SIX
The crossing went without a hitch. The waters between
the Turkish coast and the outlying Greek islands were well
patrolled, but the cabdriver's brother-in-law knew their
schedule better than the contours of his wife's plump body.
Carter and Reela were put ashore in a rocky cove on the
island of Lestx)s. It was on the island's northern ,tip, atk)ut
five miles from the capital of Mytilene.
There were no farewells, only an exchange of money
and a nod between the three men. Carter and Reela had
barely climbed to a ridge above the rocky shoreline when
the boat had already slipped into the mist on its return
journey.
"Nick, that man, the deckhand they locked below? Will
they really kill and bury him at sea?"
"You should know the answer to that," Carter replied.
"You're a Turk. It's a matter of honor. Let's go, this way."
Within minutes gray dawn broke, and it wasn't long
before the early-morning Aegean sun began to burn off the
fog. They were scarcely through the first of many tiny vil-
lages that lined the road to Mytilene when an old man in a
cart full Of produce overtook them.
Carter waved him down. -ne Killmaster was on firmer
ground here; his Greek was fluent. The farmer was on his
way to market in the capital. Carter explained that they had
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been forced to trach their boat on a sail around the island.
Could they get a lift into Mytilene?
For a small fee, yes.
Two hours later, they dropped off the cart and walked
until they spotted a small hotel that would more than serve
their purpose.
Carter signed the register with a Greek alias to avoid
showing a passport, and they were shown to a square,
white-walled on the second Carter tipped the
youth and Reela moved to the window. She opened it with
a sigh.
"The view is beautiful. It's a pity we're not on holiday."
He followed her gaze along the white, sun-drenched
buildings along the marina. The sun was high now, turning
the Aegean a deep blue.
"Time enough for a long holiday—if we find Drago
Vain before he finds us," Carter said, resting his hands on
her full hips.
She turned into him. "Now what?"
"l saw a beauty salon and some boutiques as we came
in. Of the two of us, you'll be the easiest to spot if they're
looking. Change your apiEarance as much as possible, and
buy some traveling clothes, touristy stuff."
She hurried from the room and Carter stripEEd. He
showered under cold water in an ancient, cracked tub, and
shaved carefully in even colder water. Using materials
from his kit, he broadened his face with plastic pads in his
jowls, and combed gray into his temples. It wasn't a great
deal, but hopefully it would alter his look enough.
He was dressing when Reela returned. The transforma-
tion was startling.
"Good enough?" she asked, psing before him.
The wig was full, ash blond and nicely coiffed. She had
added a large pair of dark sunglasses, and now wore a pair
of blue slacks, a loose blouse with puffy short sleeves, and
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a matching scarf tied loosely around her neck.
51
Carter smiled. "All you need is makeup to match the
wig and a camera around your neck."
'The makeup I bought."
She went to work on her face, and Carter . finished
dressing. An hour later they were in a taxi headingtoward
the center of the city.
Carter could see why London had chosen the Taverna
Aegean. It was out of the way, the kind of place tourists
would only drop into by accident. This would make it eas-
ier for them to spot the pilot, and he them.
It was still a bit early for the lunch crowd. Besides the
owner behind the bar, the only occupants were three old
men playing xeri at a rear table.
Caner returned the owner's greeting and ordered ouzo
and menus for three. "Our friend will be joining us
shortly."
They took a table near the window. The owner's wife
hurried the ouzo to them while her husband put a tape in a
player behind the bar In seconds, bouzouki music was
telling of death and sacrifice in a mountain battle a hundred
years ago.
Reela made a face while Carter ordered sausage and
EY)tatoes.
"What is it?" he asked when the woman was out of
earshot.
"I hate bouzouki music," she replied.
"Of course you do, you're a Turk. Drink and smile like
you enjoy it."
Their man arrived the same time as the food. He looked
the part in well-cut fawn trousers with knifelike creases and
a matching safari shirt. He was tall and square-jawed, with
a lined, tough, tanned face. He paused at the door long
enough to adjust his eyes, and spotted them.
A gleaming, toothy smile and five steps brought him to
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the table where he lifted and kissed Reela's hand. "Rita,
it's lovely to see you again."
She blinked, but before she could speak he turned and
grasped Carter's hand. "Howard, how are you?" He
slipped into a chair and dropped a thin briefcase on the
table as he helped himself to the ouzo.
"How was your flight?" Carter asked.
"From Rome? Splendid. Always love flying at dawn, so
peaceful." He drank and lowered his voice. "You're Rita
and Howard Hall, Americans. You've been in Greece two
weeks, island hopping. The passports are stamped as such.
They're in the briefcase. I'll leave it."
"What about photographs?" Carter said.
"We'll do them on the plane. I've filed a flight plan for
Athens, so they won't check you here. I'll set down in
Athens and you'll have an urgent business call. We'll
check out of the country there."
"Where to?" Carter asked.
"Italy, Taranto. And my orders are to get you there post-
haste."
"They give you any reasons?"
The pilot shrugged. "None, and I don't ask. What you
spooky people do before [ pick you up and after I dump
you off is none of my business."
The three of them ate in silence. When they were fin-
ished, the pilot again kissed Reela's hand and left without a
word.
They had coffee to kill another half hour, and cabbed
back to the hotel. In the lobby, Carter picked up a newspa-
per and scanned it as they headed toward their room.
"Did we make page one?" Reela asked.
"No, but look what did."
She glanced at the headline, and at the accompanying
story, and gasped.
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53
"Kalvar and Proto in the same day," Carter said dryly.
"No wonder they want us posthaste."
ne sun was high over the port of Cagliari, and the air
was becoming uncomfortably warm and humid. A sultry
breeze wafted the stench of the fish market along the street
and filled Carlo Zimbatti's nostrils.
Zimbatti had been born in Sardinia and he hated it. He
and his three brothers had escaped the island and fled to the
north of Italy, Milan, as soon as they were old enough.
lhere, they had prospered.
It had been difficult. The fingers of the Sicilians had
been strong, even in Milan. But the Zimbattis, the four
sons of Sardinia, had proven to be as ambitious and even
more ruthless than their southern neighbors. In time, the
four brothers had taken control of the north.
Now, with the offer that had been made to them by the
terrorist, Drago Vain, their little empire would be solid.
Carlo Zimbatti turned to the right and entered the pi-
azza, leaving the roar of the docks behind him. He crossed
the piazza toward an old mansion with an ornate, wrought-
iron balcony and a large courtyard shaded by flowering
bees. Two dark-skinned men, their faces scarred by small-
pox, looked up as he entered the courtyard.
Zimbatti paused, staring into their hollow, lifeless eyes.
He wasn't a timid man. Carlo had made his first bones at
the age of eleven in the mountains of Sardinia. By the time
he was thirteen and raped his first woman, he had killed
three more times. He had lived with others as hard and
deadly as himself all his life.
But the men who inhabited the inner circle of Drago
Vain could make the sweat pop from his pores.
He nodded and the two men nodded in return. Zimbatti
went up the steps and into the house.
It was one of the most expensive of the brothels in Ca-
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gliari, with rooms on the upper floors for brief encounters,
and suites for those who had money and days to devote to
their pleasures. It was run by an old don who often rented
his rooms for very discreet meetings.
As he had been instructed, Zimbatti climbed to the sec-
ond floor. Two more dark-eyed men awaited him. Without
a word, he handed over his briefcase and lifted his anns.
The briefcase was searched and his bocly was patted down
for a
One of the men opened the right side of huge double
doors, and Zimbatti entered the suite.
A lone man hunkered tEhind a desk. Nearby, a sofa and
a large chair were both adorned with naked women.
Drago Vain uncoiled his six-foot-eight frame from tE-
hind the desk and snapped his fingers. ne two women
wiggled into the adjoining bedroom, closing the door be-
hind them.
Vain moved around the desk, extending his hand.
"Carlo, it is good to see you again." His English was thick
with his native brogue.
"And you, Drago."
"Sit, sit."
Zimbatti sat, and Vain lumbered back to his chair. For
all his size, he moved well. He had a head that didn't
match his body, small, with a face like a sparrow. His nose
was thin and bony, hanging over a clipped, sharply curved
mustache. His lips were thin and seemed always twisted in
a perpetual grimace.
"You've heard?"
'Of course," Zimbatti said ncxiding. "It's in all the
papers."
' '"Ihen you know I can deliver. With Assim Kalvar and
Nikos Proto out of the way, the riots on tX)th sides of the
line are already breaking out. Drink?"
