Шкловский Лев Переводчик. Killing Games

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Killing Games

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(3 of 212)

Automatic Zoom

The Stranger said,

"If that's a weapon you're reaching for, don't."

But Otto didn't listen. He reached. The

stranger broke an empty wine bottle and

stashed Otto's hand. Otto screamed and

stopped reaching.

The stranger said, Talk."

Otto talked. When he had heard what he

wanted to hear, the stranger said, "Tell A.K.

I'm cnming, and don't forget the name. It's

Carter, Nick Carter."

ONE

SIX YEARS AGO

The sky was gray and the air crisp with a strong breeze

blowing inland over the wild Welsh coastline.

Anthony Hobbs-Nelson applied the Land-Rover's

brakes and pulled a West Country map from the glove

compartment. When it was spread out over the steenng

wheel, he traced the route they had taken with a finger.

"You are lost."

Ihe way she said it, with her heavy French accent, it

came out, "Ou aire loosed." It brought a smile to his face,

the first since they had left the inn at Port Eynon early that

moming.

"I am not loosed," he replied. "Right there, Worm's

Head."

She smiled herself, leaned across the seat, and kissed

him. "l love you. dear Tony."

"And I love you, Nanette."

€ Then drive hurry to this Worm's Head before your wife

is starved!"

The Land-Rover surged forward, and minutes later they

were on a bluff overlooking the Bnstol Channel six

hundred feet t*low.

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NICK CARTER

'Oh, Tony, Tony, be careful, mon amour! Is danger-

"As a secret agent," he growled, a fer(Eious scowl on

his face, "I must live dangerously. Let's eat."

He set the hand brake and grabbed a picnic hantl*r and

blankets from the rear seat.

"1 will do it," she said.

"I'll help."

Together, they spread the blankets and unpacked wine

and food from the hamTEr.

As they ate, he fell back into the state of silence.

It had been his constant companion for the last two weeks,

since giving his resignation to his British intelligence suF-

riors at M16.

"You will still go to the United States, Tony?" she asked

softly, sensing his mood.

He nodded. "I must."

"This game of yours, it is so important?"

"It could be. *Ihe old school here don't think so,

but I might able to convince the Americans."

•me hard set of his jaw and the now-familiar glassy

quality ihat crept into his eyes made her away.

She knew very little about her husband's work, only

what he would—or could—tell her. Most of what he did

for British intelligence was carried out in what he called

the "think tank."

"We play games." he had said. "War games, economic

games, nuclear games. Just dream up gamss."

Now he had come up with a game that had scared him

to death, and his superiors had called it preposterous, use-

less, and unfeasible. 'Ihat was why Anthony Hobbs-Nelson

had resigned and vowed to take his game to Washington

and the American CIA.

The distant but swiftly approaching roar of a motorcycle

broke into their reverie.

(15 of 212)

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KILLING GAMES

"Sounds like we have company," he said.

He rose and climbed to the top of a low hill. About half

a mile away, a lone rider on a rx)werful machine was mov-

ing directly toward him. The motorcyclist was coming full

tilt, raising a dust devil behind him.

Dammit, Hobbs-Nelson thought. We come all the way

out here to be alone, and this idiot picks the same place to

play with his noisy toy.

The black-clad rider swiveled to a halt in front of him,

killed the engine, and leaned the machine over on its kick-

stand. He dismounted and shoved up the dark visor on his

helmet.

"Well, I'll damned, What the hell are you doing in

the wilds of Wales?" Hobbs-Nelson exclaimed.

"Hello, Tony. Where's your lovely bnde?"

"Back there by the Rover. Did you follow us out from

London ... "

But the rider had walked past him and started down the

hill.

"Look, old chap, I don't know what you want, but Na-

nette and I..

She up and smiled at the black-clad figure. "Oh,

hello! What—

Nanette got only a brief glimpse of the shaped

gun before the dart süuck her in the neck.

Hobbs-Nelson didn't see the gun at all, but he saw his

wife fall to the ground. He cried out in alarm and anger,

and lunged for the cyclist.

He had one hand on the man's shoulder, spinning him

around, when the dart gun was pressed against

his own chest.

"You bastards! You—

It was all Anthony Hobbs-Nelson got out before the

powerful tranquilizer rendered his limbs, then his body,

then his mind, useless.

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NICK CARTER

The rider was a of efficiency. He gathered up the

blankets and the picnic hamper and placed them in the

Land-Rover. Then Anthony and Nanette Hobbs-Nelson

were placed in the front seats and secured with safety belts.

Carefully, the sliverlike darts were removed from their

necks. When this was done, he started the engine and en-

gaged the gears.

It was a little tricky maneuvering the unconscious man's

leg and to press the accelerator and race the engine,

but he managed.

He waited only long enough to see the Land-Rover

crash into the sea and slip from sight in the murky waters

of the Bristol Channel before jumping back on his machine

and roaring away.

TWO

NOW

Cory Howard stretched his six-foot-five frame in the

rear of the big car and through the 01En window.

The only light was from kerosene lantems behind burlap

curtains in the row of mountaintop village shacks.

Far below and ten miles in the distance. the lights of

Uruguay's capital, Montevideo, cast a hazy blue-white arc

in the sky.

"Do you really think he'll corne?"

ne speaker was Lilly Kalensky. She was a pretty

woman with a small, boyish, delicate yet muscular body.

Her nose was straight and fine, her cheekbones high, and

her eyes brightly blue and watchful.

Fifteen years earlier she had walked a month by night to

escape Hungary Most of the way she had carried her baby

sister on her back and dragged her mother. Along the way

she had stolen fooci and killed three Communist border

guards to survive and escaF.

Then on a frigid January night they had rendezvoused

with Cory Howard and he had spirited them across Yugo-

slavia and eventually to freedom.

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

Howard had been with M16 then. Before that, he had

been in the elite British SAS.

Eventually he had grown weary of the frustrating bu-

reaucracy of the services, and resigned.

That was when he started Salvation Limited, and Lilly

Kalensky was only one of many people he had hired and

trained to work for him. He counseled international

rations, teaching their executives how to combat terrorism

and elude kidnappings. Often those same executives didn't

heed his warnings or install his recommended safeguards.

When it happened that one of their key people was kid-

napped, Salvation Limited was brought in to negotiate the

ransom or rescue the victim.

On this night, the victim was Marcel Longchamp, the

top geologist for the French corporation specializing in

valuable industrial metals.

He had been snatched two weeks earlier from the streets

of Rosario in Argentina, just across the border from Uru-

guay. The company had sent out the word to the Hunter—

as Cory Howard was now called.

The kidnappers referred to themselves as "freedom

fighters."'ln actual fact, they were nothing but a bunch of

mountain banditos out for a quick buck.

They were asking five million ransom for Longchamp.

His company didn't want to pay five. They didn't even

want to pay one. They offered the Hunter to

bring their boy out.

'SDid you hear me?" she asked again.

"What?" Howard said, lighting the cigarette that had

been dangling from his lips for the last five minutes.

"I think he got cold feet," Lilly said. "I don't think he's

coming."

"He'll come. He's a born little rat. He'd rather take the

cash offer 1 made and inform on his pals than take a chance

KILLING GAMES

that something screws up and Longchamp is killed. Then

he'd have to run for the rest of his life. He'll come."

The last word was barely uttered when they both saw a

flash of movement on one of the hillsides above the

shacks. Minutes later, a man in faded blue jeans, a loose

cotton shirt, and a battered hat pulled low over his eyes

trotted up to the car's open window.

"Hello, Perk."

"You got the money, sefior?"

"I've got the money, Pqx," Howard replied, holding up

a fat manilla envelope. "You got the place?"

'SSi. lhey are holding him in an old mining camp in the

hills above Salto. I drew a map and sketched the layout of

the buildings for you."

"Give it to me."

The man shook his head. "The money, seior. I will

have to travel a very long distance if my compadres find

out what I have done."

Lilly Kalensky sat quietly in the front seat, her hands on

the wheel. Her eyes lifted, focusing on Howard's image in

the rearview mirror.

Howard opened the in his hand and fanned the

bills. Leaving several of them showing, he laid the enve-

lope on the seat beside him. "The sketches."

Saliva practically driplEd from PerE's lips as his eyes

gazed steadily at the money. Ihen his hand slid into his

shirt and he handed Howard two folded sheets of paper. At

the same time, Howard's eyes flicked once forward and he

nodded his head slightly.

"Take your money, Pepe."

Eagerly, the informant reached through the window His

hand was on the envelorr and the money when the electric

window slid upward. The window caught him beneath the

armpit.

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

In a sudden. frenzy. he trgan to squirm, work-

ing his body furiously in an attempt to pull himself free.

Lilly Kalensky had already turned in the driver's seat.

Carefully, she aligned the silenced Walther PPK in both

hands.

She shot Pepe twice, once in the right eye and once in

the center of the forehead.

Howard immediately buzzed the window down, allow-

ing the body to fall to the dusty road.

Lilly dropped the Walther to the seat beside her and

started the car. As she $Ed away, she the other

three windows to let the smell of cordite disperse.

"Where to?"

"Back to Montevideo," Howard said. "We'll need a hel-

icopter."

He was already going over the two sheets of

'*How many in the mining camp?" she asked.

"Four, according to Pepe."

Lilly smiled. 'SA piece of cake, as the Americans say."

It was the silent hour before dawn when Cory Howard

crawledsover the last jutting rocks and looked down at the

camp.

There was a large central house, four small shacks, and

two vehicles—an ancient truck and an old Chevrolet. A

small stream wound its way through the area, with a small

bndge over it leading to the house.

There was only one light. It came from the comer room

of the house.

Carefully, silently, Howard eased himself off the ledge

and onto the roof. From there it was a short drop to a

clearing at the rear of the house.

Nothing moved anywhere. The old, unpainted building

slumped dejectedly, as if thinking about someday collaps-

ing completely. It was rcx)fed with split wooden shakes and

sat on round foundation blcrks cut from raw logs. A sec-

tion of rusting stovepirr extended above the roof at the rear

and was guyed with baling wire.

Howard crept the full length Of the rear. There was no

door in back.

That was good. The front was the only exit, unless they

dived out one or more of the three rear windows.

nere was no sign of an outside lookout or a dog.

ney were awfully dumb, Howard thought, or awfully

sure of themselves.

He slip1Ed noiselessly up to the lighted window and

peered inside. lhere were three of them, two asleep on the

floor and one in an alcoholic or drug haze with a pair of

earphones on his head.

Howard moved to the darkened window at the oppsite

rear comer: *Ihe inside to the hall was Olkn. In the

dimness he saw two figures. One was lying flat out on a

mattress in one corner. The other was sitting with his back

against the wall, snoring loudly.

Okay, Howard thought, which is which?

But at least he knew the room. Also, the stovepipe on

the roof led down to an old-fashioned rx)t-tEllied wocxl

urner squatting in the center of the rtx)rn.

Howard retraced his steps to the center of the house and

sliprpd a backpack from his shoulders. From it he took two

ong strings of flash grenades.

One string he left intact, and he fastened it all around

e lighted window. The other string he separated into six

Individual grenades. Four of these he hung on his t*lt. nie

remaining two were attached to a long pull wire.

'Ihen he climtrd back up onto the Gently, he low-

ered the grenades down the stovepirx until they hit bottom

an the trlly of the old stove.

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

He took a rnlight flash from his pocket and pointed it

toward a strand of trees thirty yards in front of the house.

Two quick flashes brought an answering reply from the

trees.

Playing the wire out, he climbed down to the ground.

'Ihe trip wire from the window string he held in his teeth.

ne silenced Walther he held in his left hand; his right

grasped the trip wire to the grenades in the stove.

It would all be a matter of timing.

Using his wrist, he pushed a pair of smoked-glass gog-

gles from his forehead down over his eyes. He a deep

breath, let it out slowly, and pulled the trip wire in his right

hand.

lhe blast and the glare were somewhat subdued in the

belly of the stove, but the explosion was still enough to

raise hell in the room and illuminate the two occupants.

lhe one who had tEen sitting against the wall lurched to

his feet, clawing a big magnum from his trlt.

Howard put two slugs right through the glass into the

center of his chest, and pulled the second trip wire.

Next door, night turned into day, and shattered glass

went everywhere.

Howard used the long silencer to break out the rest of

the window, and dived through. Outside the door, he could

already hear chaotic shouting and footsteps B)unding down

the hall.

He pulled the pin on two of the grenades, threw them

into the hall, and slammed the

He tumed to the man crouched on the mattress. 'SMon-

sieur Marcel Longchamp?"

"Oui, but what—

"Don't talk, do! Hurry—the window!"

The man's hands were cuffed in front of his body. How-

ard had him separate his wrists until the chain was on the

(23 of 212)

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KILLING GAMES

sill, then he severed it with a slug from the Walther.

"Out, fast!"

With a little help from Howard, the man went out the

window with the Hunter practically on his back.

Pulling Longchamp behind him, they scooted around

the side of the house, ran to the stream, and dropped

hind the protection of its bank.

*Ihe flash grenades had started two fires, one in the hall-

way and another in the that had held the three men.

As Howard watched, one man dived out the window

that he and Longchamp had just used. He had a shotgun

and was waving it around wildly, lc»king for something to

shoot at. Finally he ran around to the front, shouting.

Ihe other two bolted from the front door just as Howard

lobbed the two remaining grenades toward the front of the

house.

The shotgun waver got off one barrel, but Howard was

already back down in the safety of the stream bed.

The grenades went off, lighting up the trio like ducks in

a shooting gallery. Lilly Kalensky stepFd from the trees

with the Uzi in her hands blazing. lhe Walther was jump-

ing in Howard's hands, leaving the three men in the center

of the deadly crossfire.

It was over in seconds.

"That's it, Lilly," Howard growled, rising and walking

quickly to the camage, dragging Longchamp with him.

"Oh, my Gtxi," Longchamp cried, staring down at the

bloody bodies, "what have you done?"

"Killed them. C'mon, let's get the hell out of here."

