so garbled with anger that Carter could make no sense of it.

�Calm down, Verna. Coffee?�

�You told Bolivar I wanted to make a deal with you!�

�That�s right.�

�You pig...�

�You already said that.�

She went straight for Carter�s eyes with her talons out. He caught one wrist, then the other, and tossed her on the bed. She still struggled, but she was no match for his body weight.

�Did he tell you about it before he took you to bed... or after?� Carter said smoothly.

�He�s an animal,� she cried. �He abused me half the night, and then this morning told me to get out!�

�So that�s where the bruises came from.�

She nodded. �I�m to be taken back to Rio sometime today.�

Carter chuckled. �I thought he dished out your kind of sex. You probably enjoyed every minute of it.�

Verna tried to knee him in the crotch, but he took it on the thigh. �Why did you tell him that I didn�t have the backing to make a bid?� she hissed.

�Because you don�t.�

�But how did you know?� She was practically screaming now.

�Because Bourlein told me.� Suddenly she went limp. Carter held on for a few seconds to make sure she stayed that way, then released her and stood. �Want some coffee now?�

She nodded. �And a cigarette.�

He gave her both and poured himself a fresh cup. �Tell you what I�ll do.�

�What?� She was sullen now, defeated, but not liking it.

�I�ll make this trip worthwhile if we can work a little trade-off.�

Her eyes flashed. �I don�t do trade-offs with bastards.�

�Yes, you do,� Carter said, and smiled. �You traded your body to Bolivar last night to get a leg up on me. He just didn�t trade back.�

She bristled for an instant longer, then her shoulders sagged. �What do you want?�

�I want you to stick around. I�ll clear it with Bolivar, and I�ll make it worth your while.�

She was intrigued but she didn�t jump right in with both feet. �What will you tell him?�

�That I need a second opinion on the jewels... weight, authenticity, the American market.�

Carter kept his eyes out the window, staring at the women playing water polo in the pool. He also held his breath until he got an answer. Verna Rashkin didn�t know it, but her skill in authenticating the stones would be invaluable. He was fair with a jeweler�s glass, but not in her league. If Bolivar tried to toss in some good paste, she could spot it.

She was in front of him then, the anger gone from her large eyes and replaced with dollar signs. She took a deep drag on her cigarette, parted her lips, and let the smoke curl out slowly over her moving tongue like a long kiss.

�How much?� she murmured.

�Enough to make the trip worthwhile.�

�That�s not enough.�

�That�s all you�re going to get. Let me know, I�m going for a swim.�

He left her and headed down to the pool. The helicopter was landing and most of the women were headed for the house. He saw Bremerhaven doing laps, and dived in to join her.

�Good morning,� he called.

�Not really,� she replied, rolling into an easy backstroke.

�Oh?�

They hit the side of the pool, crawled out, and sat. �Big Eva told us this morning that the chopper would take us in shifts over to Paranavi, then on to Rio.�

�Anything odd about that?�

�I suppose not,� she said. �It�s just that we were supposed to be here for a couple more weeks. Well, I�d better get packed. Nice meeting you.�

�Ja, the same.�

Carter watched her walk around the pool and then into the house.

Bolivar was clearing the decks. It could only mean that he was expecting trouble and he wanted no one on the scene who might carry word of it to the outside world.

Carter smiled to himself.

Otto had done a good job of tapping into Rio�s underground information pipeline.

He ordered breakfast and ate it by the pool. When he was finished, he spread out on a chaise in a position to watch the guards move around. They were all armed now, and they seemed more alert than they had been the previous day. Now and then he spotted some of them on horseback riding the outer fringes of the estate.

By noon the helicopter had made three trips and was loading a fourth time.

�Herr Huzel?�

Carter looked up. It was the Amazon, Big Eva, and she had fire in her eyes. �Ja?�

�I have been instructed to put Fr�ulein Rashkin on the helicopter this morning.�

�I know. She told me.�

�She refuses to go. She tells me to talk to you.�

�That�s right. I�ve decided to put her on my personal payroll for a while.�

�I cannot do that. I was told��

�I will explain it to Senhor Bolivar.�

�I cannot do that. I was told��

�What are you, a machine?� Carter barked. �She stays. I�ll take care of it.�

For a moment he thought she was going to throw him into the pool. They had a staring match, and finally she backed down and stalked off.