A bottle of Irish whiskey appeared on the desk. Zimbatti
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55
shook his head. Vain poured a water glass full and brought
it to his lips as he leaned back and put his boots on the
desk.
Zimbatti noted that the man's tired brown suit had
greasy pocket edges. A handkerchief like a large dirty
white flower blossomed from the breast pocket. His shirt
was canary yellow and equally as dingy.
The man, Zimbatti thought, is a slob... but as danger-
ous as he is filthy.
Englishman from the U.N., Sir Jonas Avery... "
"What about him?" Vain said, belching and refilling his
glass.
"My brothers are a little worried. They think there
might repercussions. It could bring in—
"It was necessary!" Vain interrupted with a bellow. 'The
bloody Brit has friends on Cyprus. If I left him alive, peo-
ple would have listened to him. He might have been able to
put another of his bloody ÆEace meetings together!"
Zimbatti shrugged and opened his briefcase. "It's your
plan."
Vain's feet hit the floor. "You're bloody right it's my
plan, and it'll work." Here Vain's voice got low and he
leaned over the desk until Zimbatti winced from his breath.
"It's my Cypriots that are in place now ... my own hand-
picked politicians. When I give the word, they'll have the
rabble back up in arms and the cry will be Cyprus for the
bloody Cypriots !"
Zimbatti lit a small cigar, sat back, and let the Irishman
rave. He had heard it all, or most of it, before.
"And then, when the time is right, they'll make peace
between themselves. The bloody U.N. will be gone, and
the Turks and Greeks will get out because they're tired of
the bleeding mess themselves. And when me two proud
patriotic Cypriots are runnin' the country, it'll be old Drago
what's pullin' the strings."
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"Well and good," Zimbatti replied, his voice controlled,
modulated. "But taking over an entire country is e)gm-
sive. It's our money that is financing your takeover."
"It is that, but you'll make a hundred times yer money
back when I give you a bloody free port to move yer dope
through!"
"True, but my brothers and I would like some insurance
that you'll keep your part of the bargain once we have kept
ours."
Vain's eyes narrowed. "Ya know there's others itchin'
fer what I'm offerin' you?" he snarled.
"Perhaps," Zimbatti replied calmly, smiling. "But the
Sicilians don't control the product out of Lebanon and Tur-
key that we do. Ihey can grow without Cyprus. So you
see, Drago, we need each other."
Drago Vain upended his glass of whiskey and, for sev-
eral seconds, glared at the other man. "All right. What
kind of bloody insurance do ya want?"
"These." Zimbatti spread a set of papers on the desk. "l
want them signed by you and your two Cypriot
When that's done and back in my hands, your freighter full
of arms and the cash to hire your mercenaries
will be on the way."
Vain scanned one set of papers and broke out in laugh-
ter. "Bloody papers. What do you think this is, some kind
of legal corporation? What good are these?"
Zimbatti stood and, grinning, leaned forward with both
hands flat on the top of the desk. "If we don't get
return on our investment, a set of these papers will be sent
to the Turkish and Greek governments. Twenty-four hours
later, Drago, you'll have troops from both countries
breathing down your neck. You can't fight them."
"You dumb Dago bastard," Vain hissed, "you won't do
that. You and yer bloody brothers would be cuttin yer own
throats !
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57




57
"I don't think so. If you notice, your agreement is with
a holding company in Geneva. By the time the papers are
passed over, the company will be gone and its owners un-
traceable."
Zimbatti gave the Irishman enough time to boil, and
then continued.
"So, if you want to rule your own little country, you
bloody Paddy pig, sign. And this time you come to us to
deliver them."
For the briefest of seconds, Zimbatti thought the other
man would lose it and come over the desk after him.
But that point passed, and with a shaky hand Drago
Vain reached for his bottle.
Carlo Zimbatti snapped his briefcase closed, turned, and
walked from the room, knowing that he had won.










SEVEN
They had taken off from Athens in a torrential down-
pour. The sun was just over the horizon and it
was warm and clear when they landed at Taranto, Italy.
Two customs officials came on board, did a perfunctory
examination of the plane and their passports, and departed.
They were scarcely gone when a lone driver in a dark Mer-
cedes arrived. He hopped out and came aboard.
'Good evening, Mr. Carter. I'm Nate Chisholm. Wel-
come to Taranto."
He flipped OFEn his credentials case. Carter gave it a
glance while the other man's eyes raked Reela up and
down.
"Reela Zahedi, Istanbul," Carter said.
"Be with you in just a minute." He moved forward,
exchanged a few words with the pilot, and returned to grab
their bags. "The man is here. I had instructions to hold the
plane. You might needing it again soon."
"Terrific," Carter groaned.
The "man" was David Hawk, the acerbic and near
genius head of AXE. If Hawk had flown in personally
from Washington to debrief them, it meant that big things
had happened in the time it had taken to get them out of
Turkey.
The Mercedes moved silently through the city to the
industrialized suburbs away from the sea.
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'There," Chisholm pointed as he eased the car to the
curb.
It was an old building with rusted iron gratings over the
windows and paint peeling off the stucco.
Chisholm killed the engine and leaned back in the seat,
obviously preparing for a long wait. Carter and Reela
slipped from the car and crossed the street. At the front
door a sleepy-eyed man moved out of the shadows. He
eyeballed them both and nodded.
"Second floor."
By the time they were through the door he had slipped
back into the shadows.
'he stairs were old and a bit creaky but, unlike the
exterior of the building, spotlessly clean. A blond giant in
a parka awaited them at the second-floor landing. Caner
recognized him as Judd Harris, one of a revolving team
that traveled with Hawk whenever he left the U.S.
"Nick."
"Harris," Carter said with a nod. "Why all the quiet?"
The man shrugged. 'Ours is not to reason why. Second
door down."
The room was a combination study and office. It had an
atmosphere of genteel its once sumptuous furni-
ture and furnishings shabby from the inroads of time and
abuse. There was a gray mist in the room caused by the
ever-present cheap cigar clamped in the comer of David
Hawk's mouth.
"Any trouble?" That was Hawk's greeting,
'*Not once we got out of Turkey," Carter replied.
'Quite a bloody mess." Hawk turned to Reela. "Miss
Zahedi, sorry about Hobbs."
Reela said nothing and slipped into a chair. Carter
poured coffee from a sideboard and passed a cup to the
woman.
"Lupat Savine was fingered," Carter said. "He was tor-
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61
tured, cut up pretty bad before they killed him. He proba-
bly told Vain's people enough. Ihat's why they were wait-
ing for us."
Hawk nodded. "Figured as much. Have you heard the
"You mean Proto and Kalvar? Yeah, saw a paper on
Lesbos."
"An engineered hit, both of them. Kalvar got it on the
road in Turkey with two of his bodyguards. Proto bought it
in his villa in Crete. lhey even made sure they wouldn't
have any trouble by taking out his bodyguard, Canavos,
first. Blew him up in a hotel bungalow."
"Vain?" Reela asked.
"Maybe. But our research IEople think they were hired.
They would have had to do a lot of open moving around.
Since most of the inner circle around Vain are well known
and, in most cases, wanted, we think the shooters were
"By Vain?"
Hawk shifted his cigar. "We weren't sure at first, until
we heard about Avery."
"Sir Jonas Avery?'
"Yeah," Hawk muttered. "He bought it on a train to
Nice. *Ihe killer made a halfhearted attempt to make it look
like suicide, a bullet in the brain. But his neck was broken
first."
Reela's cup clattered against the saucer as she sat it
down. "Is there a connection?"
Tere sure as hell is," Hawk replied. "We had to lean
on Whitehall to get it, though. Sir Jonas had arranged a
sit-down in Nice between Kalvar and Proto. Evidently, a
peace had already been worked out. All that was left was
the signing. "
"What makes Vain so interested in Cyprus?" Carter
mused aloud.
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"If we know who Vain met in that house, we'd have the
answer to that," Hawk replied. "As it is, we start from
scratch, square one."
Carter lit a cigarette, sat back, and let the smoke drift
from his nostrils. "Drago Vain is hot. We and several other
agencies have had the clamps on him for a long time. He
and his people can hardly make a move. Less than a hand-
ful of countries will let him reside ... none of those will let
him operate from inside."
Hawk removed the cigar and allowed a rare smile to
split his seamed face. "In general, that's what the computer
boys have come up with. Drago Vain's on the sharp edge.
He needs a place to operate out of, where no one can touch
him."