It was noon in Paris, and hot. Outside the twelve-story

building just off the Rue Saint-Honoré that housed the

home offices of StarFire Mining and Industrial Research,

heat waves rose like undulating belly dancers to the pent-

NICK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

house office suite of the company president.

Denis Jeansoulin sat his massive desk, staring at

the center telephone of three near his right hand. He had

discarded his jacket hours earlier, but it hadn't stemmed the

flow of perspiration from his pores. His white-on-white

shirt was soaked through and moisture from his face

dripped steadily from his chin.

It was a cold sweat brought on by the reality that his life

and the life of the company that his grandfather had

founded more than a century on a single

telephone call.

When the center phone rang, Jeansoulin nearly fell from

his chair as he grabbed the receiver. "Yes, yes?"

'This is Howard. He's out and unharmed."

g 'Ihank God," Jeansoulin sighed with relief. "Where are

"On Lake Salado, about five miles outside Buenos

Aires. I requisitioned someone's summer house. Where do

you want him delivered?"

"Wait two hours and then drive him into Buenos Aires,

to the airport. I'll have our company plane standing by."

"And the other half of my money?"

"I'll notify our Zurich bank. It will be in your account

within the hour."

"Nice doing business with you, Monsieur Jeansoulin."

"You are a savior, Monsieur Howard."

Denis Jeansoulin hung up and eased back in his chair

for a moment of sublime relief before calling his man in

Buenos Aires to prepare the plane.

It was over. In a few hours, Marcel Longchamp would

be in Paris. The information in his head would be more

than enough proof to the bankers holding the gigantic Star-

Fire loans that the company was now solvent.

Platinum—thousands of ounces of raw platinum—and

its sister element, palladium, in easily minable deposits.

StarFire's South Amencan leases would be worth bil-

lions.

Denis Jeansoulin mopped his face and reached for the

phone.

In the receptionist's office, Jeansoulin's private secre-

tary, Henri Liard, waited until his boss had hung up tRfore

he replaced the receiver of his own phone.

Liard left his office and took an elevator to the ground

floor. Near a newspaper and magazine kiosk he slipped

into a phone Quickly, he dialed a long series of

numbers that would connect him to a voice in London.

Liard didn't know the owner of the voice: he had-never

met either the man or the woman who always answered.

But the StarFire executive secretary knew that both of

them—or their control—were wealthy and powerful ...

powerful enough to engineer a takeover of a huge mining

conglomerate like StarFire. And, if his research was cor-

, StarFire would not the first nor the last industrial

mining and ore refining company that had fallen to their

sword.

And when that takeover hapFned, Henri Liard would

much more than an executive assistant or glorified

retary.

Ihe London phone was picked up on the third ring.

' 'This is Liard in Paris."

He could hear the switchover made: clicks,

uzzes, then another ring. It was a dummy phone-through

ration handled by computers punched up by some face-

ess rEt•son in some small drab office who only knew codes

names. StarFire itself used such nurntEt-s for its clan-

Stine industrial espionage.

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

"One moment."

It was a full minute, during which Liard studied the

constant flow of beautiful Parisian women coming and

going outside the booth.

Soon, very soon, he thought, he could pick and

"Bonjour, mon ami. What do you have for us?" It was

the woman this time instead of the gravel-voiced man. Mon

Dieu, Liard mused, she had the voice of a three-thousand-

franc whore.

"Longchamp. The Hunter got him out."

lhere were several seconds of silence from the other

end. Liard fidgeted, but he knew than to speak. The

woman was thinking, weighing alternatives.

"That is too bad, Henn," the sultry feminine voice fi-

nally said. "It was a major stroke of luck, a grand coinci-

dence, when these Latinos kidnapped him. It saved us the

trouble of intercepting him ourselves."

"The Hunter has Longchamp in Buenos Aires. He's tak-

ing him to the airport in two hours, He will be in Paris long

before the meeting tomorrow."

"l see. Where in Buenos Aires?"

"A cottage on a lake outside the city, Lake Salado. I

have no name. Howard said it was a summer cottage,

empty. He •requisitioned' it."

"It should easy to find. You have done well, Henri."

"Merci, madame."

s Our mutual benefactor will see that you are rewarded

handsomely, I am sure."

"Merci beaucoup. "'

"Au revoir, mon ami."

Henri Liard couldn't suppress the ripple of fear and re-

vulsion that ran through his body as he took the elevator

back to the twelfth floor.

He didn't want to consider what was going to to

Marcel Longchamp.

But down deep he knew, and it scared the hell out of

him.

He thought of the woman. Sometimes, at night in a

dream, the woman's voice came to him. He wondered if

she had the body to match the voice.

He wondered if he would ever meet her.

Then he again thought of Longchamp, and decided he

didn't want to meet the woman.

Lilly Kalensky saw the first and called to

Cory Howard. He joined her and peered out through the

crack in the closed

A man, dark, with a mustache and wearing a white shin

and shorts, climbed up to the pier from the tX)at. He turned

and held his hand out to an attractive, woman

in a bathing suit and shM terry-cloth robe. When the

woman was on the pier, they tX)th reached back into the

boat and came up with suitcases.

owners?" Lilly asked anxiously.

"Could tr," Howard replied. "Christ, nobody comes

out to the lakes around here for at least another two

weeks."

• Can we bluff them?"

"We'll have to try. Put the Uzi in the case. We don't

want to spook them. I'll give them sorne kind of a story:

Wake up Longchamp and get him ready to roll."

Lilly ncxided and nwved back into the bowels of the

house. Howard the Walther under his trlt at the

small of his back and pulled on a jacket. He then plastered

on his most engaging smile and walked out the front doon

"Hello there, you must the owners. Had an accident

with my own boat last night

They sto«i, staring, the man seeming perplexed. But

the woman seemed only nervous. Her eyes kept darting

over Howard's shoulder.

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

The bags were exrxnsive, Howard noted, and tie

woman's jewelry indicated wealth. They were definitely

Latin, but still

Suddenly, from tEhind him inside the house, came the

unmistakable chatter of machine gun fire. Howard whirled,

working on instinct, grabbing at the Walther in his tEIt.

The huge windows on either side of the door burst out-

ward and slugs stitched holes through the door itself.

Howard's attention was drawn to the house for only a

second, but it was long enough. The suitcase in the man's

hand cracked across Howard's elbow just as his arm was

going up. lhe Walther flew from his hand, clattered over

the wooden pier, and fell into the water.

The woman already had a small-caliber pistol out and

was firing wildly as the man swung again with the suitcase.

Howard rolled to the side. The suitcase missed, but he

felt one of the slugs burn a path along his left side. He

managed to grab the man by the front of his shirt. At the

same time, he lunged with his shoulder and drove the man

into the woman's still-spurting revolver.

The man screamed and his eyes went wild with shock as

he slipped to the deck of the pier.

ne revolver clicked on empty. Before Howard could

reach the woman, she threw the empty gun at him and

dived into the water. In seconds she was lost tEneath the

pier.

He started toward the house, when suddenly the

burst and Lilly was backing toward him. the Uzi in

her hands spraying the d€xrway and window.

"Cory, Cory, where are you!"

"Right behind you!" he cried. "Longchamp?"

"Dead. There are at least six of them!"

"The boat!" Howard yelled. "Keep coming!"

He dived into the boat. The keys were in the ignition.

By the time the engine roared to life, answering fire had

started coming from the house.

Lilly was on her trlly on the pier, the Uzi blazing.

"Lilly, roll ... roll into the boat!"

She rolled, and the instant he saw her secure in the well,

Howard jammed the throttle to full. The bow lifted and the

powerful inboard sailed into the lake. Out of the comer of

his eye he could see spurts in water and hear the thuds

as a few rounds found the

He was practically sitting down, driving by looking up

at the tops of the trees. The windshield him shat-

tered, and suddenly the firing st0FBl.

He chanced a look. They were thirty yards short of the

opm)site side of the lake. Directly in front of them was a

short stretch of sand backed with heavy undergrowth.

"Hang on!" he shouted, and steered directly for it.

The crunched. and then he could hear the underside

of the boat scrape over the low foliage. They carne to rest

at a tilt and Howard cut the engine.

"Come on!"

"Cory ... "

He turned. He knew she was hit by the low gurgle in her

voice. She lay on her back in the well of the boat, a dark

stain spreading across the front of her black sweater

Gently, Howard pulled the sweater up to the bottom of

her breasts.

"Oh, Jesus .. e"

"Bad?" Her eyes opened, staring glassily up, through

him, at the sky.

"Yes, Lilly ... bad."

"Wouldn't you know it?" she said, and coughed. "He

was dead, Cory. ney came through the rear windows fir-

ing. They got him right away My they cut him in

half!"

NICK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

'Take it easy, Lilly."

"No, Cory, listen to me this is imlk)rtant. I know one

in Su-

of them. That night... when you brought us out ...

botica ..

"Lilly.. i"

"No, listen! nat man who met us, the one with the low

husky voice, the one who could hardly speak .

"In Yugoslavia?" Howard was trying to concentrate, to

drag his mind back fifteen years.

"You said he had been stabtrd once in the throat ... that

was why his voice was like that."

"Oh, my Longbone ... Wolf Longbone?"

"Yes, Wolf, yes ... Cory. my sis—

"Lilly. • e"

Her head rolled to the side and a steady river of blo«i

curled from the corner of her mouth.

Denis Jeansoulin hummed as he poured champagne into

a crystal glass.

It was over. He had won. The banks would be pacified,

the stockholders would back off, and the overseas vultures,

whoever •they were, would go. in search of another com-

pany to rape.

When the telephone rang he answered it with a jaunty

air, not noticing it was the SIECial line he had set up since

the first night of the kidnapping.

"Hello?'

"Jeansoulin, you son of a bitch!"

"What? Who is &lis?"

'This is Howard, and don't tell me you can't recognize

my voice by now, you bastard. What the hell are

you trying to pull?"

Sudderdy the sweat started again and the hair at the back

of his neck started to itch. "What is it? What is the mat-

ter?"

matter is, damn you, if you wanted Longchamp

dead, why bring him out? Why not let the kidnap1Ers do

it? Or were you afraid they wouldn't go through with their

threat?"

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur Howard, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying we were hit!"

"Hit? I don't understand. Hit?"

"Longchamp is dead! Who did you tip off or tell where

we were?"

"No one! I swear it, no one!" Jeansoulin choked.

"Well, somebcxiy found out," Howard hissed. "They

used two decoys. I thought ."

The voice continued, but Denis Jeansoulin heard no

more. By instinct he hung up the phone as his body

slumped back in the chain

It wasn't over.

Yes, it was. For him.

In a trance, he opened the center drawer of his desk.

ne champagne glass was jiggled from his hand as he

reached and found the .45 Colt that his father had carried

in the liberation of Paris.

His mind was a total blank when he put the barrel in his

mouth and pressed the trigger with both thumbs.

THREE

Other than two blue-haired elderly ladies, a pair of pin-

striped business types, and Nick Carter, the first class sec-

tion of the big Boeing was empty.

The two ladies were chattering about how homesick

they were going to be, gone from the States for two whole

weeks touring the English countryside. Between ranting

inept Pliticians and the lack of moral fiber in the

American youth of today, the two men tried to convince the

two attractive hostesses to shack up with them the first

night in London.

Carter was thinking atx)ut the odd of the last

twenty-four hours that had put him on this London flight.

The original request had come from a CIA deputy, John

Hutchins. He had asked the chief of AXE operations for a

night meet in the wilds of Virginia on a matter of "utmost

priority."

Since Cory Howard's name had tEen mentioned, David

Hawk had included Caner on the rneet. lheSAXE Killmas-

ter had run two missions in the old days with Howard, and

since the man's retirement from M16 they had worked the

rescue of a kidnaprd Amencan scientist from Iran.

Hutchins, a rather prissy little man with eyes set too

close together and a nervous habit of cracking his

KILLING G

(33 of 212)

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KILLING GAMES

knuckles, had come right to the point.

"M16 thinks they have a rogue agent."

"Cory Howard?' Carter said, not trying to hide the sur-

prise in his voice. "He's free-lance, has his owncompany.

It's been years since he left the service. How can he a

rogue?" Hutchins smiled, showing t(X) many teeth above a

depressed chin. "Mr. Carter, I'm sure you, of all people,

know that once you're in you're always in... even after

retirement."

Carter tensed at the little man's condescending tone. He

thought for a second of reaching with thumb and forefinger

and ripping the little bastard's button nose from his pudgy

face.

A look at Hawk's scowl made him sit back. As usual,

the head of AXF was sitting calmly, prefemng to disregard

the froth until he had heard the meat.

"Other than brought in as a free-lance for us a

time or two in the past," Hawk said, "why talk to us about

Howard?"

'The request comes from Sir Phillip Avery," Hutchins

replied. '41 work quite closely with Sir Phillip as liaison

between CIA and M16. Two days ago. Sir Charles Martin

got an extortion demand from Cory Howard for five mil-

lion

"Bullshit," Carter growled.

"I'm afraid not."

"Do you have a copy of the letter?" Hawk asked.

"No, but the gist of it is that if Mr. Howard does not get

his five million, he has threatened to, as he puts it, 'blow

the lid on Sir Charles and both services."'

Hawk leaned forward, the cigar in his clenched teeth

creating a wreath of smoke around his head. "I can under-

stand why they are requesting us to aid in the investigation

if we're part of the extortion demand, but where does Sir

Charles Martin come in?"

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

Hutchins leaned forward. "I must have the word of both

of you that what I am about to reveal conceming Sir

Charles must never leave this

Both Hawk and Caner shrugged, signifying that such a

request from men on their level was surrrfluous, even in-

suiting, but they nodded their agreement.

"I assume," Hutchins continued, "that you know a little

of Sir Charles Martin's background. He inherited vast

wealth in his youth, and became somewhat of an economic

wunderkind. He multiplied his inheritance a thousand times

over, acquiring companies all over the world."

"And," Hawk growled, "he has intelligence connec-

tions."