Carter took the sun for another hour and then returned to the house. He searched out Eva.

�Fr�ulein Rashkin and I will go for a ride this afternoon.�

�That is impossible. I have been told��

�Inform the stables that we�ll be down there in half an hour.�

He left her stuttering, and climbed the stairs to rap on Verna�s door. It opened at once.

�Get dressed, we�re going riding.�

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. �I hate horses.�

�You need the air,� he growled. �Half an hour.�

He entered his own room, took a quick shower, and dressed. Verna was ready when he knocked on her door again, and they walked down to the stables.

�Why do you want to ride?� she groused, almost running to keep up with his pace.

�To commune with nature.�

The stableman was a grisled old Indian who said everything in grunts. They were both barely mounted when he disappeared back into the building.

They had scarcely left the main compound when a mounted guard fell in behind them. Carter could see two more tracking them in a parallel line to their right and left.

�What do you know about Bolivar?� Carter asked.

She shrugged. �What�s to know? He�s a Nazi who got out when the getting was good.�

�How did he first contact you?�

�I do a lot of business in Spain and Portugal. It was through a third party.� She glanced at him. �Why the third degree?�

�No particular reason,� Carter replied. �Have you sold much of his stuff?�

�A few small pieces. I didn�t know until a few weeks ago that he had this big a horde. He sent me a shopping list, invited me to bid.�

Carter was silent for a few seconds, and then asked, �Why do you suppose he�s bailing out now?�

�You mean you don�t know?� she asked, obviously surprised at his question.

�You tell me,� he said.

�I only know rumors, but I�ve heard that he was pretty heavy into oil speculation when the bottom dropped out. Also, the new government in Brasilia isn�t as easy on alien residents as the former administration. He probably wants cash in case he has to run.�

Carter nodded. �That�s about the way I figure it.�

They reached the perimeter of the estate and made a wide swing through the hills. At the lake, a mounted guard would let them go no farther.

It made no difference.

Carter had seen everything he needed to see.

When Carter came to, his neck and right shoulder were a mass of pain, intense, throbbing pain. He lay on his belly, and perhaps another minute passed before he heard the groans. It was another minute before he realized they were his own.

Then he concentrated, first to stop making the silly noises, and then to find out where he was.

It wasn�t easy.

He began with his fingers and then his toes. Everything moved. He opened his eyes. A window. Daylight. But his eyes wouldn�t focus.

Fingers first, he pressed down, and groaned again as his shoulder muscles worked. Deliberately, he shut off the pain and continued to press until he sat up.

He looked around slowly, wary of what he might find.

And then he saw her. She sat in a chair at a table; the single eye that wasn�t swollen shut stared fixedly at him. One side of her face was a swollen, purple bruise. He could see fear crawling slowly, obscenely across the rest of her face.

�Who are you?� Her voice sounded as if someone had been beating a tattoo on her vocal cords.

�I need a drink. Water.� She made no move. His hands slipped and he almost fell from the bed, then pushed himself up again.

Verna Rashkin stood and laboriously moved across the room to a sink. She filled a glass of water and staggered back until she stood in front of Carter.

�Who are you? They said you weren�t Huzel.�

�I�m a con man and a thief,� he growled.

He reached for the water and she threw it in his face. Then she turned and made her way back to the chair. She barely made it, when the door opened and Umberto Grossman entered. A second man took up a post by the door.

�Who are you?�

�Christ,� Carter hissed, �everybody around here has the narrowest vocabulary I�ve��

The side of Grossman�s foot caught him in the ribs, sending him reeling from the bed. When Grossman stepped forward for another kick, Carter was ready. He grabbed the foot and twisted. As Grossman fell, Carter used the leverage to gain his own footing.

But the room was spinning. He drew his foot back to stomp Grossman, but there the motor action ended.

The stormtrooper type at the door leaped forward and got an armlock around Carter�s neck. He was held while Grossman scrambled to his feet and slammed Carter low in the gut.

The guard let go and Grossman hit Carter in the face, rocking him groggily against the wall. He hit Carter again, slamming his head against the wall. His legs turned to water and he slid slowly down the wall, trying to protect his face with his arms.

�We know what you did to Huzel. He escaped from your dungeon, or whatever it was. He is flying to Rio now. Who are you!�

�A thief... I�m a thief.�

�You are a fool,� Grossman grunted, and went to work with his feet.