"Cyprus," Reela whispered.
"It would fit," Carter said. "He gets rid of Kalvar and
Proto—
"And, naturally, riots erupt all over the island," Hawk
finished. "It's already starting."
"He's got Cypriot politicos in his pocket," Carter
hissed. "That's what the meeting in Turkey was all about."
Hawk shrugged. "It's the best theory yet. It would take
men and money lots of men and money. Our people in
Marseilles, Paris, and Rome say that the word is out for
mercenaries. It's a high-paying, long-term contract, the
kind that would lure men no one else would hire."
"The real killers," Carter said.
Hawk broke the cellophane on a new cigar. "The way I
see it, we've got two ways to go. Vain has to hide until he
can move into Cyprus, until his little revolution gains mo-
mentum and his hand-picked politicians can glean favor
with the people."
Caner paced. "Find him in his hole and gas him out
first. We've been trying to do that for months, without
much luck."
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63
"True," Hawk said, "but we have to keep trying. The
second, at-hand solution, is to chop off his money supply.
If we can make his backers lose interest in Vain's Cyprus
scheme, it just might flush him into the open."
Carter and Reela exchanged glances. "The sister," Reela
murmured.
Carter removed the contents of Lupat's wallet from his
pockets and spread the photographs on the desk. "Reela's
contact to Savine was through his sister, Deemy. She—or
someone in these pictures—might lead us to one or more
of Savine's cronies."
"Slim," Hawk rasped, "damn slim."
"But all we've got," Caner said.
"Where is the sister?"
"Damascus," Reela replied. "Vain's people are probably
looking for her, but I might get to her first."
Hawk looked up at Carter from hooded eyes. "Damas-
"I know," Carter said, s 'but there's a guy who can get
me in, if I can find him."
Hawk turned back to Reela. "How soon can you leave?"
"Now. I've still got cover through a Turkish
I can go in from Rome."
Hawk womed his cigar for a full minute before raking
them both again with his glare. "It's risky as hell, but it's
all we've got. You'll be going in cold. We don't have a
soul inside Syria."
Carter smiled. "If can find the man I want, he's all I'll
need."
The jangling telephone brought Deemy Savine upright
in bed, her eyes wide, her mind instantly alert.
"Deemy, it's Adib. We're back."
"Lupat?"
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"He's here, with me. There has been an accident.... "
"What happened?"
"Nothing serious, I)eemy. It was an auto accident just over
the frontier. Lupat has been hurt. He wants to see you. I 'II pick
you up in twenty minutes. "The phone went dead.
Deemy Savine replaced the receiver on its cradle and
closed her eyes in concentration.
It's a dangerous game, Deemy. Never trust anyone, be-
lieve nothing anyone tells you. If the word does not come
from me directly, there is no word.
She opened her eyes ancl the image of Adib Bizri's
sweaty, pockmarked face seemed to form on the wall.
Bizri, who hated het brother, would be the last to call.
Quickly she picked up the phone and dialed a number
from memory. After three rings, a sleepy female voice an-
swered.
S'Magine, it's Deemy. Have you heard from Lupat?"
"No. Has he returned?"
"I don't know. Did he make his check-in call last
night?"
"No, nor the night before. Deemy, is something
wrong?"
"l don't know. Get yourself ready to travel. I may see
you very scx)n."
"Deemy, what's wrong? Did something happen to
Lupat.
"Just do as I tell you," Deemy replied, cuning off the
girl's whining voice.
It didn't work, Deemy thought. Something went wrong.
Even if Lupat were alive and injured, Adib would be the
last man her brother would send to fetch her.
Adib Bizri, ifyou ever touch my sister again, even try to
touch her, I will slice your belly open and feed you your
own entrails.
No, she thought, Lupat would never send Adib—with
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65
his grasping hands and drooling lips—to her in the middle
of the night.
Deemy moved quickly. She dressed in a black sweater,
dark jeans, and soft-soled shoes. For what she would soon
have to do, a skirt would be in the way.
From a closet she took a briefcase and opened it on the
bed. The briefcase was layered with bundles of American
hundred-dollar bills, one half of the Turkish woman's pay-
ment for Lupat's betrayal. On top of the bills were two
French passports, one for her and one for Magine, Lupat's
whining whore.
More of Lupat's last words came back to hér. I will
phone you when it is done. We will meet in Paris.
In her heart she knew she would never see her brother
again. She hated the great whining cow, Magine, but she
owed it to her brother to take the woman with her.
The briefcase also contained Lupat's coded address
book and an American Smith & Wesson .38 revolver. As
Deemy checked the loads in the revolver, she wished it
were equipped with a silencer.
But it wasn't, so she would have to make do with some-
thing else.
From a drawer she took a necklace of fake gold coins. It
was heavy and threaded with triple strands of strong nylon
line.
Outside, she heard the soft purr of an automobile en-
gine. She padded to the window as she unclasped the
necklace.
It was Adib Bizri and a driver. Bizri got out of the car
and paused to glance up at her window. She shrank back
out of sight and waited.
Bizri spoke to the driver and started across the street.
Deemy sighed with relief when she saw the other man re-
main behind the wheel.
Quickly, she unlatched the door and turned on the small
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light in the bath. She left the bathroom door open a crack
and moved to the wall. She wraVBl a scarf around her
hand, then twisted the end of the necklace over the scarf
and swung the whole in an arc around her head.
The weight of the heavy coins made it sing viciously as
it spun, and brought a smile to her face.
She relaxed every muscle in her body as Bizri rapped on
the door.
"Deemy?"
She turned her face away from the and cupped a
hand over her lips. 'The door is open, Adib. I am in the
bath."
The door opened and Bizri's thin, wiry body entered the
room. He moved toward the bath, his figure outlined per-
fectly in the shaft of light.
The last sound he heard was the whir of the necklace
before it curled around his neck.
The coins slapped into Deemy's free hand. Her knee
slammed into his back and she hauled hard on the chain,
twisting at the same time to take up the slack.
The man's yell was muted to a surprised, gurgling gasp.
Her arms strained as she forced his head back. There was a
sharp crack, and Adib Bizri was dead.
Deemy loosened her hold and the body slipped to the
floor. She turned him over and grimaced when she saw his
face. Then she thought of her brother, and her face turned
to stone as she searched him.
In his right trouser she found the knife he always
carried, the knife he had once floated in front of her face
with one hand as he used the other to maul her breasts.
It was an enormous clasp knife with a single blade. She
touched a button at its base and the blade flicked out, leaf-
pointed, one edge ground razor sharp. She tested the bal-
ance and found it perfect.
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In one move she grabbed the briefcase and moved into
the hall. She walked calmly down the two flights and
boldly through the door into the street.
The driver was dozing. He came up out of the seat when
Deemy's body cut off the light from a nearby streetlamp.
He looked alarmed.
Deemy smiled and he rolled the window down, his face
forced into a grin.
"Adib is making a call. He'll be right down. Shall I sit
in the rear?"
The driver looked puzzled, but stretched his left arm
over the seat to open the door for her.
Deemy had been holding the knife just behind her thigh.
Now she brought it up in a swift movement. The driver
was stretched out in an awkward position.
He never saw, and barely felt, the blade plunge into his
neck.








EIGHT
Carter sat in his room in the Rome Hilton, thoroughly
exhausted. In the last thirty-six hours, he had been to Tel
Aviv, Tunis, Casablanca, and back to Rome. The constant
traveling had worn him down, especially when he had dis-
covered that the man he sought was already in Rome and
had been for over a year.
Reela would have been in Damascus for nearly a day
now. Hopefully she would have located Lupat Savine's sis-
ter, Deemy.
He munched a sandwich, drank a beer, and waited for
the call from Chartim El-Rashad, known in his own circles
as the Prince.
The phone rang and he grabbed it. "Hello?"
"Carter, you've been making a lot of phone calls."
"And doing a lot of traveling."
A chuckle from the other end of the line. "I heard. I
haven't been in Tunis for two years. What's up?"
"I want to meet."
"That's difficult. If I am seen with you I might get a bad
name."
"You mean your old name," Carter said.
"Exactly. I am Louis Corot now, a Beirut refugee deal-
ing in antiquities."
"You mean stolen antiquities," Carter chuckled.
"Is there any difference?"
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"It's a one-time job," Carter said, "in -and out, Pays
well."
"Then it's worth talking about, isn't it. The entrance to
the Palatine Gardens off the Via di San Gregorio. One
hour."