"Exactly. For years, literally since he trgan his remark*

able rise, he has devoted a large portion of his resources to

intelligence gathering for M16 and M15. This has been

done on a completely secret basis to allow Sir Charles a

great deal of latitude. Eventually, of course, we also took

advantage of Sir patriotism. Only a few select

rpople know of Sir Charles's involvement with our intelli-

gence agencies."

"Wh(f?" Hawk asked pointedly.

Hutchins sniffed. "I am not at litxrty to divulge that

information."

Through the smoke of his own cigarette Carter saw a

tiny muscle jump in Hawk's cheek. The man's jaw

clamped so hard it was amazing the cigar stayed together.

Carter knew what was going on in the old man's mind.

For years, David Hawk had been the chief*of supersecret,

AXE. As such, he was one of the "very

select" rrople in American intelligence. If he wasn't privy

to Sir Charles Martin's role, who the hell was?

"I see," Hawk said, doing a marvelous job of keeping a

lid on his anger. "Just what is it you want with us?"

"It has been agreed that an agent of M16 and one of ours

interview Sir Charles and uy to get to the bottom of all

this." Hutchins turned to Carter. "How can you leave

for England?'

"As soon as I decide to send him," Hawk snapped.

Carter smiled.

Hutchins fidgeted. ' 'Of course. 19m sorry, Mr. Hawk. I

didn't mean to overstep my authority. I just want to stress

Sir Charles's immense worth over the years, and the help

he can give us in the future. We would hate to lose that

alliance. You see, we owe Sir Charles."

"Okay," Hawk sighed, s swe haven't anything immedi-

ately pressing right now."

Hutchins stood. S *There is one more thing

"Which is?" Carter asked.

"We would like to keep this as quiet as pssible until we

know more about it. We would appreciate it if you did not

contact any of your trople, or ours, in England. Needless

to say, that gcrs for M16 and M15 staff as well."

"Who is the M16 half of the interview?" Carter asked.

"Her name is Sharon Purdue. She is a close ass(Eiate of

Sir Phillip Avery, and has some knowledge of Sir Charles's

involvement. Also, like you, Mr. Carter, Miss Purdue has

been close to Cory Howard."

"How close?"

Hutchins flushed. "Uh, bedroom close, to put it in the

vernacular. Mr. Howard was. for quite some time, Miss

Purdue's lover. Here is a private numtxr in London where

she can be reached."

Carter pocketed the sheet of paper without looking

t it.

The handshaking good-byes were slightly strained.

r and Hawk wasted no time getting out of the Virginia

armhouse and to their car.

Neil Griffin and Gig Clark, Hawk's two bodyguards

ho would look more comfortable in Green Bay Packer

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

uniforms than three-piece suits, were waiting.

"Where to?" Griffin asked after closing the rear door

behind his boss and climbing into the driver's seat.

"The office," Hawk said, and lit a fresh cigar.

"The office" was the building housing Amalgamated

Press and Wire Services on Dupont Circle. A few rooms

actually functioned as a wire service, but the rest was all

AXE.

"Well?" Hawk asked at last, when they had gained the

interstate back toward Washington.

Carter shragged. think I know Cory Howard. and it

doesrüt sound right. He was a little sour when he left the

service and started his own business, sure, but this doesn't

fit."

Hawk nodded. "But, as I remember, his fees are pretty

high and he does live well."

"Granted. but why a shakedown on this Sir Charles

Martin slrcifically?"

"Let's hope you find out in London."

"I'd like a complete dossier on Sir Charles, and also an

update on Howard."

"It Will be waiting for you tomorrow"—Hawk paused,

checking his watch-—"tonight, at the airport."

They were just pulling Into the underground garage at

Amalgamated when Carter voiced the bottom-line thought

that had been on both their minds.

"If Sir Charles Martin was feeding us so much good

information, wouldn't John Starkey, BLYt Esterman, o

Jonathan Hart-Davis in London be one of the select people

who knew about him?"

S'Don't know," Hawk said, "but I mean to find out."

John Starkey was AXE liaison to the Oval Office. A

such, he was privy to all CIA intelligence passing acros

the President's desk.

Butt Esterman was the link CIA and AXE, and

was privy to everything Starkey saw.

Carter knew that, first thing in the morning, those two

men would be summoned to Hawk's office.

"Should 1 see Hart-Davis in London?" Carter asked.

"No, not until we know more. If Sir Charles really has

been that valuable, we had better respect Hutchins's re-

quest for secrecy."

The two men parted in the garage. Hawk headed for his

private elevator, his two shadows in tow. The Killmaster

knew that the old man would probably be up the rest of the

night, digging.

Caner got in his own car and headed across town to his

Georgetown digs.

StripiEd save a bathrobe and a tall scotch, he opened his

safe and dUeout his own file on Cory Howard. He thought

he remembered a connection.

He had, but it tc»k him a good half hour to find it.

Lilly Kalensky had worked for Howard. Carter had

never met her, but the Killmaster had surmised that the

relationship had gone a little deerr than just employer and

emi)loyee.

About a year and a half ago, he had gotten a call from

Lilly Kalensky, using Howard as a reference. She had

wanted Carter to give her sister a hand in locating an apart-

ment and settling into the States. The girl was going to be a

freshman at Georgetown University.

Carter had done just that, but he couldn't recall the

girl's name or the exact address of her apartment.

'Ihen he found it: Jova Kalen. Now he remembered that

she had dropped the last three letters, thinking it made the

name sound more "American. "

He checked the telephone directory, found the address

was still the same, and jotted down the telephone number.

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NICK CARTER

With the clock set for seven, he stretched out and was

immediately asleep.

At one minute that hour, his own mental clcxk

awakened him.

Fumbling, he found the phone and the slip of he

had placed near it crashing.

A pleasant, self-assured voice with only the slightest

trace of an accent answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Could I srrak to Jova Kalen, please."

' 'This is she."

Carter thought he detected an cxld note of alarm in the

girl's voice. "Jova, I don't know if you rememt*r me or

not, Nick Carter?"

"Oh, of course, Mr. Carter! How could I ever forget the

help you gave me?"

"I know you probably have classes all day, but I wonder

if you'd have time for lunch?"

"With you, of course. and where?"

"How about Pallon's? it's close to your apartment. You

name the time."

"I finish my last class of the day at one-thirty. How

about t'*o? Is that tcx» late?"

*'Two would fine. See you then."

He hung up and rolled over to grab a couple more

hours' sleep, thinking that her voice had sounded very re-

lieved when he had told her his name.

It was eleven when he started into the kitchen and made

coffee. By twelve he had showered, shav<, and dressed.

A small flight bag took all the essentials for a short trip. If

it became a long one, he would, as usual, buy new along

the way and discard the old.

AXE business yas very hard on clothing and personal

items in the field.

In the false bottom of his flight bag he stored the major

equipment of his trade: a 9mm Luger he affectionately

called Wilhelmina, and a stiletto, dubbed

Hugo, in a spnng-activated chamois sheath.

The last thing he did t*fore leaving was fish once again

through Howard's file until he came up with two solid ex-

mples of the man's signature and handwriting.

L.eaving his car garaged, he cabbed to Pallon's, arriving

fteen minutes early, and checked his bag with the cloak-

m attendant.

"I'll be expecting a young lady. My name is Carter," he

nnounced to the maitre d'.

"Of course. sir. this way."

Carter ordered three fingers of Chivas over a single ice

ube and. by habit, checked out everyone around him as he

aited. It was the normal crowd ... young, rising attor-

eys, a few rx)liticians, and the ladies who lunch.

At precisely two. the maitre d' approached the table

ith Jova Kalen in tow.

She wouldn't have made Miss Cheerleader, but if she

topped fighting it, she would have a pretty girl.

aner thought. She was above average height, with a

lender, curvaceous figure that she tried to hide under a

ormless sweater and a skirt that had twelve-too-many

ards of material. Her dark hair was cut short and combed

ack from a broad forehead. Her eyebrows were full, and

e long black lashes that swept up from the dark, no-

nonsense eyes were her own.

Carter kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I'm glad you

emerntrred me."

"How could I forget you?" she said and smiled. "You

cre my first crush in America!"

*Ihe talk, through a glass of wine and salad, was super-

Cial chitchat. mostly of school, how she was fitting in,

e fact that she loved the States and never wanted to

ave.

Carter detected the same strain he had sensed on the

N CK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

phone, but talked around it until dessert and coffee.

"Jova, I have to admit that I have an ulterior motive f

this lunch," he said at last.

Her body tensed slightly. "Yes?"

"Your sisters Lilly. I'd like to get in touch with her."

Her lower lip curled t*tween her teeth. Then a heavy

sigh. Then she leaned forward and it poured out.

"So would I. Since I have been here, we talk at least

twice a week. Either Lilly calls me or I call her. But I

haven't heard from her in a month, and I'm womed. Also,

she sends me a check the first of every month, never

misses. This month it didn't come."

"Do you need money?"

"Oh, no, I never spend all that she sends anyway. It's

just not like Lilly to miss the check."

"Jova, I want to ask you something."

"Do you remember Cory Howard?"

A slight flush crepc into her face. "Of course. Like you,

he did so much for us. And he's very close to my sister."

"How close?"

Nouw it was a deep blush. "The last time I visited Lilly,

they slept together. She told me it was nothing, serious,

they were only part-time lovers."

'SDid you know that your sister worked for Cory How

ard?"

"No," she replied. and then that broad forehead fur

rowed. "In fact. I really don't know wet Lilly does fo

money. Oh, dear, is it illegal?"

"No, not at all," Carter replied. and quickly went on

'Tell me about the last time you talked to Lilly."

Jova closed her eyes, concentrated, and spoke, •s Yes

she said she was leaving the islands for a few days o

business, and she would call me the moment she g

back."

(41 of 212)

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KILLING GAMES

' 'The islands?"

"The Cayman Islands. She has a villa on Cayman

Brac."

"Is there any other place to reach her?"

"Yes, a flat in London... Mayfair. Nick, is something

wrong? Has something to Lilly?"

"I don't think so."

'Then why are you asking about her?"

"Actually, Jova, I would like to find Cory Howard. "

She shrugged. "He has a house in England

Cornwall, I think. That's all I know."

Carter could see in her eyes that she wanted to know

not accepting the little bit he had told her. He moved

the conversation away from Howard and her sister until

they hit the street.

"l promise you, Jova, if I see or hear anything about

Lilly, I'll be in touch."

'Thank you," she said. ' 'Oh, there's one other person

that might of help, Rita Lyon. She runs a cocktail

lounge in George Town. Lilly and Rita were very close

friends. She might know something."

"Have you contacted her?"

"No, but I was about to."

"Don't." Carter said. "I'll do it for you."

He walked her to her apartment and grabbed a cab to

Iles.

It was •a pretty good chance, he mused as he boarded the

plane, that if Lilly Kalensky had gone underground, so had

Cory Howard.

But why?

Heathrow never changed; even at that early hour it was

a beehive of activity. Carter took the moving walkway,

en went down the escalators to the baggage claim. Some-

where in the mass of humanity around him he knew there

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

would be M16 people checking every face.

Utmost secrecy. Hutchins had said. Don't contact any of

theirs, or ours.

If any of the M16 or M15 r*ople at Heathrow were old

hands, it would be less than an hour tefore Carter's pres-

ence in London would known and wondered about.

Screw Hutchins.

Carter collected his bag and found a phone txx)th. He

dialed the numtrr from mernory:

Yes

"Sharon Purdue?"

"Yes."

"Carter. I'm at Heathrow"

'*My flat is in Cherries Street, just off Tottenham Court

Road. The is twelve."

"An hour," Carter said, and hung up.

As the cab sailed into London. past the vastness of Vic-

toria Station. Park Lane. and then the Marble Arch. Carter

couldn't help but feel that if this whole thing were for real,

then Cory Howard had really slimxd a cog.

And if a man as dangerous as Howard had gone off the

deep erid, it was going to be one hell of a job to nail him.

"Here ya are, guv, number twelve."

Carter paid the driver and mounted the stoop of a re-

cently renovated town house. He punched the buzzer

marked S. PURDUE, and, when the door clicked. walked

inside and up the first landing.

He saw the second door on his right opxn a crack. When

he headed that way, it swung open completely.

'Carter?"

"Yeah. Purdue""

'Come in."

She was all legs holding up the kind of body you saw on

movie screens. Her face was sharply aristocratic under a

mane of dark brown hair. Her eyes were green, gold-

flecked. and her mouth was just a touch too wide if you

liked slide-rule symrnetry.

All in all, she seemed lively, sensual, and very femi-

nine. She also had an aura of that hovered

about her like a cloud.

"It's a two-bedroom flat. You can use that one."

Carter droplkd his bag in the room and returned. "When

do we meet Sir Charles Martin?"

"Tonight, eight. He has a house outside of Basingstoke,

near Sherborne St. John."

"Good. Do you have a drink?"

Her left eyebrow shot up. Way up. "It's seven-thirty in

the morning."

"I've got a watch. Scotch, if you have it."

He peeled out of his jacket and tie as she splashed whis-

key into a glass.

"Here you are."

"Thanks."

"I don't like to work with drunks," she said coolly. "Do

you drink a lot?"

"Only when I'm working."

don't think I like you."

"You don't have to like me to work with me," he re-

plied. understand you work very closely with M16, Sir

Phillip Avery?"

"That's right."

"I've had dealings with Sir Phillip, and I think he's a

dull-witted pompous ass. That should tell you how much I

think of working with you. Where's the shower?"

When Carter emerged, a towel around his waist. she

was standing at the foot of his bed.

"I've just had a call from Central."

'*And?" Carter said, liking her more when she didn't

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

blink at his dropping the towel and pulling on a pair of

shorts.

"Sir Charles just received another threat from Cory

Howard."

"What's this one?"

"If Sir Charles d(Esn't pay the extortion money in seven

days, acting as his own courier, Howard will kill him."

Carter frowned. Maybe, he thought, Cory Howard has

slipped a cog.

FOUR

Sharon Purdue's car was a sleek gray Jaguar. a recent

model with all the little luxury knickknacks money could

buy. Carter noticed that it sported only a little over four

thousand miles on the odometer as he slid into the soft

leather seat.

"A rich daddy?" he asked drily.