Carter was slipping away, when from somewhere far off he heard a voice, Bolivar�s, telling Grossman to stop, that he would be of no use to them dead... not yet.

The door slammed, and Carter did slip off for a few moments. Gradually, his mind began to activate again. He felt his head being raised and then life-giving water was flowing down his throat.

He opened his eyes and saw Verna�s beaten face. �Thanks.�

�You really must be a thief,� she said, �or one hell of a fool.�

�Grossman do that to you?�

She shook her head. �Eva. She loved it. I thought I was kinky. She�s gone.�

�Where are we?�

�In a room above the stable.�

Somehow, with her help, Carter got to his feet and across the room to the sink. He turned the tap on full, cold, and put his head under. He came up for air and did it again.

It helped. When he wiped the water from his eyes, they worked. Now he could take a hard look at Verna. The fear was still in her eyes, only now it looked as if she was on the border of hysteria.

�You look like hell.�

She nodded. �I feel worse.� She stepped forward and leaned against his chest. There were no tears. Verna wasn�t the type for tears. But her body was shaking. �They�re going to kill us, aren�t they,� she whispered.

�They�re probably going to try,� Carter said, and set her gently on the bed. �But I think there�s time to do something about it.�

And then it hit him. Time.

He looked at his wrist. His watch was smashed, stopped. �Verna, your watch... does it work?�

�Yeah... it�s noon. Why?�

He remembered the bugs in his room. �Nothing. I have a thing about time, I hate to lose it.�

He cased the room. The smell of leather made him guess that it had once been a tack room. The window wasn�t barred, but there was heavy mesh over it and there were four panes in it. He�d have to kick the glass and the metal ribbing out before he could even get to the mesh.

In the stableyard below he could see a guard lounging against the wall. He had an M-16 slung over his shoulder, and his eyes were looking right at Carter in the window.

The door was solid wood, inches thick. He tried it, very gently, knowing it would be locked. He stood against the door, ear under the sharply angled ventilating slats, and listened. Someone moved, and paused for a long time, and moved again, this time with a slight click-click that Carter knew to come from a gun swivel. A guard.

He looked around some more. He needed a weapon, a club, anything. Seven hours until boom-boom time. He had to be off and running before then.

Then the bed came to mind. He lifted the springs and found a hardwood slat. It was broad for his hand, but solid and heavy.

Verna was watching him. �Against...�

He put a finger over her lips and then his lips at her ear. �To use an old clich�, the walls have ears.�

For some reason that brought life. �Bastards!� she yelled. �You�re all bastards!�

He couldn�t use the slat until seven. He replaced it and stretched out on the bed. �There�s nothing we can do. We might as well rest.�

�You�re right,� she sighed, and stretched out beside him. She was silent for several moments, then, �You know, I still don�t like you.�

�I affect some people that way,� Carter said with a yawn.

The time was near. He might even be cutting it too close. He glanced at Verna. Thankfully, some of the fear in her eyes had been replaced by a resolute anger.

Out the window he could see that her plea to the guard had worked. The Amazon, Eva, was hurrying across the courtyard.

He had gone over the entire room and found it bug-free. Their biggest hope now was twofold. One, that Eva would be very sure of her position and enter the room alone. Two, that what Carter had to say would sap her caution long enough.

Verna sat on the bed. Carter stood by the window in full view of the slot in the door. The smooth shard of windowpane that he had removed from the cracked window was on the window ledge behind him, carefully wrapped in his handkerchief. The hardwood slat was between the mattress and the box springs, easily available.

They heard the thud of the guard�s boots and the click of Eva�s heels on the stairs.

Carter glanced at Verna. �Can you do it?�

�I can do it,� she replied, tight-lipped.

The footsteps stopped at the door. Carter couldn�t see the guard�s eye at the slit, but he knew it was there.

The door opened. The guard stepped in, his rifle ready. Eva moved right in behind him, a revolver held loosely in her right hand. The guard covered Carter with the rifle. Eva turned to Verna.

�Well, what is it you think you have to tell me that is so important?�

�It isn�t her,� Carter said quietly, �it�s me.�

She whirled. �You?�

�That�s right.�

�Well, speak!�

Carter shook his head. �In private.�

Eva glanced at the guard and hooded her eyes in thought. The Killmaster was gambling that she would accept the idea that he thought he might get a better deal from her than he would from Bolivar.