The line went dead and Carter shrugged into the
shoulder rig and a lightweight jacket. He checked the clip
in the Luger and hit the elevator.
He had done a lot of running in the last day and a half to
a lot of cities. He still wasn't sure how many informants
Drago Vain had, but he wasn't taking any chances that he
had been spotted. He needed Ihe Prince, and he didn't
want to bring anything down on the man.
He spent nearly the entire hour taking taxis crisscrossing
Rome. When he wasn't in a cab he was ducking through
department stores and passing through cafés from the front
and out the rear entrances into alleys and away to another
cab.
Exactly one hour after leaving his hotel. he stepped
from the last cab at the Forum and walked the few blocks
to the Palatine Gardens entrance.
He had stopped only long enough to light a cigarette
when a dark green Porsche nosed down in front of him and
the passenger door flew open.
"Get in!"
Carter's butt barely hit the expensive leather when the
powerful little car's acceleration threw him back with a
couple of G forces.
"Getting a little chunky around the middle, aren't you?"
Carter managed to exhale and roll his eyes to the driver.
The Prince was a man of medium height, chunky and mus-
cular. His face—even sporting a few days of dark bristly
beard—was cinema handsome. The eyes returning his
look were as cold and deadly as Carter remembered.
"Age," Carter responded, "gets to us all."
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"Not me. I'm gonna stay young forever and then die."
They drove down from the hill toward the Tiber into
one of the older sections of the city. Eventually the Porsche
slid into an alley that hadn't seen the sun for a couple of
centuries and halted in front of a worn, two-story house.
"This belongs to a friend. use it now and then when he
is away on business. This way."
He led Carter inside and up a set of shaky stairs. They
moved down a hallway and through a door. It was a small
room with a sofa, a vanity and stool, and an unmade bed.
A woman with a pouty mouth sat at the vanity brushing her
hair.
"I told you to go," the Prince growled.
She rolled her eyes up coyly and made her pouty mouth
smile. She was a big girl, voluptuous in a tight red dress.
Her hair was as black as her eyes and very glossy. "I
know," she said. "You told me."
The Prince looked at Carter and sighed. "I try to a
gentleman," he said. "It was always my wish as a boy. To
be a gentleman."
Abruptly, his hand flashed out, and he smacked the girl
across the butt. She gasped, more from the suddenness of
the move than the pain.
His face blank, the Prince held the door wide and nod-
ded toward her. She was struggling to control her features
and maintain her dignity. She stood, threw her shoulders
back, and walked out. He shut the door softly behind her.
"I have only wine," he said, going to the desk and re-
moving a bottle. "Will that do?"
"Yes," Carter said.
"You are agreeable today, my friend," the Prince said,
IY)uring two glasses.. "Do you need me very badly?"
"Of course not."
The other man laughed aloud. "Then I will only charge
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my regular fee, as long as there is no killing. have given
up killing."
Carter shrugged. "I can't guarantee."
'Twenty thousand, five thousand bonus for everybody,
plus expenses."
"You don't know the job yet," Carter said.
The Prince waved his glass. "What matters the job? You
pay me, I do it."
"What's your nationality these days?"
"Italian. I have been Italian for nearly a year, since my
Moroccan passport expired."
"Do you still have your connections in Beirut and Da-
"A few."
•SSI need to get into Damascus," Carter said, '*and I can't
go legal. They would like to talk to me about a little affair
a few months back."
"What else?"
"Cover my ass while I'm there and bring us back out."
"Us?" The Prince said, his eyebrows going up. "How
many us?"
'Two, maybe three," Carter replied. "The other two
will be women. Are you interested?"
"Of course I am interested. My current business is very
slow. When do you want to go?"
"Yesterday."
The Prince sighed. "Ah, you Americans. You fuck
something up today and you want it fixed yesterday. Return
to your hotel. I will call you, h0ERfully by tonight."
Carter moved to the door, paused, and turned. feel I
must be honest with you."
lhe cold, hard eyes stared at him. "How nice of you."
"It's a termination. The eventual target is Drago Vain."
The Prince downed the rest of his wine. "I will pretend I
didn't hear you. Even a great man such as myself, a de-
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scendant of desert kings, only has so much courage."
73
Carter walked several bl(Xks, constantly checking over
his shoulder before taking a cab back to the hotel.
Dusk had brought rain to Rome. Carter could hear the
drops beating against the hotel room window. Distant
thunder rumbled, and there was an occasional flicker of
lightning.
He had called AXE in Washington.. Surveillance was
tough in Cyprus, but London had helped out and managed
to put some men on Vain's suspected politicos, Todales and
Zeneer. So far, there was little doubt that the two men were
fomenting a resurrection in their respective camps.
There was no word on Drago Vain's whereabouts, nor
had international monetary research come up with any shift
of funds that would point to the Irish terrorist.
Caner still had the gut feeling that the center of Vain's
operation was somewhere in Syria or Lebanon. He could
only hope that the contacts he would make in Damascus
would lead him to the man before that base was moved to
Cyprus.
He started to shake a cigarette out of his pack, then
stopped and put it back. His mouth was raw and his tongue
numb from smoking.
He was reaching for the phone when it rang.
'*We're in luck. Some people remerntEred old favors.
Get to a lobby phone and call me back at 61-4551."
Carter put on his jacket and took the elevator to the
lobby. The other phone picked up on the first ring.
"What have you got?"
"There is a ten-twenty El A1 flight to Tel Aviv tonight.
Will you have visa problems?"
"Not if I can use my own passport," Caner replied.
"No problem. There is a Karbat tour leaving for the
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Galilee from the King George tomorrow morning at nine.
'Ihe tour the night in Safed. In the artists' quarter
there is a restaurant called Trafail. Have a late dinner. Your
companion will join you. Got it so far?"
4 Got it," Carter said.
"lßave everything, like arms and identification, in a
locker in Tel Aviv. Tonight you will dine at Alfredo's. It's
only three blocks from your hotel."
"I know it," Carter said.
"Good. A Lebanese passport and means of identifying
yourself in Safed will be given to you by a man named
Georgio."
*'How will he know me?"
The Prince chuckled. "l have described to him your
honest face in detail. I'll see you in Lebanon."
"Prince, you're a magician."
"l am that, and a greedy one. Give the first payment of
my fee to Georgio. Besides being an excellent thief, he is
my part-time banker."
Carter killed the connection and dialed El A1 Airlines.
He made a reservation on the ten-twenty flight to Tel Aviv,
hung up, and walked to the front desk. There he requested
his bill and rather loudly had the switchboard operator
make him a reservation on that evening's Air France flight
to Paris.
Back in his room, he packed and placed Wilhelmina,
his 9mm Luger, and his stiletto in a custom-made, locked
case.
At the front desk he paid his bill and added a fee for
placing the case in the hotel safe until he returned to Rome
in a week's time.
On the street, he ignored the line of waiting taxis in
front of the hotel and walked a few blocks until he saw a
cruising cab. Inside, he made a mental note of the driver's
name and and leaned over the seat.
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75
"Name your fee to the airport and I will double it for a
favor. Understand?"
"Signore, for a double fee I will fly you to the airport."
The man named a figure. Carter jotted his name on the
back of a hotel envelope. put the money in American cur-
rency inside it, and passed it to the driver.
"I want you to check my bag in a locker, put the key in
this envelope, and leave it at the El A1 counter."
"No problem, signore."
Carter patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure it will be
done, Luigi Belli, Number 724311B."
The look on the driver's face as Carter left the cab told
him that indeed it would be done.
On the street, Caner turned the collar of his raincoat up
and trotted to Alfredo's.
In the restaurant, he sat at a corner table. It was still
early in the evening. The only other people there were
tourists, looking forlornly at each other and wondering
where the Italians were. Carter knew that no self-
respecting Italian would sit down to dinner before nine-
thirty.
Perhaps, he thought, that was why they did it... to
avoid the tourists.
After twenty minutes, a swarthy man carrying a news-
paper joined him. He set the newspaper down on Carter's
side of the table and signaled the waiter.
"Just wine," he said, and turned to Carter when the man
left. "I am Georgio. Louis sends his regards and wishes
you a safe journey." He patted the paper.
Carter lifted a comer slightly and saw the passport.
"How is it?"
"Not bad," the man said, and shrugged. "Good, actually
—the likeness is excellent if you don 't shave tomorrow. "
"When does it expire?"
"Three years. It's almost new."
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76
"The name?"
"Stassis, bom in Beirut, travels to Europe every
month. "
"Any chance he'll report it stolen trfore I can use it?"