She didn't reply but roared the powerful engine through

the gears. It seemed only minutes before they were leaving

London behind.

The woman made no effort at conversation and neither

did Carter. He relaxed into the luxurious leather cushion of

the passenger seat and stared broodingly at the darkening

English countryside. The motorway was jammed with cars

and trucks. but they reached the Basingstoke exit well be-

fore seven.

"Pub grub," Carter said suddenly.

"I •m hungry. We've time, find a pub."

Over a meat pie and two Pints of Courage, Carter

thought about the dossier he had consumed on the plane.

Sir Charles Martin, the man he was about to meet, was

s mysterious as he was wealthy. His wealth—wildly

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

guessed at by British and American publications—was in

the billion-pound range. Many thought even that figure

was a low guess.

Just after the war, at the age of twenty, Sir Charles had

taken over the family's small rEtrochemical plant near

Dorset. In a shon time he had expanded into other coun-

tries and steel mills and mining leases.

By 1975, he had so many companies under so many

corporations that stock market followers couldn't really as-

sess what he did own.

It was about that time when Sir Charles out of

public sight, preferring to be the master behind the scenes

pulling his worldwide strings.

"It's getting late."

"What? Ohs yes. Sony"

Caner paid, over her protests, and they returned to the

car. *Ihe rest of the journey was completed over narrow,

hedgerow-lined country lanes, and she drove with much

more care and caution.

Presently she slowed to a crawl and tumed into a lane

between two stone pillars sporting rampaging lions at the

top. "Mo guards?" Carter commented.

'*Ihis is only the outer wall. The estate is five hundred

acres. The inner compound is about a mile ahead."

Caner whistled but said no more.

Sure enough, about five minutes later they pulled up to

a set of massive iron-grilled gates. Two hard-eyed types

appeared from a small house to the right. They wore bulky

woolen sweaters, baggy trousers, and exhibited no arms,

but Carter guessed from their look and movements that

they could handle just about any situation.

After inspecting 'their credentials and making a call-—

evidently to another team of watchdogs in the house—

Caner and Sharon were almost grudgingly waved through.

The road was graveled now, and it wound through a

forest of overhanging trees. Another hundred yards or so,

and they turned into an approach, a straight stretch

flanked by rows of giant trees.

And then he saw it, an enormous Georgian manor at the

end of the avenue. It had flanking wings the size of a nor-

mal palace, and its four stories were ablaze with lights.

Just as they halted in front of a wide terrace, thunder rur

tured the air and the rains came.

lhey both bolted for the held orrn by a formally

attired servant.

"I am Sharon Purdue and this is Mn Nick Caner."

"Yes, miss, Sir Charles is in the study. This way,

please."

Turning stiffly, he led them down a baronial hall. On

either side, Carter saw stately rooms with enormous crystal

chandeliers hanging fifteen feet above the floors. The

floors themselves were littered with Persian and Bokhara

carpets, slightly frayed but still glowing nchly with color.

The study was lined with txx)kcases and gun racks.

Heads of big game stared blankly down with glass eyes.

Sir Charles rose from a huge wing chair in front of a mas-

Sive fireplace and came to rneet them.

"So glad you were able to just miss the storm. Sharon."

He kissed her hand and turned to the Killmaster. "Mr.

Carter. "

"How do you do, Sir Charles."

ne handshake was as firm as the man. Dressed in tai-

lored tweeds with an ascot, he stood a good three inches

taller than Carter and probably hit the scales at a solid 250.

Even more impressive than his size was his head. It

looked too large even for the big body, and was topped by

a mane of silver-streaked dark hair The mustache on his

strong upper lip was neatly trimmed, but his eyebrows

hadn't seen scissors since birth.

"Please sit. Have you eaten? , .. A snack, r*rhaps?"

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

Carter's eyes drifted to the nearby and liquor trol-

ley. It was heaped with fresh and smoked salmon, Beluga

caviar, cheeses, and a variety of sweets.

"No, thanks," Carter replied, "we had a meat pie in a

pub."

Sharon Purdue glared. Sir Charles's blue eyes flashed

with amusement and the full lips curled into a smile.

"l see. Pub food is ... filling. A drink perhaps?"

When the sherry and scotch were pured, they settled in

and Carter came right to the point.

"Could I see the two letters from Cory Howard, Sir

Charles?"

'Of course."

He produced them with the envel(F, and Carter read:

Sir Charles: I think, sir, it is time you were brought

to task. Of course, with your vast wealth and interna-

tional connections, bringing you down to the level of

the common man would tr imix»ssible. lherefore, I

plan on making you pay another way: I want E5 million,

in cash. Within 24 hours I want your agreement to pay.

You dan let me know by placing an ad in the personal

column of the International Herald Tribune reading: "H.

The sum is reasonable. M."

If you don't pay, I have enough evidence concerning

your M16 and CIA backstairs dealings to bring your

secret empire down like a house of cards.

I think you know what I mean: Uruvay, Bolivia,

Colombia, Canada.

And you needn't send any more amateurs. You can

verify the enclosed with the French Sdreté. Howard.

Ihe note was handwritten. Carter fished from his pocket

the two examples he had of Howard's handwriting and

compared them to the note.

KILLING GAMES

(49 of 212)

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KILLING GAMES

They matched

"What was enclosed, Sir Charles?"

"These."

The man passed over two passports, one Italian, the

other French. The names were Guido Narboni and Jules

Lafaye. The photographs on both had black X's

drawn through them.

S' You knew these men. Sir Charles?"

"Not directly. no. I questioned my in France and

Italy. They were both private detectives. My firms had

used them in the past as antiterronst security consultants."

"And that was all?" Carter asked.

Sir Charles shrugged. "To my knowledge, yes."

"And did you check with the French?"

He fumbled with an unlit pipe and glanced at Sharon

Purdue.

"Our office did," she said. "Both men were found in the

Seine, murdered. One man had been shot twice in the heart

from close range. The other man's neck was broken."

Carter paused to light a cigarette and gather his

thoughts. "Sir Charles, just what •backstairs dealings" do

you think Howard is talking about?"

"Other than the intelligence gathering that I and several

officers of my company have done in the past. I have no

idea what the man is refemng to."

"Do you have business dealings in the countries Howard

mentions?"

fte man smiled. "Of course. Mr. Carter. there are prob-

ably no more than four or five countries in the entire world

in which I don't conduct some form of business."

Carter dragged deeply on his cigarette and let the ex-

haled smoke shield his eyes as he studied the dapper En-

glish gentleman across from him.

He was all he seemed to and unless he was an actor

of the first order, it would appear he was telling the truth,

38 NICK CARTER But Carter knew Cory Howard. The man didn't go off half-cocked. That is, unless the dangerous life he had been leading for years had finally driven him off the deep end. Carter picked up the second ride.

Sir Charles: So you've decided not to play. In a way, that's a pity. In andher way, it isn't, since it gives nte the moral latitude to apply rnore pressure and up the stakes. lit flO million now, plus a personal meeting. Be prepared to transfer the money and meet with me in 7 days' time. Acknowledgment will be the same way in the Pads Herald. Be forewarned. if the ad is not placed in 7 days' time, all deals are elf. I will not only tum over all the evidence 1 have to The New York Times and to the London Times, I will also go on the hum... for you. Howard,

Sharon Purdde had previously read the initial extortion note. Carter handed her the second, and faced Sir Charles. "If Cory Howard is serious, your life could be in grave danger, Sir Charles. He is good at what he does, perhaps the best" The older man shrugged and smiled. "This is not the first threat on my life. Besides, Sir Phillip Avery tells me that you, Mr. Carter, are the best in this business." "Perhaps, but I am not in the bodyguardposiness. What do you want us to do?" "Find Cory Howard. If he can somehow substantiate these claims, then perhaps there is some skullduggery in my companies that I don't know about. If that is the case, then I will agree to meet with him." "But you don't want to pay." "Of course not. If I paid every extortion demand I've

VI • • • • •. •-" • • •

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KILLING GAMES 39 'received through the years. I would be lucky to afford a magazine kiosk in Trafalgar Square." "Very well." Carter sighed. "Of course I'll have to confer with Washington, but I'm sure I'll get the go-ahead. I can't speak for M16." Sharon Purdue handed the note back to Sir Charles. "Sir Phillip has already agreed to my participation." The Killmaster made a wry face. He could see the ad-vantages of bringing this woman into it because of how much would ijuolyd wa do rdk iabout withHoward hutt y thaact edrbi cn meanr,e0a nn ity. Also, if the going got rough, he would rather be ked up by an expenenced field agent rather than some-lifted from a foreign intelligence desk. "I'd like to take those two letters and the envelopes with ," he said. "Analyzing the paper may give us a source general location on Howard." The man hesitated. r thought he knew why "They will be well cared for, issue you." The letters and both envelopes were handed over. Carter keted them and stood. "I want to make something clear. Sir Charles . „" "Of course." "I've worked closely with Howard in the past. At times found him a little too eager to resort to violence in many tuations, and often he made impetuous decisions in the coition of a mission. But always I found him ethical and pulously honest. I'll had Howard, but before I'll tum over to anyone else, I'll find out what in God's name ve him to attempt anything as petty as extortion." "Please do, Mr. Caner. And I give you my wend that, if ward does have any incriminating evidence against any my employees, I swear to you that I will get to the om of it and root it am." Sir Charles

..31r-Ic c el27F12

40 NICK CARTER sliding into the lag. Carter turned to the man and asked one last question. "lust what is your prime business. Sir Charles, in the countries Howard mentioned?" "Why, mostly strategic minerals. We have several min-ing leases there. and leases on other properties that are about to be developed." "lust what kind of minerals?" The older man took a deep breath and concentrated. "Practically all of them. in one form or another—chro-mium, uranium, cobalt, manganese. vanadium the list could go on for pages." "Thank you. Sir Charles. We'll be in touch." Carter turned to Sharon. "Let's go." Thewoman turned the car around, and minutes later they wets through the guarded gate. "What do you think?" she asked. "Right now, very little." "Back to London?" "I don't think so," Carter replied. "Did you notice the postmarks on those envelopes?" She budded. "Treyamon." "Where is that?" "On the west coast of Cornwall. north of Newquay. You don't think Cory is actually in England ... that he mailed those himself..." "Of course not. but he has a house somewhere in Corn-wall, and Pm sure he probably has many friends who could have done the forward mailing for him." "The house is on a cliff overlooking the ocean just out-side the village of Treyamon." Carter's head swiveled around sharply, his eyes studying her profile in the dim lights from the dash. "I take it you've been there?"

41 Even in the dim light he could see a flush creeping up her face. "I have, several times," "lust how close were you to Cory Howard?" "We were good friends." "How good?" "Damn you," she hissed. "you know, so why do you "ask?" "I'd like to hear your version." "We were lovers off and on for about a year, right after the left the agency. He tried to recruit me to work for him. I 'didn't do it." "Why notT "Let's just say I didn't approve of his methods, and I Ithink what he does is better left to the authorities," "Oh. Is that why you broke up?" "We didn't 'break up,' as you put it. We just drifted Impart, as people do." Suddenly the car lurched to a halt. "Which way, left or right?" "What's left?" "London." "That means Cornwall is right. Go right!" "We won't get back to London before morning," "They have hotels in Cornwall," Carter rasped, crawl-ing over the seat into the back. "I'll buy you clean under-'wear and a toothbrush. Wake me when we get there." "Damn," he heard her hiss as the car lurched forward and screamed through the gears.

FIVE

After a brief stop in Newquay to make sure they had lodging for the night, they drove on north the short dis-tance to Treyamon. Two miles past the village, Sharon cut down a winding lane toward the sea. "We'll have to walk from here." "Any houses close by?" "Not close enough to see a light," she replied, switching on a flash and guiding Carter toward the sound of the sea. Minutes later, they came to the cliff edge and mated right toward Howard's house. Actually, it was Ode more than a two-story, half-timbered cottage with a thatched roof. Around it was a small stone fence. Over the fence, in carefully- manicured gardens, Carter took the lead. "Everything's been kept up." "There's a caretaker from the village. He doubles as a gardener. Are you going to break in?" "It I have to," Caner said, making a complete tour of the house and ending at the rear, at a kitchen door that faced the sea. "But I won't have to." S He played the flash down the door. The sill near the lock had been shattered. Carter filled his left hand with Wilhelmina and went through the door, hard. The interior was as quiet as a church. And it was messy

KILLING GAMES 41

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as a junkyard. Cabinets had been pulled from the walls as

well as the dining alcove. Pots, pans, and broken dishes

littered the floor.

"It's clear," he hissed. "Come on in."

Sharon joined him, and gasped. "My God."

The dining room, study, and great room were in the

same condition.

"Your people?" Carter asked.

"Certainly not. Sir Phillip didn't want to bring any MI6

or MIS people in, for fear of blowing Sir Charles. That's

why only you and I are involved."

"Wait here."

Carter returned to the kitchen. He flashed his light

across the floor until he found a pair of rubber gloves he

had spotted earlier.

"Here, put one of these on. Don't touch anything with

your ungloved hand."

It took an hour to go through the trash on the floor and

then the strewn contents of the desk in the study.

Nothing.

"Howard surely kept files somewhere."

"There's a wall safe," Sharon replied. "The upper mas-

ter bedroom."

She led the way, and then stopped cold in the center of

the doorway. Carter moved her aside and stepped in, lifting

the flash from her hand.

He was short, with a heavy body, a shaggy mane of

dark, graying hair, and a last-generation British mustache.

In life he must have had the look of a charging water buf-

falo.

In death he just looked like a worn-out old man.

"It's the caretaker," Sharon said. "His name is Argus, or

something like that."

"His name was Argus," Carter growled, crossing the

room.

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A little gentle probing told him that the man had been

dead for about eight hours. Further searching revealed no

wounds of any kind

He wore a heavy woolen shirt under a worse-for-wear

windbreaker and tweedy trousers.

His boots

were the

heavy hiking kind, and they were muddy.

But there was no mud on the carpet and very little on

the bed

"My guess is he died downstairs and was carried up

here."

"Was he killed?"