He reinforced it. �I had a last word from Bolivar. Evidently he doesn�t care about knowing the whole story any longer. I thought you might.�

He could see the wheels turning in her blond head. She would run to Bolivar with anything he told her, but perhaps she could convince Carter that she would intercede for his life.

She made up her mind and turned to the guard. �Outside. I�ll call you if I need you.�

Reluctantly, the guard backed from the room. The door closed but the lock didn�t click.

Eva turned to face Carter. �Well?�

�In private,� he said.

She glanced at Verna. The woman was doing a good job. She was on the bed, slumped back against the wall, her eyes vacant and staring. The big woman decided to take her chances and advanced on Carter, stopping a few feet from him.

�What is it?� she murmured.

�Bolivar was only half right,� Carter said in a voice barely above a whisper.

�Half right?� Eva replied, matching his volume.

�He accused me of coming here to kill him. It�s true, that�s what I was hired to do.�

�So, and who hired you to do this?�

�I want your word that you�ll get me out of here. I don�t care about her, you can do what you want with her.�

Carter had kept lowering his voice. To hear better, Eva had inched forward as he talked. The revolver was still pointed in his direction, but in her curiosity it was still being held with a loose hand.

�Names... tell me the names,� she hissed.

�No names. I don�t know them. A contact and the organization.�

The woman smiled. �It is Odessa.�

�No.�

�Then who?�

Verna had the slat free from between the mattress and box springs. It was held in two steady hands over her shoulder as she advanced. Carter kept his eyes steady on Eva�s.

�Take me into the jungle, a head start of two miles. Just you and your gun. Then I�ll tell you.�

Her eyes narrowed. �How do you know I just won�t kill you in the jungle after you tell me?�

Carter smiled. �I don�t. But it�s a better chance than I�ve got here, don�t you agree?�

�Yes, that�s true. I��

The blow coming partially across the back of the skull and the shoulder wasn�t as clean as Carter would have liked, but it did the job. Eva grunted in pain and shock and fell forward.

Carter chopped her wrist with his left hand, sending the revolver slithering across the room. He grabbed the handkerchief-wrapped glass with his right.

The woman had a lot of strength and fortitude. She was about to scream, when Carter grabbed the long braid of blond hair that hung down her back. In one smooth motion he jerked the braid tight around her throat so she couldn�t scream. He looped it cruelly into the softness of her flesh and drove her to the floor by pressing his knee into her belly.

Wide with shock, her eyes stared up into his as he flashed the shard of glass in front of her face.

�No sound,� he hissed. �Blink if you understand.�

She remained motionless, either from fear or defiance. He moved the razorlike sliver back and forth in front of her eyes and leaned forward to whisper.

�One sound and I�ll gouge out your eyes. One kick or squeal and I�ll leave two raw holes in your face. Well?�

White and contorted, her face twitched and finally her eyes blinked several times. He eased off the twisted braid of hair just enough to give her air.

�I�m going to lift you up, Eva, and walk you to the door.�

Her breath made a hissing sound and terror was in her eyes. Carter took his knee from her body and tugged on the braid, lifting. She swayed on her feet. He led her to the door, changed grips on the hair so that he stood to one side and partly behind her. He showed her the sharp spear of glass again.

�Verna, get the gun. Now unload it. Good, now hand it to her.�

�I�d like to pistol-whip her with it,� Verna spat.

�I�m sure you would, but this is more important.�

�You�ll never get as far as the jungle,� Eva cracked. �There are no roads, there��

�Shut up,� Carter growled. �Verna, give her the gun.�

Verna placed the revolver in the larger woman�s hands and stepped to the center of the room.

�Okay, what�s the guard�s name outside the door?�

�Donner,� Eva replied.

�It�d better be. Call out, tell him to come in here. If his name isn�t Donner and he gets edgy, I�ll slit your throat.�

He maneuvered the big woman so that, through the slit, the guard could see Eva, still holding the gun, and most of Verna�s body.

�All right... now!� Carter spat.

�Donner... Donner, come in, I am finished.�

Footsteps. A pause while the man, more from force of habit than anything else, peered through the slit. Then the door opened and he walked into the room.

Behind Eva�s back, Carter had already dropped the shard of glass and picked up the hardwood slat.