"Hardly," Georgio smiled. "He likes to indulge when he
comes to Rome. Right now he's passed out between two
whores in Carbona. He will likely stay that way for a
week."
"Sounds fine," Carter said.
Ihe man looked hurt. "I thought it was masterful. You
have something for me?"
Carter glanced around the room. my right
jacket pocket."
Carter didn't even feel the man's deft fingers relieve
him of the money.
Georgio finished his wine with chitchat about the
weather, and took his leave after sliding half of a jaggedly
torn thousand-lire note under the base of his glass.
Before the waiter amved again with his food, Carter
palmed the half note and replaced it with a whole one from
the roll in his pocket. He ate his meal leisurely and caught
a cab to the airport, arriving exactly thirty minutes before
flight time.
'Ihe tour bus was nearly full, some forty people includ-
ing the driver and a young female guide. Most were Amer-
icans, with a sprinkling of French, Japanese, and Dutch.
Carter chose a seat beside a plump matron from Miami.
A half hour outside Tel Aviv, heading north, he wished he
hadn't.
"My brother-in-law fools around, you know. It's digust-
ing. Sixty years old, the man, with three grown children
and five grandchildren. It's disgusting, my poor sister."
Tubas was a rest stop. Carter moved to another seat
beside a young rabbi from New York.
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"Your first time in Israel?"
"Yes."
"It's a troubled land."
He didn't utter another word the rest of the day.
77
They did the Sea of Galilee and lunched in Tiberias. In
the afternoon they toured along the seacoast, stopping at
Migdal, Tabgha, and the Mount of the Beatitudes. It was
dusk when they skirted the Jermak range and climbed the
steep road to Safed.
As the group checked in to the hotel, Carter made a
point of complaining to their guide of stomach pains.
"Then you won't be taking the evening tour of Safed?"
"I think I'll just have a quiet meal and get some sleep."
The girl shrugged and went on shepherding the rest of
her flock to their proper rooms. Carter napped until nine,
dressed, and hit the street.
He walked Jerusalem Street in the general direction of
the anists' quarter, and got directions to the Trafail Restau-
rant from a cigarette vendor.
The restaurant was crowded with small tables and a long
counter along one wall sagging under a variety of amr-
tizers and salads. The aroma of felafel and moussaka float-
ing from the kitchen reminded him how long it had been
since lunch.
Carter had just ordered a second aperitif when a young
girl of about sixteen appeared at his elbow.
"Sorry I'm late."
She kissed him on both cheeks and slid into the opposite
chair. A little above medium height and slender, she was
only slightly boyish in an oversize man's shirt and figure-
hugging jeans. A curtain of glossy black hair fell from a
center part to her shoulders.
As she jabbered inanely about everything from the
weather to the events of her day, she slid the torn half of a
thousand-lire note across the face of the table.
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Carter matched it with his half, and slid the whole note
into his pocket.
They ordered and chatted through the meal like old
friends. Over coffee, her voice dropEEd to a and
she got to the point.
"You've made arrangements to leave the tour?"
"I've started," Carter replied.
"At midnight, leave your hotel by the rear entrance. I'll
be waiting for you in the alley."
Ten minutes later, she stood, kissed him again on both
cheeks, and disappeared.
Carter paid the bill and returned to the hotel. He left a
note with the tour guide telling her that he had evidently
contracted some stomach virus and would not continue
with her on to Haifa and Tel Aviv. He paid three days in
advance with the concierge, and requested that he not be
disturbed.
In the room, he changed into a heavy dark pullover and
dark trousers. He put his own passport and wallet in an
envelope and addressed it to himself at the King George in
Tel Aviv.
At exactly midnight, he slipped down to the lobby. He
mailed the envelope and moved down a long, dark corridor
to the door of the kitchen. It was unlocked. At the other
side of the kitchen was a rear exit.
One step into the alley and she appeared from the
shadows.
"You have your Lebanese passport?"
"I do," he said. "Do you have a name?"
"Isella. This way."
She walked quickly. her earthy intensity given expres-
Sion by a swinging stride. The car, an aging Mercedes,
waited at the end of the alley. A dark-skinned man sat
behind the wheel. a loose shirt covering his chest, his hair
very black and hanging in strips.
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She opened the rear door and Carter got in. She had
barely settled in twide him when the car lurched forward.
In minutes they had left the center of the town heading
"We're going over the frontier in a car?" Carter asked.
"No. You'll see."
Carter leaned back and lit a cigarette. The car, its yel-
low headlights barely piercing the inky darkness, followed
the paved road for over an hour. When they veered off onto
what was little more than a dirt path, he was sure they were
near the frontier.
Abruptly, they rounded a curve and the car rocked to a
stop beside a small hut.
"We get out here," Isella announced.
The car door had scarcely closed behind them when the
Mercedes made a U-turn and was gone. Carter followed
the girl around the hut. A gnarled old man leaned against a
horse-drawn cart, smoking. Isella barely glanced at him
and they exchanged no conversation.
"We're going across in this?"
Her teeth flashed in a smile. "They search people com-
ing in, rarely going out. But it is safer to careful."
The rear of the cart was loaded with produce. It was
cleverly arranged over a wide strip of canvas. Isella and the
old man lifted the canvas. She crawled in and Carter joined
her. She exchanged a few words with the old man in Ara-
bic, and darkness swallowed them.
Seconds later, the cart was moving, rumbling and sway-
ing from side to side.
lhe space was small. Caner felt Isella's body worm its
way into his until they were like two spoons in a drawer.
"It will be about three hours," she whispered. "We
might as well sleep."
Sleep? Carter thought. Ridiculous.
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But in minutes the slow swaying of the cart worked its
magic and he felt himself drifting off.
It was dawn when the cart stopped. The girl was already
awake, shaking Caner gently.
"We're here."
The words were barely out of her mouth when the end
of the canvas was raised and the old man was beckoning
them out.
Carter slid from the cart. He rubbed the sleep from his
eyes and stomped his legs to restore the circulation.
'Ihey were somewhere on a mountain. There was noth-
ing to see but other rocky mountains, bare save for a few
goats and sheep grazing idly on sparse grass.
"Where the hell are we?" he asked.
"Druse country," Isella replied. "The frontier is back
there. Damascus is that way, Beirut there."
As she spoke, a battered Peugeot rumbled up the rocky
tract and stopped beside them. 'Ihe driver was the same
greasy-haired man who had picked them up the previous
night in the Mercedes.
"He will take you the rest of the way," Isella said.
"What about you?"
"I will go back with my grandfather."
She hopped onto the cart beside the old man. He hissed
at the horse and they moved down the rutted lane and out
of sight.
Carter moved to the idling Peugeot and climbed into the
rear. The car was moving before he was pro}Erly settled in
the seat.
In no time they dropped out of the hills and gained a
paved road. Shortly. the countryside grew greener and un-
dulating. The driver up, but •after a few miles
slowed.
"Road check," he pointed. Two Jeeps were pulled up on
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each side of the road. Three men were by each Jeep. They
wore dark green fatigues and red berets. The sun glinted
off the machine pistols slung over their shoulders. "You
speak Arabic?"
"Well enough," Carter replied.
"Give me your passport. You sleep, I talk."
Carter handed the Lebanese passport over to the man
and curled up in the seat. He draped one arm over his face
and kept one eye open.
The driver stopped, got out, and met one of the soldiers
in front of the car. The passports were checked, and tl•m
the shouting started. Both the driver and the soldier
stomped their feet, waved their arms, and screamed di-
rectly into each other's faces.
Carter wasn't alarmed. He knew that in this part of the
world it was the nomal way of doing business.
He was alarmed, however, when they moved to the rear
of the car and the driver was forced to open the frunk. The
soldier found nothing, which incensed him further.
Suddenly the door beside Caner was yanked open. He
recognized the Arabic command 'Out!"
He crawled out and leaned against the side of the car,
forcing his hands to remain steady as he lit a cigarette.
A second soldier came forward and the two of them
began taking the interior of the car apart. ne seats were
thrown out, the glove compartment was searched, and the
side panels on the doors were unscrewed enough to probe
behind.
A half hour of this and they gave up. They cursed the
driver and walked away. The dark little man pulled a
screwdriver from his own pocket and, chuckling, went to
work on the door panels. Searches of this kind must have
been common. In no time the door panels were secure, the
seats were back in place, and they were on their way.
"What were they looking for?" Carter asked.
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"Dope," the driver replied. "Dumb bastards. I took it
through the other way two hours ago, through another
checkpoint."