Carter shook his head. "Don't think so. My guess is a

heart attack, probably downstairs, and they carried him up

here."

He played the light across the wall until it fell on the

safe, the small round door hanging from half a hinge.

It was empty.

Gingerly he played the light inside until he found the

manufacturer's plate: Orcron, Geneva, Model 82401.

Carter concentrated. going back through the data bank

in his mind until he had it: five-digit combination, two

tumbler, with an added number after the first tumbler was

released.

A very hard safe to crack, and time-consuming. They

hadn't bothered. They had merely drilled the door and

blown it.

Whoever had trashed Howard's place had been thor-

ough, and probably fast. And it had been a team, not one

or two men.

"Argus there," Carter said, "did he live alone?'

"Yes. He was a widower."

"Good. It will be a while before he's missed. We can

stay at Newquay safely for the night. Let's go. I'm tired."

In the car, Sharon asked, "That old man...

"Yeah?"

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"Finding him dead didn't bother you, did it?"

"No. Everytxxiy dies." To his surprise she smiled.

"Something?"

"Not really. I was just thinking you're the one to

find Cory Howard."

It was three in the morning by the time they got to the

hotel. Carter chuckled when he found the key in the door.

Just like the English. Must lock up at precisely twelve,

but, never fear, the key is there!

The desk, with the key boxes behind it, was directly in

front of them. To the left was the door to the pub, closed,

of course. To the right, past an open pay phone, the stairs

went up and then back around practically over their heads.

Carter leaned across the desk, got their room keys, and

led the way up the stairs.

At her door, Carter lifted a mini-bottle of scotch from

his coat pocket. "Care for a nightcap?"

'Oh, God, no," Sharon groaned. "I'm completely

bushed, out on my feet."

"Suit yourself."

He was just unlcxking his door when she called to him.

"Nick. • e"

"If I've been a little brusque, short, I hor you'll for-

give me. I've never tx•en assigned to chase one of our own

before."

Carter grinned. "Just think of it as chasing an old boy-

friend."

In the room, he made all the nighttime noises for retir-

ing. He left his trousers on as he popped the mini-bottle

d stretched across the bed.

He had just finished his scotch, when he sensed—as

uch as heard—her door gently open. He waited until he

as sure she was gone, and then moved into the hall him-

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NICK CARTER

self, leaving his door orxn behind him.

On the balls of his feet and in a crouch, he moved down

the hall until he was on the landing directly above the pay

phone. He heard her giving the local operator the number,

but couldn't catch it. He was able to hear every whispered

word when her party came on the line at last.

"We're in Newquay, at a hotel... after leaving Sir

Charles, Carter wanted to go through Howardis house ...

yes, it was a shambles and that's not all. We found the

caretaker dead ... Carter didn't seem to think so, mayt* a

. no, I'm sure of it. Neither of us found

heart attack

anything. watched him all the time seven in the

morning... "

The Killmaster didn't wait for the rest of it. He padded

back to his room, undressed, and into bed.

As hc dozed off. the thought slid back and forth in his

mind that, from here on in, everything Little Miss Muffin

Purdue knew. Sir Phillip Avery would know. And If Avery

knew, then Carter guessed Sir Charles Martin would know

soon after.

That is, if it were Sir Phillip that she had called.

Over breakfast and the early-morning dnve back to

London, Sharon Purdue was downright chummy. That is,

until Carter had her pull over on Park Lane near the Dor-

chester.

"What's this about?" she asked.

"No sense both of us doing the same thing and covering

the same ground. We're splitting up." He handed her the

letters and the two envelopes. "You must have a connection

or two at Scotland Yard."

"Yes, but——

' 'Get these analyzed. It's a long shot, but if we can lo-

cate the manufacturer, we might also get a general area on

the retailer. "

"Of course I can follow that up. But what are you going

to do?"

Carter was already out of the car. "Sightsee," he an-

nounced, and grinned. "It's a beautiful day."

Her eyes were flashing indignation and frustration, but

she had little choice. From a nearby kiosk, glancing over

headlines, he watched her pull away and disap-

rar in traffic.

He tumed north and strolled into the Dorchester Hotel.

He gave the woman at the telephone exchange Hawk's hot-

line number for field agents. and took a seat in the booth

she specified to wait for the overseas connection to be

completed.

"Yes?" came the cigar-gruff voice.

The Killmaster waited until he was sure the operator had

disconnected he spke. "N3."

"What have you got?"

'The extortion demand is for real. At least it's in How-

ard's handwriting." He repeated almost word for word the

contents of tX)th notes. "Either Cory Howard on to some-

thing big about Sir Charles, or he's decided he needs some

funds for early retirement."

"I doubt the latter." Hawk growled. had a long talk

with John Starkey and Burt Esterman. I didn•t menuon Sir

Charles by name, but I got out of them the tact that John

Hutchins did have an English source for class-A stuff. Has

had for quite a while."

"So that intelligence could be coming from Sir Charles

through Sir Phillip Avery at M16?"

"Could, probably is. I traced a few items that I got from

Starkey, and they fit the locations where Sir Charles has a

lot of business interests. "

"At least we're on solid ground there," Carter said. "But

someone else is looking for Howard, and not so deli-

cately."

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NICK CARTER

"What do you mean?"

Carter told him about going through Howard's house in

Cornwall and what they had found. "But I'm sure the old

man died a natural death."

"Sounds like M16."

"Purdue says psitively not," Carter replied. S'My guess

is Sir Charles himself. Let's face it, with his money and

clout he's probably got an army at his disrxjsal."

"Then watch yourself," Hawk said. "Too many fingers

in the pie and you could end up in the middle. Anything

else?"

"Yeah, as much as you can get me on a pair named

Guido Narboni and Jules Lafaye, one out of Paris, one out

of Rome. Suprx)sed to be two private investigators with

antiterrorist specialties."

"Any particular reason?"

"Yeah. I think Howard wasted them and dumped them

in the Seine. I'll keep in touch."

Carter hung up and left the hotel. He walked down Park

Lane, turned left at Curzon, and five minutes later stood in

front of the building housing Lilly Kalensky's Mayfair flat.

It was posh, with a lot of marble in the lobby and a

uniformed doorman. Caner moved inside, fishing a card

from a stack he always kept on hand.

'Good day. sir."

"And good day to you," Carter said in a clipped Oxford

accent. "I'm redoing Miss Kalensky's boudoir. I have a

key."

The doorman frowned over the card: DWIGHT BRAXTON

INTERIORS, KING'S ROAD, CHELSEA.

"Youmre Mr. Braxton, sir?"

"I am," Carter replied, scanning the mailboxes until he

spotted Lilly's name.

"I don't see your name on the visitors' list, sir, and Miss

Kalensky left no instructions—

g *That's she to be back by now. Office

got a call from her on Cayman Brac yesterday. We could

call her, but I really don't have the time. Miss Kalensky is

most anxious that the work be completed as quickly as

possible." He was already heading toward the elevators.

"You needn't bother showing me up, I know the way ...

Two-B."

The elevator closed on a shrugging doorman and Carter

stepped out on the second floor with his picks already in

hand.

The lock was a standard spring release on the bottom

and a two-tumbler deadbolt on top. It took ten seconds to

open it, and Carter moved into the opulent sunken living

Whatever it was Lilly Kalensky did for Cory Howard

besides sleeping with him, she was well paid for it.

To his right. through the 01*n door, he saw a lavishly

appointed bedrcxjm full of fine English antiques. To his

left. through a thirteen-foot arch, was a formal, walnut-

paneled dining room with a main table that would seat

twelve. Along the wall were two solid oak sideboards

laden with crystal and silver.

The living room itself sported Moroccan carpets over

highly polished wood floors reflecting the glow of rich vel-

vet draperies. A massive marble fireplace dominated one

wall.

It was luxurious, expensive, neat as a Pin. and hardly

lived in.

The kitchen. dining room. and living room yielded

nothing to his search. Rack after rack of expensive clothes

in the bedroom closet reinforced Lilly's worth.

lhe last thing he attacked was a desk in an alcove off

the bedroom. The desk revealed nothing either, until he

picked a locked drawer at the very bottom. Inside, he

found stocks, bonds, gold certificates, and three bankbooks

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NICK CARTER

from the Bank of England, Cayman National, and Banque

Suisse, Geneva.

Idly, Caner totaled it all up and chuckled. A little over

two million B)unds. Not bad for a little Hungarian refugee.

It also told him something else. If Lilly Kalensky

worked for Cory Howard and was worth this kind of

money, then what was Howard himself worth?

Too much, Carter guessed, to resort to extortion.

In the bottom of the drawer under everything else, he

found two wills. One was Lilly's, the other a copy of Cory

Howard's. Both named Jova Kalen as their sole benefi-

ciary. They were drawn up by a lawyer in the Caymans,

one Arnold Kingsley.

Carter copied down the address, replaced everything in

the drawer. and locked it.

The last thing he did was rewind the tape on her answer-

ing machine and replay it.

There were three messages: one from a dental secretary

confirming an appointment, a second from a dry cleaners,

and the last from Cory Howard.

"Lilly, this is Cory. I'm afraid you'll have to cancel the

visit to Jbvae We have a bit of business for StarFire in

Paris. Meet me in Buenos Aires day after tomorrow. Also,

phone Otto and tell him I'll need connections for hardware

there. Love you."

Carter killed the tape and erased it. It him fifteen

minutes rifling through the Roladex on the desk tEfore he

found the name and address: Otto Luderm9, 16 Cormel,

Paddington.

He dialed Otto's number.

"Ja?"

Carter hung up and 'left the apartment.

It was a crumbling old tenement. The entire area was

ancient, decayed with time and the foul air from nearby

factories. Old men, probably rrnsioners, lounged against

the rusted iron railings around the stcxjps. Pakistani and

Indian children played in the streets. On the corner, a gang

of boys—dark-skinned, long-haired, and leather-jacketed

—sized Carter up for a mugging.

A nearby window was open, and the sound of guitar

music and a falsetto voice extolling the virtues of kinky sex

filled street.

Inside, a nauseating odor greeted him. He checked the

mailboxes until he found Otto Luderman's name. Four

flights up he paused at a battered door and kncxked.

"Hallo, darlink!" a raspy voice said. "Come in and sit,

if you can find a place!"

The apartment was a shambles. It carried the odor of

unwashed txxfies, greasy food, and resembled an unprofit-

able antique shop. A mantelpiece, painted pea-soup green,

sported a picture of King George and a bad porcelain copy

of the Winged Victory, The ceiling was flaking, each

corner occupied by a family of industrious spiders. There

was a rug on the floor. but it was probably stolen from

some theater. Its edges were ragged and its surface showed

the result of many marching feet.

In the middle of it all sat a small man in tweedy cast-

offs, with a once-slender body that was now going to fat.

He had the broad, sloping shoulders of a working man, and'

a deeply lined face with dark, opaque eyes and a mis-

many-times-broken nose.

' 'Otto Luderman?" Carter asked, lighting a cigarette to

kill the smell.

"Ja...who...?"

"Nick Carter. If that's a weapon you're reaching for,

don't. I'll break your arm before you can use it."

"What you want wid me?" the man said, the hand snap-

ping back to fidget with its twin in his lap.

"I want to know how you contact Cory Howard." He sat

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NICK CARTER

down on a tacky velvet love seat that immediately belched

a cloud of dust.

"Don't know the name."

"I'm going to be patient for two minutes, Otto, then 19m

going to start breaking bones in different parts of your

body."

The hard eyes squinted. "You a

"No, a friend of Howard's. A while back, you set up an

arms buy for Howard and Lilly Kalensky in Buenos

Aires."

"You fulla shit!"

Carter moved like a striking cobra. He grabbed a nearby

empty wine tx)ttle with his right hand and snapr*d the neck

off on the edge of a trunk. At the same time, he snatched

Luderman's wrist with his left hand and brought it smash-

ing down, palm up, on the trunk.

"How do you contact Howard?" he said calmly, easing

the jagged neck of the bottle into the man's palm.

Luderman squealed and sweated, but he still held out.

"Cory a bad sombitch. You hurt me, I think he kill me."

Carter tumed the bottle. Luderman screamed and

reached for it with his free hand. The Killmaster sliced the

free hand twice in a blurring movement, and brought it

back to the stationary palm with double the previous pres-

sure.

"Howard isn't here, Otto, I am. And you're going to

wish I killed you if you don't talk."

"Oh, Blessed Jesus

"He can't help you either. How, Otto?"

'Two ways ... let go, let go!"

Carter released the hand, tossed the bottle away, and

leaned back. "I'm listening. Two ways, you said?"

"When he has work for me, I get a call, long distance. I

don't know from where."

"Howard?'

"No. Some guy, Brit accent. He always says, 'This is

AK,' then tells me what Howard needs and where. If I can

do it. he tells me a price and that's it."

That would be Arnold Kingsley, Caner thought. "Was

that the procedure on the Buenos Aires deal?"

"No, that time a woman called to give me the go-

ahead."

"Did you know her?"

"No, but I knew the voice. She was always the one who

made the payoffs for Howard. So I went ahead."

"Good, Otto. Now. how did you contact him when you

had to

"A number in Comwall. somebody named Argus .. an

old man's voice. ISd call, and an hour later Howard or this

AK would call me here."

"Damn," Carter hissed.

' Ihat's it, I swear!"

"Yeah, I believe you," Carter said, standing and heading

for the door. "You'd better get to a d(Xtor, Otto... that's a

nasty cut you've got."

"Bastard!"

"And, Otto. if you hear from this AK again. tell him

I'm coming. Don't forget the name. Caner. Nick Carter."

On the street, he hailed a cab and gave the dnver Sharon

Purdue's address.

She was waiting, a sherry in her hand and a packed bag

at her feet.

'Going somewhere?"

"Just getting prepared," she shrugged. "l figure we'll be

going somewhere eventually."

"How did you do?"

"Paper and envelopes both manufactured in Lyon,

France. Ninety-five percent of their output is sold in Paris.

Any good?"

doubt it. Probably another dead end. Howard might

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NICK CARTER

have mailed the first note from Paris to Argus for remail-

ing, but I think he was long gone from France t*fore he

mailed the second."