In one movement, he jerked Eva to her knees and swung the slat with all his strength.

The blow drove the man down and forward. His gun slid across the floor. Still hanging on to Eva�s braid, Carter heeled the man in the throat. The guard gasped on the floor, his legs twitching. Carter dragged Eva to the gun, picked it up, and wheeled to drive its butt savagely into the bridge of the guard�s nose. Grunting softly, he struck twice more. The sounds were wet and crunching.

He hauled the big woman across the man�s body to close the door, lightening his grip to let her gasp a breath as he made sure the guard was dead. He was about to turn, when he heard a sickening crunch. He looked around.

Verna had retrieved the empty revolver when Eva had dropped it. She had reversed it and split the big blonde�s skull with the butt. She was about to land a second blow, when Carter spoke.

�No need for that.�

�Oh, yes, there is.�

Carter took the gun from her hand. �No. In about five minutes this building is going sky-high. She�ll go with it.�

He got the shells from the bed and reloaded the revolver, then stuck it in his belt. He flipped off the safety and handed Verna the rifle.

�Can you use this?�

�I can point it and pull the trigger.�

�Good. Just don�t point it at me, and don�t pull the trigger until I tell you to.� Carter grabbed the blanket off the bed. �Let�s go!�

They moved quietly down the narrow passageway and then down the stairs. There was a guard lounging against one jamb of the open stable doors. His rifle was slung carelessly over one shoulder.

Carter was on top of him before the man knew he was there. Carter flipped the blanket over his head and then curled it tightly.

While the guard was trying to tear off the blanket, Carter hit him three times with everything he had. His fist sank each time wrist-deep into his gut, and the guard folded like a jackknife. Carter stood over him while he crouched on his knees with his hands clamped to his belly. He sucked breath into his tortured lungs and sobbed with pain.

Carter had all the time in the world to measure carefully and swing.

His knuckles hit him with such fury he hurtled backward horizontally, his nostrils dissolving into red as his shoulders thumped the ground.

He lay blowing red bubbles and Carter strode across to him, dragged him to his feet, shook him until he pawed the air in a weak show of defense, and then battered him to the ground again.

Carter gave no quarter. His knuckles were bone hammers. Every time the man fell, Carter dragged him to his feet and beat him into insensibility while he stood. The Killmaster battered his chest, ribs and abdomen, and pounded his face until his piggy eyes could no longer see and his mouth and nostrils were a red maw of bleeding flesh.

Then Carter stepped back and let him fall.

�My God,� Verna gasped at his elbow.

�It was the quiet way,� Carter said, lifting the man�s legs and tugging him deeper into the stables.

�What now?�

�You see the barn over there with the flat roof across the top?� he asked, checking the second guard�s rifle and slinging it.

�I see it.�

�We�re going over there. You�re going up on that flat part of the roof. Then you�re going to lie down and point your rifle at the house.�

�Damn.�

�What�s wrong?�

�I�m afraid of heights.�

�You�ll just have to get over it. This way. There�s another guard in the courtyard between here and this building.�

�Wait a minute,� she whispered, grabbing his arm.

�What?�

�You said you attached explosives to all these buildings.�

�Not that one,� he replied. �That�s where the horses are. I�m an animal lover. C�mon, and stay in the shadows!�

At the last second he grabbed the dead guard�s wide-brimmed hat and jammed it on his head.

He led the way for fifty feet, a hundred, a hundred and fifty, and then he stopped, straining his ears and trying to pick up any alien sound.

When he heard nothing, he grabbed Verna�s hand and pulled her into the stables.

�That�s the ladder to the hayloft. When you get up there you�ll find another ladder that leads through the hole in the roof, there. See it?�

�I see it,� she said grimly, and started up the ladder.

�And remember,� Carter added, �shoot just for the house. We�ve got help coming out of the jungle.�

He waited until he saw her figure move through the hole in the roof, and then he moved back outside.

He was skirting the trees on the edge of the other outbuildings when the first explosion went off.

Carter was about to bolt for the courtyard between the old, unused stables and the house, when the stables went up. It wasn�t a huge explosion, but it was quickly followed by fire that lit up the whole area.

The guard who had been in the courtyard careened around the corner.

Carter fired twice at the middle of the big, bulky body with the revolver. It kicked solidly against the heel of his palm and the man took two more steps toward him.