"Weren't you searched there?" Carter asked.
"Of course. And I paid. lhese idiots couldn't believe I
was coming through empty."
They drove for a while longer and the driver pulled off
the main road onto a rutted track. He tossed a colored scarf
over the seat.
"Put that around your eyes and tie it tight."
Carter did a good job of it, knowing it would be exam-
ined.
"Turn your head. Good. Relax, it will be about an
hour."
"Ihey drove deeper into the country, Carter making no
attempt to assess their direction. There was a period when
the driver used a confusing series of turnoffs, but the effort
was wasted on Carter. He couldn't have cared less where
he was going, as long as the man he now knew as Louis
Corot was at the end of the trip.
He dozed.
It was about an hour later when the car turned into an
even rougher road, slowed, and stopped.
A hand grasped Carter by the elbow and helped him
from the car. He was moved about a step, A door was
opened and he entered a room to the smell of freshly baked
bread.
Fingers fumbled at his blindfold, and then he was star.
ing into the Prince's smiling face.
"Welcome to Damascus."







ГЛАВА ДЕВЯТЬ  9


me house was only a way station. According to the
Prince, it to a friend. He didn't say what kind of
friend, and Carter didn't ask.
As soon as it was dark they would be driven into Da-
mascus where an apartment had been set up for their use.
In the meantime, Carter was shown to a bedroom. Fresh
clothes were laid out on the bed, all in his sizes. A razor
and toothbrush, still in their packages, were laid out in the
bathroom. He showered, shaved, and dressed, then re-
joined the Prince in the large main room of the house.
Over a couple of drinks, Caner explained the situation
in detail.
"And what happens if your lady friend can't find this
"We start hunting .ourselves," Carter replied. "Savine's
sister is the only line we have, Chartim."
'Ihe Prince grimaced. "Do me a favor. Chartim El-
Rashad is very dead. Call me Louis."
"Done," Carter said.
The other man poured fresh drinks and reseated himself.
"If Drago Vain and his people are here in Damascus, they
are probably looking for Deemy Savine as well."
Carter nodded. "But I mean to find her first."
Louis Corot smiled. "Well, it might not be a big prob-
lem. I find I still have a lot of old friends here. Let's eat
84
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and then we'll check out your lady friend and the Caravan
Club."
At dusk they left the "friend's" house in an ancient Fiat.
Once again Carter was blindfolded for the first hour of the
drive.
"Surely you know by now that I can keep my mouth
shut," he growled.
L.nuis Corot chuckled. "It is for you own safety as well,
my friend. What you do not know cannot kill you. It is
better that you don't know where you have been."
Outside the walls of the old city, the blindfold was re-
moved. Minutes later they were stopped for a police check.
Their passports were then they were passed into
the city with a shrug.
The apartment was in the newer section of the city, a
gleaming, twenty-story structure. It was less than five
years old, but was already showing its age.
Corot shrugged. "When you build from sand, on sand,
nothing lasts."
The apartment itself was second-floor rear, its terrace
directly over a swimming pool. Carter nodded his ap-
proval. If a hasty escape were necessary, they could do it
with only a soaking for their trouble. The kitchen and bar
were both well stocked, and the telephone worked.
Carter looked up the number of the Orient Palace Hotel
and dialed. When the connection was made, he handed the
instrument to Corot. In rapid-fire Arabic. the man asked
for the flower and gift shop in the lobby. When they came
on, he inquired if the flowers he had requested earlier had
been sent to Madame Zahedi's suite.
He waited, nodded, and tumed to Caner. "They were
sent up to her suite within an hour of my call from the
villa."
Carter sighed and moved to the bar. 'Okay, then she
knows we're here."
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85
He checked his watch. Seven. Reela would meet him in
the Caravan Club at midnight.
Magine Pelleur looked French. She had a perfect, com-
pact body of flowing, rounded curves from her melon-
shaped breasts to her narrow waistline which spread to
round, compact hips and exquisite legs.
Her beautiful body was both her fortune and her curse.
But Magine didn't really know why. In all of her twenty-
seven years she had never harbored an intelligent or logical
thought in her lovely head.
Two years earlier, she had been a dancer in one of the
more sleazy bars in Pigalle. Even now, Magine could only
remember the dancing pan. She forgot the last part of the
act where she and another girl did a bed show in front of a
few dozen slobbering men.
And then she had met the sheik. At least he said he was
a sheik. He talked her into coming to Damascus. He would
lavish her with gifts, set her up in an apartment. She would
be his hostess, his right hand, his lover, J*rhaps one day a
part of his harem.
lhe "sheik" turned out to be a carpet trader, and Magine
had "intimately entertained" at least fifteen of his best cus-
tomers before she got the real drift.
Ihe carpet trader disappeared and Magine went to work
dancing again at the Caravan Club. It wasn't too much
different from the club in Pigalle. She wore a belly
dancer's costume in the main front room. In smaller, pri-
vate rooms, she danced naked.
But she didn't have to roll around on beds with other
girls.
"Ihen she met Lupat Savine. It was love at first sight. He
was darkly handsome, and dangerous. He was going to
take her back to Paris and marry her. All he had to do was
one piece of work and they and his sister would run.
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He moved her to another apartment and told her to wait
for him. He cautioned her not to tell any of her old friends
at the club where she was.
But Lupat hadn't come back. Deemy had come. Just the
two of them were going to Paris. She would say nothing
about Lupat.
It was all very confusing.
There was a light rap on the door. Magine grabbed a
thin robe from a hook on the bathrcxnn wall and padded
across the room. She was reaching for the chain, when she
remembered Deemy's last words: Don't answer the phone
and don't answer the door. Don't let anyone but me in.
Understand?
"Who is it?"
"Magine, it's me, Lupat. Open the door."
The voice was muffled, barely distinct. But the voice
claimed to be Lupat's. That was all that mattered to Ma-
gine.
She unchained the door, flipped the lock, and opened it
with a welcoming smile.
It wasn't one man, it was two, and neither of them was
Lupat Savine.
Their eyes were like black ice as they pushed her back-
ward and slammed the door. One was tall and slim, with a
ragged scar across his right ear that had healed over with a
lot of bunched tissue. The other man looked like a profes-
sional fighter, with scar tissue around his eyes and a flat-
tened nose.
They moved as one through the door, pushing Magine
before them back into the room. The tall one closed the
door while the squat one pushed his face close to hers.
"Where is she?"
"Huh... who?"
"Deemy Savine." His eyes tore at the cleavage that
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87
showed at the neck of her robe, and at the way the cloth
kept falling apart to expose her thighs.
She belted the robe tighter. "I don't know a Deemy Sa-
vine. I am French, 1—-"
Her words were cut short when he suddenly grabbed at
the robe and tore it part of the way from Magine's body in
one violent, ripping motion. At the same time, his other
hand sü•uck her a stinging blow across the face.
Magine yelped and fell backward. She was nude to the
waist, the robe clinging only to the swell of her hips. She
was breathing hard, a red welt on her cheek where the
man's fingers had raked her.
"We know ycu are Savine's whore. His sister would
have contacted you. Where is she?"
The taller one had moved into the bedroom. Now he
emerged. "She was packing."
"Ihe squat one smiled. "Where? Where were you going
tonight of all nights?"
"To Paris."
"Where were you to meet Deemy Savine?"
"I wasn't."
He struck her again. She stumbled back several steps,
trying to pull the robe back up over her body. She was
unsuccessful. Both men's eyes raked her body and then
exchanged glances.
Her hip struck the edge of the sofa and she fell to the
floor. At the same time, her heel caught on the hem of the
robe, dragging it clear of her body as she tumbled to the
floor. She lay there gasping, trying vainly to hide a part of
her nakedness.
.. please," she whimpered.
The short man bent over her, his ugly face very close to
hers. A hand ran over one smooth hip. "She called you,
didn't she?"
"Yes."
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"What did she say?"
'Ihat she was leaving the country."
"How?"
Magine's mind rarely worked very fast. Now it seemed
slower than a snail as it tried to put words in her mouth.
"Fly. She was flying out tonight."
'SAnd you?" the tall one said.
"I was to meet her."
"Where?"
"In Paris."
"When were you flying out?" the short one demanded.
"Tomorrow. I was leaving tomorrow."
"What time?"
"I don't know," she wailed.