"Your office called the Center here; they put it through

to me. They want you to call as soon as pssible."

For the second time that day, Caner called the hot-line

number. Hawk answered on the first ring.

"It's me."

"Are you sitting down?" Hawk growled.

"Should 1 be?"

"I think so. Interpol wired an hour ago. lhey found a

woman's body five days ago outside Buenos Aires in a

shallow grave. Just identified her this morning."

"Lilly Kalensky."

"You guessed it. ne Buenos Aires IX)iice traced her

back to the El Conquistador Hotel. She was registered

along with Cory Howard. enley have an Interpol-Want out

for Howard, first-degree murder."

"I'll call you from the Cayman Islands."

"You do that," Hawk said, and hung up.

Carter had barely replaced the phone when Sharon

picked i? up, the modei of efficiency.

"I'll book us reservations on the first available flight."

SIX

The only connection was a British Airways flight to

Miami and Cayman Airways to the islands. It was a little

after three in the aftemoon when they touched down at

Owen Rotrrts Airport on Grand Caymam

As they moved through customs, Caner sensed, rather

than saw, the watchers. Three quick glances checking the

time on a wall clock or looking for the rental car counter

identified them.

Miles Proctor, M16, sat in an orkn bar toying with a

drink and scanning every disembarking passenger. There

was a short, rotund man paperbacks at the news-

stand. Carter couldn't put a name to him. but he knew the

face. He was a low-level CIA fieldman. The third one sat

smoking a in the arrival area with a newspaper in front

of his face. He was Arkady Svetov, KGB.

Carter knew him well, and knew that Svetov knew him.

He figured that all three of them would.

He couldn't suppress a low chuckle. All three cruised

the Caribbean, including the Bahamas and Berrnuda.

Ninety-nine of what they did was spy on each

other.

The Caribtxan was a dumping ground for over-the-hill

NICK CARTER

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NICK CARTER

fieldmen. In the islands they could feel that they were still

contributing. while actually they were enjoying preretire-

ment retirernent.

"Something?" Sharon asked, carrying her own bag as

they headed for the Avis counter.

'*Not really," Carter replied a little too loudly. "Just

thinking what a wonderful vacation we're going to have."

The car was a four-door Escort with the drive on the

right side.

"l hate driving on the wrong side. You drive," he

growled.

She glared, but drove. "Ihe capital of George Town was

a pretty little village with older, well-restored buildings and

raintx»x-colored houses mixed in with the more modern,

concrete-and-glass structures. At the harbor, Caner told her

to turn right.

"Ever been to Cayman?"

"No," she replied. *'It's lovely. Too bad we can't really

on holiday."

"Yeah. Turn in here."

It was the Tamarind Bay Hotel, very expensive and very

posh. She said as much.

"One of the perks of the job," he chuckled.

With a little urging and his diplomatic VIP passport,

they got a two-bedroom villa with a terrace overlooking the

white sand beach and incredibly blue, crystal-clear ocean.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, that's fine," Carter said. He tipped the bellman

and built two drinks at the mini-bar. Thenye took them,

the telephone, and the island directory out to the veranda.

Sharon Purdue was already there taking in the magnificent

view.

"This is paradise," she munnured.

Carter mxided and handed her a drink. "It is, and they

even have a couple of growth industries tBides tourism."

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KILLING GAMES

"What do they grow?"

"Banks and turtles. You'd better change."

"Into a bathing suit?"

"Well, I'll damned," he said drily, "you're tEjng coy.

No, a pair of slacks and walking shoes. You're going for a

boat ride."

"Where to?"

"Cayman Brac. Lilly Kalensky has a villa there. My

guess is that her younger sister will be there. I want you to

interrogate her further than I have, and get her rErmission

to go over the house."

"Will she let me?"

"She will if you use my name."

"What will I tE looking for?"

"Damned if I know."

Sharon went inside with a resigned shrug, and Carter hit

the directory.

There was no listing for Lilly Kalensky on Cayman

Brac, but he hadn't expected to find one. lhere were two

listings for Amold Kingsley, his George Town office and

his home in the West Bay area.

Carter called the office number first.

"l'm sorry, but Mr. Kingsley has left the office."

"Where can I reach him?"

"Is this an emergency?"

"Yeah."

A little hesitation. "He might be at his residence ..

Carter hung up and redialed. A woman answered.

"Is this the Kingsley residence?"

"Yes, this is Mrs. Kingsley. "

"I'd like to speak to your husband, Mrs. Kingsley."

"I'm sorry, he can't be disturbed."

think he can. Tell him it's Otto Ludermam"

A male voice laced with anger and a touch of fright

popped in at once. He had probably been on an extension.

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NICK CARTER

"I'll take it, Leona." There was a click and Kingsley

spoke again. "Who the hell is this?"

"My narne is Nick Carter. want to talk to you, but not

at your home or office."

"How do you know Otto Luderman?"

"Never mind. I'm a friend of a friend. It's him I want to

talk about. Where can we meet?"

He still hesitated. "I've tEen with the plice all day. Are

you the police?"

So, Carter thought, the cogs of the law have swung into

gear. He decided one last jolt would do it.

"Does Jova know her sister?"

Tiere was a long pause and then a tentative "Yes."

"Is she here?"

"Yes, she arrived around nc»n from New York. You

know Jova?"

"Yeah. Call her and mention my name. Then call me

back."

He clicked off the hotel number and the extension, and

hung up. lhe phone rang Carter had sat back down

from building a second drink.

"lhere is a bar across from Safe Harbor called Corky's.

I'll there in an hour."

"I'll there," Carter replied. "Is Jova on Cayman

"Yes."

'Call her again. Tell her she's going to get a visitor, a

woman. Her name is Sharon Purdue. Tefr Jova she can

trust this woman. "

"Can she?" There was real concern in his voice.

"She can. I'll see you in an hour, Kingsley."

One last call and he had the ferry schedule to Cayman

Brac. One left in twenty minutes.-

KILLING GAMES

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KILLING GAMES

"I'm ready."

Ten let's go."

As they drove into George Town and the ferry pier,

Carter gave Sharon a mndown on Jova Kalen.

"Go easy on the girl. She didn't know the kind of busi-

ness her sister was in. But firm enough so she'll let you

go through Lilly's things."

Sharon ncxided. At the pier she got out of the car and

leaned back in the window. "I looked it up. It's sixty miles

over there. I probably won't be back tonight."

"That may for the txtter," Carter replied. "I imagine

Jova could use a shoulder to cry on."

"You won't run off without me, will you?"

Carter grinned. "Why, would you miss me?"

He drove off, watching her smolder in the rearview

Corky's was a typical island hangout for the lcxals, with

anging baskets, lots of greenery, dark wood inside, and

icker tables and chairs in an outside patio.

There were a few tourists mixed in with the lcxals. but

ot many. Carter could see why Kingsley had chosen the

lace. He would easy for the lawyer to spot.

Caner sat at one of the patio tables and ordered a beer.

n it came, he lit a cigarette and waited.

On the hour exactly, a tall blond man with athletic

houlders and powerful arms came through the door. He

used at the bar, got a beer, and headed directly to

aner's table.

He was bumed almost black by the sun, and dressed in

hite duck pants, sandals, a gaily striped cotton shin open

ver his hefty chest, and a battered canvas hat.

"Carter?"

"Yeah, sit down."

NICK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

He regarded the Killmaster with a partly insolent, partly

'tolerant, mostly appraising look. then sat.

"Who are you, exactly?"

"Kind of a cross between St. Jude and De Sade," Carter

replied, shoving his credentials across the table.

Kingsley lcx)ked, let his eyes widen a bit, and, after

pushing the wallet back to Carter, rubbed nervous fingers

against his temples.

"Christ, the government. What do you want with me?"

"You should know. Cory Howard."

The head came up. "Cory didn't murder Lilly Kalensky.

He couldn't."

"l don't think he did either. But that's not why I want to

talk to him."

Caner ignored that for the time "You handle all

of Cory's affairs?"

"No, just his Frsonal stuff, investments, things like

that."

"You don't handle the Salvation Limited legal work?"

'iNo. There's a firm in London that handles that:

Shroedet, Caen and Adams, Bond Street. I have nothing to

do with Cory's professional life."

"Oh? Then why do you make contacts for Cory with

people like Otto Luderman?"

tan lightened by about two shades and his knuckles

went white around the beer bottle. "I do that tEcause most

of the time the... items ..

"Guns, plastique. grenades?"

Kingsley swallowed. "Yes. Ihey are, of course. illegal.

So Cory doesn't want the payment for them to come out of

Salvation accounts. It's a strictly legit company. I pay out

of his accaunts here on Cayman through money

transfers."

"So it can't tracedff'

KILLING GAMES

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KILLING GAMES

"Yes."

"How do you get in touch with him?"

"I don't."

"Bullshit," Caner hissed.

"I don't, I swear it." Suddenly the macho voice devel-

oped a little squeak. 'God, Cory hardly lights anywhere.

He's all over the world. He contacts me."

Caner leaned forward, lowering his voice even more.

'I've worked with Howard. I know how thorough he is

... that's how he's stayed alive. He has angles for every-

ing. There are always emergencies."

Kingsley was sweating now, his shirt soaking through.

arter laid the two notes in front of him and covered Sir

les Ma.rtin's name with his fingers.

The other man read them and up, sheer shock

preading across his face. "Extortion? ... Cory?"

"Ihat's Howard's handwriting, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, nodding glumly.

"You're positive?"

"Of course. I deal with something he's written almost

very day. Look, Cory isn't exactly a saint. His methods

metimes frighten the hell out of me. But extortion?—

"I don't think so either," Carter admitted. "Let me tell

ou something, Kingsley. He's playing with the big

ow, very sticky stuff. I've got to talk to him and find out

hy before they get very pissed.i'

There was a lot of temple rubbing and some lip biting.

inally a shiver ran through the man's body and he nodded.

"All right, there is a way. But it will take a little time."

"It can't, not over twenty-four hours. You know where

o reach me."

Carter dropped some bills on the table and stood.

ingsley grabbed his elbow as he went by.

"Wait ..

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NICK CARTER

"What should I tell him, mean, srrcifically. to con-

vince him? Cory is not a very Gusting guy."

"Just give him my name and set up a meet."

Kingsley chuckled and his head. "You think

that's going to be enough for Cory?'

Carter leaned over until his nose was practically touch-

ing the other man's. "Okay, tell him that, if he dcxsn•t

agree to a meet, then I'll have to come after him. And if I

do that, I have to consider him a rogue. He'll know what

that means."

Leaving the lawyer clutching his trer, he went out into

the gathering dusk.

Carter froze when he saw the back of the man's head

above the side window of the Escort. Then he saw the

wreath of smoke, and relaxed.

"Hello, Arkady," Caner said, slipping into the driver's

seat.

"Nicholas! I can't tell you how surprised I was to see

you in this backwater part of the world." His En-

glish was perfect, with a Cambridge lilt. He had leamed it

at the KGB language school in Kiev and B)lished it at the

Military Diplomatic Academy in Moscow.

"Just taking a little vacation." Carter said with a grin.

"Oh, please don't say that, Nicholas," he groaned. "Do

you realize I haven't sent in a decent report in months? The

least you could do is give me some tidbit so Moscow will

keep paying my bills."

Carter laughed out loud. S' You don't nied tidbits any-

more, Arkady. You should be up for retirement soon."

The mares gray face screwed itself into a grimace.

"God, don't say that! If I retire, I'll have to go back to the

Ukraine and snow and my wife!"

"Didn't know you were a family man, Arkady."

"I'm not... you haven't seen my wife. Speaking of

(75 of 212)

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Ku-LING GAMES

women, who's the bird?"

Carter shrugged. "Met her in London. Liked what I saw,

so I asked her to come on vacation with me."

"You're not being very coorxrative."

Carter laughed again. "How'd you follow me out?

Tax i

Svetov nodded and Carter started the car. "I'll give you

a lift back to town."

'Good of you."

They swappd war stories and other lies as Carter drove

back to George Town. The Killmaster stopped across from

the marine loading pier to let Svetov off.

' lhere's a gc»d place for dinner right near here called

Borshov's. Ihey make me spcial dishes. Buy you din-

ner?'

Caner shook his head. "My 'bird' wanted a look at

Cayman Brac. She won't back tonight, so I think I'll

fancy a little solo night life." he replied with a leering

smile.

' There's damned little around here," the Russian said as

he hauled his bulk from the car.

"I've heard of a place run by a woman named Rita

Lyon. Know it?"

Arkady Svetov nodded. 'That would be the Seaside.

Just follow South Church Street. Beyond Ambassador's

Inn, make a right to the shore. It's right there."

'Tanks."

"Uh, Nicholas .. u"

"Would you mind if I put in my rqx»rt that you're down

here checking me out? It would boost my importance rating

several points."

"Sure thing," Carter said, laughing. "Anything for a

friend."

' 'Cheerio, Nicholas."

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

S 'Cheerio, Arkady."

Carter followed the Russian's directions and pulled into

the lot in front of a one-story blue stucco building. It was

early, so there were only a couple of other cars in the lot.

The inside was almost a replica of Corky's, with the

hanging baskets being replaced by oars, hanging seashells,

and a few life preservers on the walls.

The customers consisted of a couple of local fishermen

and a tourist couple trying to recapture the magic of the

honeymoon they'd taken twenty years before.

"Hey, babee, what you have?"

lhe bartender was a young Sammy Davis, Jr. complete

with cool black glasses and a ton of gold.

"Beer. "

"Right on."

Carter dropped two Cayman twenties on the bar when

the beer came. "Is Rita around?"

"Naw, she don't make the scene until about eight.

Sometimes she don't come in at all on a weeknight. Just

sits in her bungalow and watches telly."

"Could you call her up and tell her a friend of an old

friend would like to say hello?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. You got food?"

' 'Hell, yes, man!"

"Order me up something, keep the beer coming, and the

change is yours."

"Sheeeit."

Carter spotted a pay phone near the rooms and

called the hotel.