He was bent slightly at the waist and raising his gun as he advanced. His breath was very loud, but he seemed to be smiling; his lips were drawn back flat, exposing his teeth, and his face was wrinkled like a wadded-up piece of wastepaper.

Carter fired again and the man twisted sideways, bending sharply now, and his gun exploded into the ground. He fell limply, disjointedly, like a big sack of rags rolling onto its side. There was no longer the illusion of a smile on his face; he looked surprised and slightly stupid. That was all.

One wing of the house went up, and then the rest of the perimeter�s buildings also exploded.

It was like daylight now, and Carter could hear firing coming from the jungle. That would be Lorena and Otto wading their way through the perimeter guards.

Suddenly a female scream pierced the chaos of sound around him, and Carter looked up. The old stable master was wrenching the rifle away from Verna. The scream was her slipping from the edge of the roof.

Carter unslung the rifle and got off two fast rounds. The old man grabbed his middle and disappeared through the hole in the roof.

Carter ran around the building and spotted Verna at once. She lay on her back, her arms and legs sprawled like those of a broken doll. He knew she was dead even before he saw the staring look of her eyes. She wasn�t pretty anymore, she wasn�t anything. The exquisitely sculptured head was like the relief on an old Roman coin: distant, cold, remote.

He turned and headed for the main house.

Halfway there, a guard ran from one of the rear doors. He was holding his hands up, palms out. �Don�t go in, don�t go in!� he shouted.

Carter shot him and leaped over the body. He ran around the wide veranda until he reached the part of the house that was not in flames. He was about to kick open one of the doors, when Otto von Krumm and one of Buck Waters�s locals rounded the corner in front of him.

Otto didn�t mince words. �How many did you get so far?�

�Four,� Carter replied.

�We got three coming out the side, and one was crunched jumping from a third-floor window,� Otto grunted.

�That should leave three, besides Bolivar and Grossman. What about the servants?�

�They scattered. I don�t know if they all made it. We let them through.�

�Where�s Lorena?� Carter barked.

Otto paused for only an instant. �She went in the front, just shooting her way inside. I couldn�t stop her.�

�I didn�t figure you could. Stay out here, make sure no one gets through.�

Without waiting for a reply, Carter kicked the door open and burst through it into the smoky interior. He found himself in the enormous kitchen.

Half by sight, half by feel, he found a hand towel and soaked it under the tap. When it was wrapped securely around his face, he hit the small dining room and went on into a sitting room.

The deeper he went, the greater was the smoke. As yet, he had seen no flames on the inside, but they would be in the bedroom areas on the upper story.

He had to kick the door of the great room several times before he could get it open. When he did, he saw the body that had been sprawled against it.

The files and papers that had been spread on the long table were now scattered across the floor. He saw no sign of the two leather cases.

Halfway up the stairs he saw another guard sprawled. He was cut almost in half, with his rifle still slung over his shoulder.

There wasn�t a sound now except the crackling of flames on the floors above Carter.

Suddenly there was a single shot. It was quickly followed by a staccato burst from an automatic rifle.

Carter took the stairs two at a time. Halfway up, the last guard appeared at the top of the stairs.

Carter raised the rifle, but before he could fire, the man toppled forward. The Killmaster stepped aside and the body rolled past him, trailing a path of blood down the stairs.

Carter leaped to the landing and shouted: �Lorena... Lorena, where are you!�

A door opened behind him and he dived for the floor. He rolled up against the wood-paneled wall as the hall filled with the staccato roar of a submachine gun. The wood a foot from his face chipped away as though a buzz saw were chewing it.

He rolled away to avoid the splinters and return the fire. Two shots from the automatic rifle and it clicked empty.

Carter cursed and pawed for the revolver in his belt. It was gone, lost when he had hit the floor.

The shooter had heard, too, and was now running toward him. Carter rolled in the smoke, avoiding the bullets.

The man lost Carter in the smoky darkness just long enough for the Killmaster to reach up and grab him. He got the gun arm with one hand, spun around, and brought it over his shoulder. He got the other hand on his wrist and yanked. The man had to either come up or risk a broken elbow.

He took the risk.

Carter heard the bone crack and the machine pistol clattered down the stairs.

The man hit the floor and came right back up to his feet.

The smoke cleared just enough then for Carter to see.

It was Umberto Grossman.