The man's face darkened. He pulled her savagely to her
feet. The rotr remained on the floor. "You're lying.
whore. She is as smart as you are stupid. She knows the
police are watching the airport. She killed two of our
rople.... "
Magine's eyes rolled back in her head and a tiny wail
slipped from her lips. "She didn't tell me she had killed
anyone....
Then they were both on her, the tall one curling his
fingers in her hair, yanking her head back. "Then she was
"Yes. . yes."
"What did she tell you to do?" the short one hissed, his
spittle spraying her face.
"Wait for her. She knows a man who can smuggle us to
the coast, through Lebanon."
"And then?"
"She was going to arrange for a boat."
"How long has she been gone?"
Suddenly Magine realized what she was doing. Her jaw
clamped shut and her eyes blazed at them.
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ne shon one saw it and hit her in the stomach with his
balled fist. She cried out and tumbled to the floor again,
dazed. He kicked her in the side and then the tall one
hauled her back to her feet.
"How long!" he growled, crouching over her.
"Almost two hours. She told me to be packed and ready
to leave when she returned."
The two men exchanged smiles.
"We'll wait," the tall one said, letting his hands run
roughly over the woman's breasts and stomach and thighs.
The short one began unfastening his trousers.
The Caravan Club was on a tiny street less than two
hundred yards long and barely wide enough for the passage
of an automobile. By day it was a strip of dingy little shops
and cafés from which came the smells of cooking and dust
and produce. By night the shops were shuttered and the
only light came from the garish fronts of bars and night-
clubs.
In the cobweb of streets surrounding the area, one could
gamble, be beaten up or Vmifed, buy drugs, have the pick
of women of every hue or simpering boys, and, if one were
so inclined, honestly believe you were having a good time
"seeing life."
Corot parked several blocks from the street. Outside, he
melted into the shadows and Carter took the direct route,
right through the whores, the panhandlers, and the leather
jackets that eyed everything from his haircut to his boots.
One of them got brave and stepped in front of him. "A
cigarette, monsieur?" he said in French.
"I don't smoke," Carter said, slowing his pace but still
moving.
"Then, monsieur, enough piasters to buy a smoke?"
Carter stopped. "Very well."
Slowly he took his hand from his pocket. In it was a
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Syrian one-pound note. He held it out to the boy, who
smiled.
As he reached for it, Carter grabbed the wrist of his
right hand. He caught the right elbow with his left hand
and yanked forward. The top of the Killmaster's head col-
lided with the center of the boy's face with a sickening
crunch.
There was no sound as the would-be thief crumpled to
the pavement, his nose B)uring blood, his tX)ttom teeth
protruding through his lower lip.
Carter looked around.
The leather-clad friends were moving away. The
others on the street were at the sky as if nothing
had happened.
Carter lit a cigarette and walked down the stairs into the
Caravan Club.
Inside the entrance was an open horseshoe. The first floor
was an enclosed space with a small combo in front of a
IY)stage-stamp-sized dance floor. Around the dance floor and
around a second-floor balcony there were tables. Most of
them were occupied by men wearing themselves out trying to
create the illusion of having a good time. The scattering of
women among them were interchangeable with the girls on
the street outside. Half ofthem sported youth and luxuriant if
impossible bosoms. The other half looked tired and the
crow's feet around their eyes were all their own.
Carter spotted a table in a dark comer and headed for it.
He was scarcely seated when a waitress, exploding from
the top of her dress, appeared. Carter ordered arak and it
appeared instantly.
He lit a fresh cigarette off the old butt and checked the
room. His eyes pa«ed over Reela twice before he recog-
nized her. She was standing at the end of the bar in quiet
conversation with another woman.
She was wearing a sleazy black dress that left no room
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for anything underneath it. Only her face and the vee of her
breasts above the deep décolletage were discernible. Her
makeup was layered on.
Carter smiled at her over his glass. She smiled back and
said something to the other woman, who looked Carter's
way. This went on for ten minutes, then Reela swiveled to
'his table.
"Is monsieur lonely?"
"Monsieur is always lonely."
She had barely slid into the other chair when the wait-
ress appeared with what Carter supposed was sold as a
champagne cocktail. The waitress scooped all of Carter's
change from the table to her tray and left.
He leaned forward, lit the cigarette Reela had produced
from a tiny black clutch purse. "Interesting disguise."
"Can you think of a txtter way to move around this
"No," he replied. "Did you actually get a job?"
"No. The girls from the street can cruise in here as long
as they get the suckers to buy these." She lifted the drink
and made a face.
"Where are we?" Carter said, barely moving his lips.
"In the dark, I'm afraid. Deemy Savine has flown. The
police are turning over the city to find her."
"Why?"
"They want to talk to her about two very dead men. One
was in her apartment, strangled. The other was in a car on
the street outside her apartment, stabbed in the throat."
Carter whisded low. "Sounds like Lupat's little sister
can take care of herself. Vain's people?'
She shrugged. "No way to tell, but I would say yes."
Carter sipped the arak, frowning. "Might be a good
sign. Could be she's got something they want."
"I'd say everything points that way. I've tried all my
contacts and no one knows which way she ran."
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"You think she's still in Damascus?"
"I'd say yes. They seem to be still looking for her."
"But we've got nothing."
Reela smiled. didn't say that. See the woman I was
talking to at the bar?"
Caner rolled his eyes around, took a hard look, and then
got it. "She's one of the two in the photograph with
Lupat."
"Right. The other woman in the picture is Magine Pel-
leur. It seems that Lupat fell, very hard."
"And?" Carter said.
"He promised her the world and took her out of here.
Evidently, he set her up somewhere in a flat until they
could ride off into the sunset together. "
Carter smiled over his glass. "You've seen too many
American westerns. Where's the flat?"
"That's the problem," Reela sighed, mashing out her
cigarette. "She says she doesn't know."
"What's her name?"
"Greta. She's German."
"What did you tell her?" Carter asked.
'That I'm an old friend of Lupat's. He owes me money.
I need it."
"And me?"
"You're my pimp."
"Thanks a lot," Carter said, and headed for the bar.
Greta was a sturdy woman with a big-boned look. Her
cheeks were a rusty patina, and her hair was dark brown
with a touch of gray. Her shoes were run-down, her panty-
hose sagged, and her skirt was shiny. A bright red loose-
fitting blouse covered an ample bosom. The impression
was of a beautiful woman gone to seed,
Except for the eyes. They darted like a ferret's every
time a man at the bar brought out his wallet to pay for a
drink.
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Carter spoke in German. "Greta, my woman tells me
you might be able to help us find Lupat Savine."
A shrug. "Haven't seen Lupat in a month."
"And his girlfriend, Magine?"
Another shrug.
Carter laid an American hundred on the bar.
Greta eyed it and her front teeth bit into her bottom lip.
"Lupat must owe you a great deal of money."
"A very great deal. I understand his woman, Magine,
might know where he is."
The woman licked her lower lip and then bit it again.
"She might. She might not."
"And you might know where we can find Magine,"
Caner growled.
"I told her I didn't know anything."
ne Killmaster matched the hundred and slid both bills
to a spot in front of her on the bar. Her hands shook as her
eyes darted from the bills to Carter's face.
"I don't know the address. I was there only once. I
know the building and the flat."
"Then you could take us there."
"Perhaps for another of those. "
Carter put a third bill down. Her hand struck like a
snake going after a mouse. 'Ihe Killmaster's hand was
quicker. He snatched the bills, tore them in half, and held
up one set.
'The other half when I see Magine."










TEN
They used a cab. Greta gave directions to the driver
from where she sat in the back seat between Carter and
Reela. Every few blocks Carter glanced over his shoulder.
He couldn't spot any lights staying with them, but he knew
that Louis Corot was there, somewhere.
'VThere, that building."
It was a run-down apartment building of six or seven
stories. Most of the windows facing the front were dark.
Carter directed the driver on past the building two
blocks and then around a comer where he parked.
"Which fiat?"
"Two D, in the rear," Greta replied, sweat popping out
on her upper lip and forehead.
Carter paid the driver and the door. 'C'mon."
The woman recoiled. "No, give me my money."
"When I see Magine."
"No, I don't go in there."
Carter and Reela exchanged a look. He leaned close to
the woman's face. "Who else is in there besides Magine,
Greta? Tell me what you know!"
"1-—1 don't know anything."
His face hardened. "Who else paid you for this address
Greta?"
"No one. Let me go. Keep your money."
Carter snatched the purse from her hands as Reela got a
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good handful of the woman's hair and yanked her head
back. At the same time, she rolled an ugly-looking knife in
front of Greta's eyes. The driver sat, smoking, staring for-
ward.