"Yes, sir, there was one call, a lady. She left a

Caner memorized. it, cut the connection, and dialed.

Sharon Purdue answered on the third ring.

"How goes it?"

"Fine, we're fast friends already ... and right now she

KILLING GAMES

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KILLING GAMES

needs one. You're right—she's a nice girl."

"Yeah, I know. Find anything yet?"

"I just started looking. Can you give me a hint?"

"Phone numbers, addresses anything that might have

something to do with Howard. Before this evening is over,

I should have at least two getting word to him that I

want to talk, but we'll still keep digging."

"All right. I won't be back tonight."

"No problem. Has Jova been pumping you?"

"Yes, incessantly, but I've managed to be vague."

"Good, keep it that way See you tomorrow."

His food was waiting at the bar when he returned, a

•umbo seafood platter and a fresh EEer. He was just push-

•ng the empty platter away when a woman slid onto the

tool beside him.

"You want to see Rita, darling?"

She was a wiry woman caressing forty. with sun-

leached blond hatr and skin burned to thg color of mahog-

ny. The accent was French, and it seemed to match the

imple, off-the-shoulder blouse in deep red and the full-

ut, multihued skirt.

"You're Rita?"

"What did you a sweet young thing?" The laugh

as iow and husky, but not sultry.

"My name's Carter. I'm a friend of Lilly Kalensky and

r little sister."

He watched the eyes narrow slightly. but other than that,

ere was no change in her expressuon. If anything, the

ide smile grew wider,

She didn't know.

"Lilly is a gcxxi woman. She help me buy this place."

"When was the last time you saw Lilly?"

Now the smile faded. "Why you want to know? You

ure you Lilly's friend?"

"Rita, Lilly's dead."

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NICK CARTER

The eyes grew dull, the face paled, and tX)th hands

clutched the bar. "No, cannot be!"

"She is dead. She was killed in Buenos Aires a few days

ago. *Ihe B)lice there think Cory Howard did it. I don't

think so. I want to find Howard."

'S You

"No, I really am a friend. Jova is here now, at the villa

on Cayman Brac."

Rita slid from the stool. must go to little girl!"

Carter grabbed her arm. "No need, I have someone with

her. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

She hesitated, then nodded. think you have mean

eyes but honest face. Come. I have bungalow in back, on

beach."

In the rear of the club was a patio with a fountain in the

center. From it a number of narrow paths went off into the

foliage in several directions. The woman tc»k one and

Carter followed.

A hundred yards into the maze of hedges and flowers.

they came to another patio. Carter followed her through a

narrow doorway leading into the house from the patio.

bungalow was totally feminine, with lots of chintz and soft

pastel colors.

Wordlessly, she motioned him to a sofa and poured her-

self a glass of rum and opened him a t*er.

'*To friends," she toasted, and drank the whole glass

without blinking in three swallows. "l really shouldn't do

this, but I need to. You see, I was an alcoholic for twenty

years. Lilly saved me. She wouldn't ap»ve. Now, who

are you, really?"

Carter passed over his real credentials.

"United States government?"

"Yes. I must find Cory Howard,"

She shook her head. "I have not seen Mr. Howard for a

very long time. I knew that he was a very dangerous man

and that Lilly for him. Each time she went

away on business, she would call me. It was always the

same. 'Rita,' she would say, SI'm going away fora while.

Take care of things.' That is what she told me this time."

"What 'things' were you suprx»sed to take care of,

Rita

The woman sto«xl and into the

Carter couldn't be sure, but from the sounds she made he

thought she was probably 01*ning a wall safe. When she

retumed, she had a thick manila envelorx in her hands.

"Lilly told rne that if anything ever haplxned to her, I

was to this."

Carter waited tensely as she opened the enve10Fr. From

it she withdrew a thick sheaf of bills tx)und by two rubber

bands, and a two-page letter. By the time she finished

reading the letter, there were tears in her eyes.

She handed it over and stared down at the money in her

lap.

Dearest Rita:

You are the only real friend I have in this world

tksides Cory Howard and my little sister. I know that

when you read this you will do exactly as I ask.

Enclosed you will find $75,000. It is yours. I'm sure

it will enough to pay off your mortgage and take care

of you for some tirne.

You will also find a key to my London flat. In the

flat are all my financial records, banktxx»ks, stocks,

bonds and such, as well as my will. I leave everything

to my sister, Jova.

Please contact Arnold Kingsley here on Cayman and

give him this key, as well as the Mayfair flat address

which only you and Jova have.

NICK CARTER

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NICK CARTER

Should anything happen to Mr. Kingsley, or should

you not able to get in touch with him, I want you to

contact Cory Howard through MARCUS.

GcxWbye, my friend.

It was signed Lilly.

Carter folded the pages and handed them back to the

woman. "Who is Marcus?"

She shrugged. "He is some kind of an associate of Cory

Howard's. All I have is a phone number that Lilly gave me

a long time ago. She told me if 1 was ever in trouble and

couldn't find her, I was supposed to call this Marcus. I've

never had to."

She reeled off the number. Carter imprinted it on his

brain and headed for the phone.

"Operator. May I help you?"

'*Yes, Operator, I have a message to call a friend back. I

wonder if you could tell me if it's a long-distance call."

Caner rattled off the series of numbers.

It only a few seconds and she was back. "That

number is for Tortola, sir, in the British Virgin Islands.

You can dial it direct."

"lhank you." He hung up and turned to Rita. "Do you

have an atlas or a map that would have the Virgin Islands

She produced one from a nearby tx)0kcase. Carter

thumbed through it. Tortola was the largest of the mass of

the British Virgin Islands. It lay just northeast of St.

Thomas and St. John.

Carter retraced his steps to the phone and dialed.

"Tortola Bay Resort, may we help you?"

Carter hung up.

"Rita, tomorrow morning call Arnold Kingsley. Here's

the number." He jotted it on a pad beside the phone. "Give

him the key and tell him about the letter. But I would

KILLING GAMES

appreciate it if you wouldn't tell him about Marcus. All

right?"

She nodded.

"I'm leaving now. If you want to reach me, Crn at the

Tamarind. Also, it might a good idea if you went over

to Cayman Brac tomorrow and saw Jova."

"I will do it."

"And I doubt if it will much consolation, but I've

seen Lilly's will. Jova is a very rich woman."

He brushed his lips gently across the woman's cheek

and left the bungalow Retracing their steps through the

garden, he entered the rear of the lounge. He was headed

right on through. when the banender called to him.

"Hey, man

Carter stopvrd at the bar. 'Good-

lookin' little chickie-vxx) asking about you. "

"Yeah? Know her?"

"Never seen her before. She come in while you were

talkin' to Miss Rita. sat over there. When you went out

back, she wiggles up and asks me if your name is Carter. I

say, man. I don't know the dude's name."

"She leave a message?"

"Only the smell of a very strong perfume."

"Thanks."

Carter headed for the parking lot. Just shon of his car he

spotted a woman stepping from the shadows near the side

of the building. He could see only the bottom part of her

face—the lips—and they were smiling at him provoca-

tively. Dark hair hung long and straight past her shoulders.

A tip of tongue appeared at her lips as a hand came up,

motioning him toward her.

"Sorry, honey," Carter growled, "I'm not in the market

tonight."

He made another step toward his car and she spoke.

'Cory Howard."

Carter swerved and headed in her direction. "What

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NICK CARTER

about Cory Howard?"

"This way—I don't want to be seen." She was backing

into the shadows, her jeans pulling tightly across a very flat

stomach, her sensuous body curving toward him like an

arched bow.

"Look, little girl, games I don't—

lhe blow came from out of nowhere to land just behind

his right ear. Carter lurched forward, only to be

There had to be two of them because his arms were twisted

him from the left.

He tried to struggle, but the blow behind the ear had

tumed his arms and legs to water. He was in that gray

area—foggy, but not all the way out.

"That tree!" a high voice said.

Carter could feel himself slipping further into blackness

as he was half dragged, half carried several feet.

"live got the handcuffs." It was the girl's voice, a Brit-

iSh accent.

Suddenly he was slammed up against something solid.

Then something was stuffed into his mouth and a rough-

textured hood was pulled over his face.

"Carter... Nick Carter! I know you're awake!"

The Killmaster returned to consciousness groggily.

Someone was slapping his head back and forth. As the fog

cleared from his mind, he realized that he was attached to a

tree. He could feel the rough bark against his hands and his

wrists, as well as the handcuffs.

"l know you can hear me, Carter, and I want you to

listen very carefully."

'Ihe voice. Except for the British accent, it reminded

Carter of the old American actor, Andy Devine. It was

raspy. hoarse, and it sounded as if it were coming from the

depths of a welL

"Mr. Howard wants you to piss off," the growl contin-

KILLING GAMES

ued. "You're only alive t:pcause you did Mr. Howard a

favor or two in the past. But if you don't walk away from

this and go home, Mn Howard says he'll have to forget old

friendships."

Carter felt a hand at his chest and something being

slipped into his shirt pocket.

"Ihat's the key to the handcuffs, Carter. Someone will

find you. Remember, you keep trying to find Mr. Howard,

you're fish bait. Good night."

'Ille hard edge of a palm came down on the side of

Carter's neck and he sank into a dark, pit,

SEVEN

As Carter fought upward from the pain and the black-

ness. he felt fresh air on his face and knew that the hood

had removed from his head. The next sense that re-

turned was hearing.

"Wake up, man! You okay?"

Carter opened his eyes and slowly they focused on

Sammy Davis, Jr.'s face. The gag was gone, but his throat

was as dry as the Sahara.

"Nobody mugs nobody on Cayman, man," the young

black exclaimed. "What is this shit?"

"Fraternity joke," Carter managed, and then coughed.

"Nothing. Key ... breast pocket."

"What key, man?"

'To the handcuffs," Carter said.

"Yeah?" His fingers fumbled in the pocket of Carter's

breast pocket and came up with the key. "Yeah, cool."

As he moved around the tree, Canen eyes finished

their focusing. Standing a few feet away was the twenty-

year-anniversary couple, she with her mouth gaping, he,

white as a ghost with his protruding belly jiggling in fear.

"What's with them?" Carter asked.

KILLING GAMES

"They heard you moanin', man. when they was leavin'.

at old broad comes runnin' back into the joint screamin'

you tren killed. You loose now."

Carter rubbed his wrists and staggered away from the

tree. "Thanks, folks," he said, and nodded to them.

"Was it a gang?" the woman asked in a piercing voice.

"No," Carter chuckled, "no gang, just a little

misunderstanding ... more a joke than anything else."

The couple backed away and practically ran to their car.

"Joke, shit, man—you got a knot on the back of your

ead like an egg. Should I call the copl*rs?"

"No," Carter said, feeling the lump and assessing the

st of the damage. s 'They wouldn't get 'em anyway." He

peeled off a couple of large bills from the wad in his

t»cket. "Here, for your trouble, and your memory."

The little black shrugged. "Your poison, man. You

wanna get beaned and laugh it off, it's up to you."

Carter clapfEd him on the shoulder and headed for his

ar. At the edge of the parking lot, something him,

held him.

He didn't put it above Howard to strong-arm someone

to keep him off his back. But he would do it himself, not

send someone else, even if they were pros. And the three

who jumped Caner were definitely pros.

Another thing that grated on the Killmaster and didn't

fit was, why? Howard knew him; they had worked together

00 many times. To toss a deal like this at Carter was like

angling raw meat in front of a hungry tiger, and Cory

oward would know it.

He reversed the car and pulled it out of sight into a

ve of trees. Suddenly the trashing of Howard's house in

omwall was a big item on his mind. It fit t(X) well with

onight and the fact that he had just left Rita Lyon.

Outside the car, Carter staggered again, paused with his

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NICK CARTER

head tktween his knees until the nausea passed, and then

struck off through the garden.

The bungalow was dark. At the rear Carter

dropped his hand to the knob and tested it. It turned and the

door swung inward.

His jaw tensed as he moved into the rcx.)rn in a crouch.

Even on crime-free Cayman, he that rrople

locked their t*fore they went to bed. If Rita Lyon

had tren in the lounge she would have teen drawn out

when Carter was discovered handcuffed to a tree.

She wasn't, so she must still be in the bungalow.

Was she sitting in the dark?

Carter didn't think so.

He closed the door and flashed his rrnlight around the

living Everything was just as neat as when he had

left earlier. Even his empty beer bottle and her glass were

gone.

The door leading to the bedroom and the one to the

kitchen were closed. Carter called her narne in a loud whis-

per. There was no reply.

He crOssed the room in four quick strides and

the bedroom door. In the light from the flash he saw her

sprawled across the on her back, her eyes wide, staring

vacantly. She was dressed just as she had when he left

her, only one side of the blouse had teen rippd to her

waist, exposing a bare breast.

There were dark, purplish bruises all around her neck.

So ruthlessly had she been strangled that the finger marks

could be seen by the naked eye.

Carter crossed to the window and pulled the

tightly closed. Only then did he turn on one of the trdside

lamps.

There were only minimal signs of a struggle: a chair

turned over, books scattered from the tedside stand, and

KILLING GAMES

her cosmetics swept from the top of the vanity table. The

table was directly under the sofa, and it was gaping open.

It was fairly easy to reconstruct what had happened.

ney—or maybe just Gravel-Voice—had come in silently

from the living room. Rita had been at the safe. The in-

tmder had gotten her from txhind. She had struggled. He-

had dragged her across to the EEd, thrown her down, and

then, with his superior strength, ended her life.

Quickly but thoroughly, Carter searched the room.

Lilly's letter and the seventy-five thousand in cash were

gone. On a molding ledge the wall and the vanity

he found the key to Lilly's London flat. It must have fallen

from Rita's hand when she was grabtrd.

Carter pcxketed it and turned back to the trd.

He had seen it before, many, many times. But this one

got to him. She had trusted him and he had led them right

to her. This wasn't the gardener with the heart attack in

Cornwall. This was cold-blooded murder.

As with physical pain, there is a merciful period of self-

anesthesia that operates on the mind as well as the body to

halt shock for a few moments.