�Good!� he roared. �Before this place falls in on us, I will have the joy of killing you!�

Grossman was fast, like lightning, and deadly, even with one broken arm and his lungs full of smoke.

He came in from Carter�s right, went from high to low, and suddenly appeared on the Killmaster�s left, his own good side. A swift, blurring chop came at Carter�s neck from the man�s healthy right arm.

Carter blocked it, but caught a kick in his left side that sent him reeling. He bounced off the wall and started to turn. Something chopped him across the neck. Carter spun, reaching.

The room turned end over end. He landed hard on his shoulders, breath gusting out in a rush. A shoe heel drove viciously at his throat, and he was barely alert enough to roll dizzily away from it. The second try caught him on the side of the jaw. Red lights flashed on and off, on and off.

Grunting, the Killmaster pawed at the floor and came up, shaking his head, trying to push the red spots out of his eyes. The knife edge of a calloused palm lanced into his throat. He swayed on his knees, sucking through the bright, hard agony that wouldn�t let the air pass. The face floating over him was out of focus, hazy, leering at him, full of pure evil.

Carter wobbled up and stuck a fist at it, felt the hand snap around his wrist, felt himself yanked off-balance and knew something painful was on its way. But the hand slipped off. The face moved back, jerked back. Carter spat, pumped a gulp of head-clearing air into his chest.

Grossman was on his knees, reaching up with his one good arm to get a madwoman off his back.

Lorena was riding him, her legs around his middle. One hand clenched his hair, the claws of her other hand dug into his eyes. Her fingers already dripped with blood as she ripped frantically at his face.

Grossman screamed in pain and tried to unseat her.

Chin pulled in, gasping, Carter moved forward as the mist in front of his own eyes cleared. �Lorena!� he cried. �Let him go, I�ve got him!�

He got his fingers twisted into the man�s jacket. Screaming in pain, Grossman struck out with his good hand and arm, but it was useless with his blinded eyes.

Lorena dropped away.

Carter pulled him off the floor, held him in midair, and wrapped his other hand around the man�s ankle. Then he turned slowly and hammered Grossman�s head against the wall. Plaster cracked. Dust geysered. Carter swung him back for another stroke, and another, shaking and ruining the wall. Finally Grossman stopped screaming. Carter dropped him into the dusty pile of plaster.

The Killmaster didn�t need to check. Umberto Grossman was dead. He found the revolver and waddled his way through the smoke.

�Lorena...?� he shouted, stumbling down the hall. �Lorena!�

He had planted the explosive on the roof. It was gone, or at least most of it, and the flames were eating their way downward. If there had been a high wind, the house would have already been devoured. As it was, on such a calm night and with the lack of wind, it was moving slowly.

Slowly, Carter thought as he slammed door after door open, but surely.

�Lorena!�

Still no answer.

Suddenly he burst through the last door in the wing and found them.

It was a sight out of hell.

Bolivar was on a satin-covered settee. He sat, slightly hunched over, his hands clasped over his middle. Blood oozed in waves through his fingers. His eyes were bright, alert. He even looked up as Carter entered the room.

A few feet in front of him, Lorena was on her knees, much in the same position as Bolivar, her hands clasped over her middle.

Carter was frozen in time and space.

They were talking, actually seemed to be chatting.

Between them on the floor, scattered like so many pieces of pretty glass, was a fortune in gemstones.

Slowly, through the shock and the smoke filling his mind and the room, Carter heard the conversation.

�Your brother,� Bolivar was saying, �is an evil man. You were a child, a baby. To raise you with revenge all these years was a waste.�

�No,� Lorena replied calmly, �every minute was worth it... for this.�

Carter could believe neither his eyes nor his ears.

�And what have you gained?� Bolivar gasped, his life pumping out from between his fingers. �Your family baubles back?�

�No... no, no, no,� Lorena whispered. �I�ve gained more, much more. I�ve been able to shoot you in the belly and watch you die, very slowly.�

Bolivar shook his head, coughed blood, and looked up at Carter. �Who are you... Odessa?�

�Does it matter?� Carter replied, amazed at himself with the flames creeping around them all that he could be so calm.

�He�s just a man,� Lorena said, �a hired hand, a conduit to get me to you.�

For the first time since Carter had met him, Bolivar laughed out loud. Blood poured from his mouth and there was a hacking sound, but still he laughed.

And then suddenly he stopped.