Carter unclasped the purse and lifted out a thick roll of
Syrian pounds in a rubber band.
"That's my money! Give it to me!" she wailed, only the
threat of the knife stopping her from going for Carter's
eyes.
"You don't make this much in a month on your back,
Greta. Who else did you sell Magine to?"
Her jaw set and her eyes flashed.
"Let me," Reela said in a flat monotone.
Carter nodded and the driver on the shoulder.
"Let's you and me take a walk," he said in French.
The driver merely nodded and followed Carter down the
street. At the end of the block they moved into a doorway.
Carter offered his cigarettes. The man took one and Carter
lit it and one for himself.
"The wind is warm off the desen at night," Caner com-
mented.
"It is that," the man replied. "The rains will come in a
month."
"The rains are good when they come."
There was a yelp of pain from the direction of the car
and a stifled scream. The driver didn't blink. He dragged
deeply on his cigarette and kept his eyes on Carter. To him
this was probably nothing new. As long as he was paid, he
knew nothing, saw nothing, and heard less.
They chitchatted for another five minutes, until one of
the car doors opened. Carter led the way back.
Reela was on the sidewalk. Greta was curled into a ball
in the rear seat, whimpering. The driver crawled behind the
wheel without a word.
' 'Two men came into the club earlier tonight."
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"Looking for Magine?"
97
Reela nodded. "She knew one of them. His name is
Assid. He used to come in once in a while with Savine.
They gave her a choice... two broken arms, or five
hundred pounds for the address."
Carter added his half of the torn hundreds to the others
in the purse, and tossed it on the back seat. lhen he leaned
in toward the driver and dropped some bills on the seat
beside the man.
"Take her wherever she wants to go, but take your time
doing it."
The driver was stoic and his cab was noisy as he
dropped the clutch and rattled off down the street.
"Let's go," Carter growled, and he and Reela moved
around the corner, watchful for any sign of movement that
would tell them of a watcher outside the building.
Ihey spotted nothing.
Beyond the door, a couple of unshaded low-watt bulbs
tried unsuccessfully to make the long, narrow lobby look
like something other than the innards of a submerged
whale.
They hit the rear steps and went up single file, stepping
gingerly on each step to avoid squeaks.
Magine's flat was on their left. Even without putting an
ear to the door they could hear voices, male voices, low
but growlingly insistent. Then there was the resounding
slap of flesh on flesh and a cursing female voice.
Carter used sign language to tell Reela what to do.
When she nodded her agreement and understanding, he
placed his wrist next to her and held up five fingers twice,
B)inting at their watches. Again she nodded her under-
standing, and Carter slipped quietly back down the stairs.
*lhere was a rear exit leading into an alley rank with
garbage. He stepped from the doorway and melted into the
darkness, looking up. The window on the first floor di-
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rectly above him was dark. The window above it, in Ma-
gine's flat, was dimly illuminated.
The fire escape was a single rusty ladder held with ce-
ment nails into the side of the building. It stopped at the
level of the top of the first-flcxr window.
Three jumps and he still couldn't reach the bottom rung.
He upended a garbage can and crawled on top of it as
quietly as possible.
Seven minutes had elapsed.
He grasped the bottom rung of the ladder and hand-
walked up it until he got a purchase with his feet. He
stopped beside the second-story window and cau-
tiously inside.
It was a small tEdroom. A woman, nude, lay sprawled
across the bed. The was open into the living room.
Carter could see a woman's lap and legs. Her skirt was
hitched up to her hips and her ankles were tied together
with a pair of pantyhose. He could see the backs of two
men, one tall, rail-thin, the other short and stocky.
From the grunts of pain coming through the window, it
wasn't hard to figure out what was going on.
Gently he pressed his fingers to the window at the bot-
tom and lifted slowly. It was unlocked. He pressed again,
harder, and it inched upward. Breathing shallowly, refusing
to bow to eagerness, he raised the window in tiny, slow
movements until it was open wide enough for him to crawl
through.
He dropl*d into the room and duck walked to the bed.
It took a full minute to study the bruised and bloody face
on the bed before he recognized her as the woman in the
photo: Magine Pelleur.
Hopefully, that meant that the woman in the living room
was Deemy Savine.
He check Magine's pulse. She was alive.
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Pulling the Beretta that Corot had given from his belt,
he crawled to the door.
The two men were in shirt sleeves, their coats on the
floor. They were taking tums working the woman over.
From the look of her bruised face, they had been at it for a
while.
Caner was about to check his watch, when he didn't
have to. There was a sharp rap on the outer door, and
Reela's voice.
"Magine, Magine, are you there?"
The two men straightened up, exchanged glances, and
moved as one to the door.
Carter sighed with relief. He could have easily put a
bullet in both of them and ended it right there. But without
a silencer on the Beretta, he would also play hell getting
out of the area before it was swarming with military.
Again Reela's voice from the other side of the doon
"Magine, it's me. I have the your friend wanted me
to bring."
Now the two bad tus were instantly alert. Carter could
almost read the look that passed between them. The tall
one reached for the lock.
Carter heard the lock click, and moved quickly. He
came up behind the two men. "Ihe short one sensed it first
and whirled on Carter.
"Assid!" he cried.
Carter swung, slamming the gun butt across his temple.
The man faded and fell, not out, but unable to do any
damage for the time being.
Reela burst through the door in a crouch, her knife
floating from hand to hand.
"Watch him!" Carter hissed, nodding to the one on the
floor and lifting the Beretta toward the taller man called
Assid. "Don't do it!"
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*Ihe words were scarcely out of his mouth when Assid
launched his body in a flat dive.
Acting out of instinct, Carter whirled back. But the
man's leaping dive caught him at the knees and he felt
himself go down, the Beretta falling from his hand. He hit
the floor with Assid still clinging to him, brought his left
fist around in a short arc, and felt the man roll away. The
Killmaster pushed himself to one knee, saw Assid's body
diving for the gun on the floor. Carter twisted, kicked out
with his foot, and sent the gun skidding and skittering be-
neath the couch. He made a dive for Assid, but the man
rolled again, avoiding Carter's kick, this time diving for
the chair where his jacket still hung.
Caner saw him crash into the chair, bowling it over,
roll, and come up with a gleaming blade in his hand.
Carter pushed himself up on the balls of his feet as the
man came toward him, moving in a semicircle. The man
was dangerous now, very dangerous, the knife wedded to
him, a weapon he obviously knew well. Assid feinted to
the left, then slashed to the right, and Carter pulled back as
the blade nicked his shoulder.
He crouched to counter, then pulled away again, the
man already in position. Again the wiry figure feinted to
the left, and this time Caner was ready for the counter-
slash, ducked low, caught the man's wrist, and twisted.
Assid didn't try to pull away. Instead he came forward,
using his shoulder, slamming into Carter, twisting away as
he did to break the grip on his wrist. Carter got an arm
around the man's neck, letting go instantly as the knife
swept upward in a deadly, gut-spewing arc. The man spun
around, slashing right and left with short, vicious blows,
and Carter found himself dancing backward to avoid being
ripped.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Reela moving along
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the wall toward the Beretta. Her movement drew half of
Assid's attention.
Carter moved.
The knife slashed the air. Carter took the pass and
moved in behind it. He chopped the man's wrist, and the
blade fell from fingers opened in pain.
Caner followed instantly with a short blow to the face.
He stuck again, straightening Assid's body against the
wall.
Assid twisted, and tried to sink his teeth into Caner's
arm. Carter jammed an elbow into the man's throat,
pushed, and kept pushing.
It took only a few seconds. There was a gagging sound,
the face changed color, and it was over.
Caner let the bcxiy slip to the floor, and tumed. The
short one was crawling to his feet. Carter tensed, but there
was no need.
Reela had recovered the Beretta. The man was lurching
forward when she brought the barrel down in a crunching
blow across the back of his head. Carter tried to stop a
second blow as he went down, but she was too quick.
There was a dull thud as the man hit the floornand then
silence.
Carter checked. The tall one was alive, but he would be
out for hours. Assid was in the same shape.
"Check the hall and stairs. Anyone curious about the
noise, tell 'em you and Magine were having a friendly
argument."
"Right."
"No problems, show yourself out front. Louis will bring
the car up. Tell him to come up here."
Reela was like vapor before a strong wind going out the
door. Carter turned to Deemy Savine.
Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, but through the slits
he could tell that she was conscious. Her lips worked be-
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