He removed one hand from his punctured belly and waved it at the floor.

�Then take your payment, man. Gather them up!� He laughed some more.

Carter ignored him. He turned to Lorena and tried to lift her to her feet. �We�ve got to get out of here.�

�No!� she cried.

�Yes!� Carter screamed at her, fighting the fury of her resistance.

�No! I want to watch him die!�

�Don�t be a fool,� Carter hissed. �He�s a dead man. You�ve got the revenge you came for.�

�No. Not yet.�

�Yes!� Carter cried, yanking her to her feet. �He�s an old man. He�s dying and he knows it and he doesn�t care.�

Another laugh from the near-dead man on the settee. �We�re all dead, or waiting to die. What�s the difference? Leave her. But take the jewels. They�ll only be found by ignorant Indians.�

Carter�s mind was glazing over, like his eyes. He found it impossible to breathe.

Lorena had wrenched herself from his grasp. She was on her hands and knees on the floor. He stumbled toward her, but she managed to elude his grasp.

�There!� she cried, suddenly coming back to her feet with her hands cupped beneath his chin. �Look!�

Carter looked down. In her cupped hands were several diamonds, glittering even in the thickening smoke.

And in their center was the enormous symbol of a lost world, a dead monarchy.

The Heartstone.

�We have it!� she said.

�Yeah,� Carter replied, seeing the madness in her eyes that he had always known was there but had never admitted. �Now, we go.�

She shoved the stones into Carter�s pocket and turned back to face Bolivar. �He�s still dying.�

Carter pulled the revolver from his belt, aimed, and put a slug right between Bolivar�s eyes.

�Not now he isn�t.�

He slung Lorena over his shoulder and ran out into the hall and down the stairs.

Carter stood at the window. Outside, he watched the Amsterdam street come alive with whores, pickpockets, hippies, and good, honest foreign businessmen out to get laid.

�He was a good man.�

Carter turned. The beautiful Oriental girl sat at the desk, her brother standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

�I wouldn�t think about it if I were you,� Carter said. �Mortimer always had a will, even when he didn�t have anything to leave anyone.�

�It was nice service, yes?� the girl said.

�Yes, a very nice service,� Carter replied, forcing his face to remain stone.

Otto had got them out by boat, down the long river. Then there had been a charter to the Canary Islands and a commercial jet to Frankfurt.

At the castle they had found Mortimer Potts with his neck broken, crucified to some timbers in the basement.

Fabian Huzel didn�t just kill. He took gleeful delight in the killing.

Otto knew a doctor. The cause of death was listed as a heart attack. Mortimer had been cremated and his ashes brought back to the Yum-Yum Club.

�We were so poor,� the girl said, �and now we are so rich.�

�Don�t worry about it,� Carter said. �If Mortimer hadn�t wanted you to have everything, he wouldn�t have given you everything in his will. Live, enjoy... that�s what Mortimer did.�

Carter headed for the door.

�Mr. Carter,� the girl said, �if there is ever anything...�

Carter smiled. �There might be... and if you did it, you�d just be carrying on Mortimer�s tradition.�

He left the Yum-Yum Club. A block away he crawled into the front seat of a black Mercedes. Otto was behind the wheel.

�How did you do?� Carter asked.

�Very well, actually,� came the stoic reply. �A little over a million and a half, American, for the diamonds. The two emeralds brought forty thousand per.�

�That should take care of you... and her,� Carter said.

Otto smiled. �Leave it to me, Nick. I�ll have her back on her feet in a year.�

It was the way he said it that made Carter smile. �Otto, if I didn�t know better, I�d say you were in love.�

�Well,� Otto shrugged, �it is about time for me to act my age. Shall we get on with it?�

�Yes,� Carter nodded, �let�s. You�re sure everything the baroness has is traceable?�

�Oh, God, yes.�

The plane landed at Vienna�s airport just past four in the afternoon. Carter cabbed to the hotel and checked in with his own name and passport.

In his room he built a drink and moved to the window to stare out at the city.

The elation of nailing Fabian Huzel had passed by now. He didn�t look forward to the coming evening, the meeting he had agreed to make, and the rehashing of the whole mess that would be expected of him.

He would rather forget it, catch a plane down to Nice, and lay on the beach for a week.

A week, hell, he thought � better a month.

But there was the list.

The goddamned list.