It had worked for Carter the first few moments after

coming through thc door and seeing the lifeless woman.

Now the shock as well as the disgust set in.

Now he knew

Cory Howard was not responsible for this. They—who-

ever "they" were—were stalking Carter just as he was

stalking Cory Howard.

Suddenly his teeth were clamrrd together so hard that

his jaws to ache. As he turned away from the bed,

he realized that his nails yere digging into his palms.

He placed one foot trfore the other and crossed the

short distance to the telephone where it had been thrown

from the vanity table to the floor.

NICK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

He was the Killmaster again as he dialed, cold, as inhu-

manly aware and calculating as a machine. The phone rang

and rang. Carter was about to slam it down in disgust,

when Leona Kingsley answered.

"This is Carter. Put your husband on, now!"

The exchange was so abrupt; Caner heard the phone

clatter to the floor and the man's grunt as he bent to re-

tneve it.

'Ihis is Kingsley."

"What have you got for me?" Carter waited a full five

seconds for a reply. then hissed, "Dammit. what?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid."

"What the hell do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I mean. Cory called me back just twenty minutes ago.

I comed down what he said word for word so I could rerrat

it."

Carter sighed. "Okay. read."

" 'Tell Nick to stay out of it. I've got to do it alone. If he

gets involved. the bureaucracy is involved. and it's the

damned bureaucratic B)wer that started this mess in the

first place. Tell him to mark it down as a loss and go chase

the Russians. Thanks, but no thanks.' That's it."

"Shit. Just shity" Carter muttered. 'The damned idiot.

Listen, Kingsley, and listerr good. You said Howard called

you back?"

"Ihat's right. "

"Who did you call to get in touch with Howard?"

"Carter, I can't tell you that ."

"I could come over there and break your arms, one by

one."

"Yes, I suppose you could." A raw edge had come into

the man's voice. "Igave Cory my word."

"Do you know where he is?"

"That I can tell you ü•uthfully. No, I don't... and I

swear, Carter, that's the truth."

"Okay, I believe you. Did you make contact through

another man?"

Silence.

"Good," Carter said. "Was that man's name Marcus?"

Silence.

"Even better, Kingsley. One last question. Cory

oward own a place called the Tortola Bay Resort?"

Not quite silence. Some heavy breathing.

"Don't worry about it, Amie, old boy. Believe me,

ou're doing Howard a bigger favor than you realize. Now

we get to the questions, and I want loud answers.

you have any children?"

*Good, you can move faster. Do you have a boat?"

"Yes, that's why I moved to the islands. "

"The closest port where you can get a plane out is Mon-

go Bay, Jamaica. Will your boat make it that far?"

"Yes, easily. Look here, Carter, what are you driving

"I might driving at saving your life. I want you and

our wife out of your house in minutes. And I mean don't

lose it up; just lock it up and leave. Get on that boat of

ours and get to Montego Bay. From there, get a flight

onnection to London as soon as possible."

"London?"

Quickly, Caner gave him a synopsis of Lilly Kalensky's

arewell letter to Rita Lyon, leaving out the part about

arcus.

"You're out of it now, Kingsley. It's the big leagues,

ith hardball and no more go-betweens. I'll get Jova to

ndon to join you and your wife. Get rooms at one of the

maller hotels, like the Strand Palace. Do you know it?"

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

"Yes, but I never stay there."

'Tat's why you are now. I'll have Jova contact you

there. You can pick up the key to Lilly's flat at London

Central Post, General Delivery, in your name. nere will

police, but you shouldn't have any problems since you

have the key and you can identify yourself. Got it?"

"I've got it."

Caner could tell from the resignation in the man's voice

that he was going to follow orders. man, Kingsley.

Now, one more thing. What's the nurntrr of the Cayman

Brac villa?"

The lawyer reeled it off from memory and Carter nod-

ded to himself. It was the same number Sharon Purdue had

left for him to call earlier. Kingsley was playing ball, as

much as his professional ethics would allow.

"Ciao, Kingsley. Move!"

He disconnected and dialed again. A sleep-filled female

voice groaned, "Hello?"

"Jova?" Carter couldn't really tell who had answered.

"Yes."

is Nick Carter."

"Oh,• Nick. it's so good to hear from you! Thanks for

sending Sharon over. She's a lovely Will you be

coming over? Will I see you?"

"Sooner than you think, honey. Listen, if I were coming

in by seaplane, where would be a quiet, secluded place to

land?"

"Let me think.... Oh, there's a cove around the western

tip of the island from the Tiara Beach üotel, about four

miles. I think it's called Smuggler's Cove. There is a

breakwater and the surf is always calm."

"I'll see you there in two hours. Put Sharon on."

"You're coming in the middle of the night?"

"Don't ask, honey, do! Put her on."

"Just a minute."

Carter thumbed a cigarette out and lit it, forcing himself

not to look at the while he waited.

"Yes, Nick."

"Tell Jova to pack... light. She knows where I'll be

meeting you in about two hours."

"Now. I'll gather your things from the hotel. I'm char-

tering a seaplane."

"Where are we going?"

Carter hesitated. "San Juan."

"Puerto Rico?'

'Tat's right." nis time there was no hesitation.

"Howard?" she whisrrred.

"You got it. Two hours."

Carter carefully the phone and everything else in

the room he had touched. He tumed out the light and made

his way without being seen back to his car.

A half hour later he was gathering his and Sharon Pur-

due's bags together and descending to the lobby.

As casually as possible, he checked out.

"Hate to cut such a lovely stay short," he said to the

desk clerk on duty, "but I've got urgent business back in

Miami."

"l understand, sir, no problem."

'Thank God we came down on the yacht," Carter said.

"Couldn't get a flight out this time of night."

"Your receipt, sir, your change, and the envelorx and

stamp you asked for."

"Thank you. Oh, I understand there•s a restaurant, good

Russian food, Borshov•s, on the island. Thought I might

pick up a snack to take with us."

The clerk checked his watch. "Eleven-thirty. Yes, sir,

ey will still be serving. It's over on North Sound near the

h."

"lhank you, thank you."

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

Carter addressed the envelope, sealed the key inside,

and mailed it.

Eleven-thirty, he thought, walking toward the car. Ten

to one, if he knew Arkady Svetov, the Russian would be at

the Borshov bar sucking up vodka until closing time.

Carter parked directly across the street from Borshov's.

He hadn't been followed to or from the hotel, and it hadn't

been surprising. The hoarse-voiced man and his two com-

panions had done their night's work. Carter wouldn't be

surprised if they were already off the island.

Inside, it took a full minute for his eyes to adjust to the

dim interior. He was about to head left toward the bar and

inquire, when he spotted the Russian. He was sitting in a

comer alone, with a half-empty bottle of vodka in front of

him and a glass in his shaky hands.

A young waiter stood nearby in the inner dcx)r-way lead-

ing up to a stand-up bar. From his look. Carter could see

that he was afraid of Arkady Svetov. At least he was afraid

of what the man might do when the vodka bottle was

empty.

'*Bring a brandy," Carter said, "I'm joining my

friend there:"

"Yes, sir," the young man gulped, and scurried away.

The Killmaster crossed the room to Svetov's table and

sat down in a chair across from the Russian. There were a

half-dozen stragglers nearby, most of them nodding as

badly as the KGB man.

"Arkady."

He looked up, blinked, and glowered across the table

with a red-eyed stare. Recognition was slow to come.

When it did, he belched and smiled.

"Nicholas, you decided to join me at last."

"I'm afraid the dinner hour has come and gone, Ar-

kady."

"Oh+" He studied his watch, gave up trying to decipher

it, and refilled his glass. "Then it must time to

drink."

The waiter a glass in front of Carter, .gave the

other man an anxious and hurried away.

Carter moved closer to the table, leaned forward. and

lowered his voice. "Arkady, are you listening to me?"

"Of course. Only my nund is drunk. My ears are-work-

ing

need a favor."

"From me?" The glassy stare cleared a little. "What is

need a seaplane and a pilot who doesn't ask ques-

tions."

Only half of his mouth smiled. "Ah. your holiday has

been internpted?"

"You might say that," Carter drawled. '61 know you pop

in and out of Cuba quietly every so often. How?' S

"By plane, of course, How qx)n do you have to go?"

"An hour ago," Carter replied. "Price is no object."

The Russian sighed. "Ah, Nicholas, you Americans

with your liberal capitalist budgets. Where to?"

"Cayman Brac, for starters. The next stop I'll figure out

in the air."

The brows furrowed and a hot spark ignited in the

depths of his red-nmmed eyes. "I do know of a pilot in

constant need of funds. He has a sick mother in Caracas

who gets sicker every time I talk to him."

"Help me this time, Arkady, and it will be like casting

your bread the waters."

The old spy chuckled and lurched to his feet. "You

know how it pays to gather favors jn our business, Ni-

cholas. I'll be right back."

He staggered across the room and into an alcove. Carter

his brandy and lit a cigarette. It was nearly five

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

minutes before the Russian returned and sat heavily in his

chair.

"His name is Luis Pedroza. lhe plane is tied up at Fore-

man's Pier on the north shore, not far from here."

Carter stoa:i and dropped three twenties on the table.

"Thanks, Arkady."

Ihe Russian shrugged. "Call it my contribution to dé-

tente. Fly safe, Nicholas."

Carter made his way back to the car thinking that it was

sad for spies to grow old. Without the satisfaction of get-

ting killed on the job, they just faded away.

Carrying the bags, Carter approached a stucco shed with

a hand-painted sign, LATINO FLYING SERVICE. Faint light

showed beneath the door and through ratty curtains on the

window.

He the bags at the door and entered. A chest-

high counter separated the office from the lounge area. The

furniture was chrome, leatherette, and dusty. The wooden

floor hadn't been swept in weeks. Behind the office, a

burlap door led to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.

"Anybody here?" Carter called.

The burlap parted and a stiXky young man in blue cov-

eralls with a white scarf knotted around his throat stepped

through. He camed a steaming mug of coffee and chewed

on an unlit cigar between even white teeth.

"Lufs Pedroza?"

"Yeah."

"I'm-—

A hand came up, palm out. "You from Svetov?"

"Yes."

"lhen I donst want to know who you are. You come

recommended."

KILLING GAM

Caner shrugged. "I'll need you for three, maytr four

days."

"Fine. I get a thousand a day and gas."

"Good enough," Carter said. "We pick up a couple of

passengers on Cayman Brac."

"l carry anything or anytxxiy anywhere. But I don't haul

dork. I been busted twice already."

"No dosr," Carter said. "You know Smuggler's Cove?"

"Like I know that rabbits fuck. Let's go."

He led the way outside, shutting off the light and pull-

ing the door closed txhind him.

"You don't ICEk up?"

Pedroza chuckled. "What for? Nothin' to steal. This

way."

The plane was a single-engine Cessna with extra, long-

range tanks under wings. Pedroza stored both

bags and cast off the tie lines as Carter crawled aboard.

lhe plane's configuration was larger on the inside than

it looked from the outside. The rearmost seat was fixed,

wide enough for two comfortably seated passengers. The

center seat had a split back to provide generous access to

the rear by folding forward.

Pedroza slid into the left-hand seat and Carter took the

copilot's bucket seat. There was a wide space the

two forward seats, which was filled at its lower level by a

deck console and map compartment.

"Not exactly a stock mode)," Carter commented, and

grinned.

'41 don't carry stock cargo," Pedroza intoned, and hit the

starter. The prop spun and coughed immediately. The en-

gine roared loudly, and then purred contentedly when Pe-

droza retarded the throttle with an exaggerated two-finger

movement.

He taxied the plane from the pier to the center of'the bay

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

and turned into the wind. fiere, bouncing on the swells,

with the engine idling constantly, he sr»ke. Tree or four

days, you said?"

"That's right."

He held out his hand. "Half in front, cash."

Carter took a wad from a hidden pocket in his jacket and

counted out fifteen hundred dollars.

"Nice doin' business with you, amigo. Hang on!"

He pocketed the money and revved the engine. With a

quick look at the instruments, he wiggled the controls a

final time and advanced the throttle.

The plane waddled through the swells and gained SIEed.

They got off the water in a much shorter time than Carter

expected, and the moment they did Pedroza ea the throttle and set the prop pitch for maximum climbing

power.

"Smuggler's Cove is tricky at night."

'*Can you set down?" Carter asked.

"Shit, man, I can do anything," the other man chortled.

"That's why I get a thousand a day!"

He proved true to his word, banking the seaplane and

gliding into the watery landing expertly and smoothly. He

tumed and stopped on a dime just a few feet from the

beach.

The two women were waiting, Jova with a small bag in

her hand. Carter shed his shoes and rolled up his trousers.

One at a time, he carried them out to the plane.

Jova was quiet, her eyes wide with questions but staying

silent. Sharon Purdue was full of questionsSCarter silenced

her with a look.

"Where to now, amigo?" Pedroza asked once the

women were settled in the rear seat.

"San Juan," Carter said, leaning back and closing his

"It's about a thousand air miles. Will your tanks

eyes.

make it?"

KILLING GAMES

(97 of 212)

+ 110%

KILLING GAMES

'They'll make it."

When they reached a cruising altitude, Sharon leaned

fonvard to whisper in Carter's ear. "Have you really lo-

cated Howard?"

"Yeah."

"When will you see him?"

*'With any luck, tonight, after a gc»d day's sleep."

Carter yawned and turned his head away before she

could ask him where.

He was not atk)ut to tell her where he was going to meet

Cory Howard.

EIGHT

It was minutes before dawn when Pedroza put down in

the bay on the western side of the city Customs met them

at thc pier. This proved no problem when Carter flashed a

few pasxrs and spoke the right names.

Pedroza helFEd him unload the baggage. "I think you'd

a great asset to my usual business. amigo," the pilot

said.

Carter chuckled. "LA's just say I've got a lot of clout

with the right

'VThat you do. What's the plan?"

"Nothing for you until tonight," Carter said. "Do you

know Point Puerca, on the west end of the island?"

"Yeah, there's a tie-up at the marina there."

"Be there at midnight tonight. I'll meet you. And when

you leave, file a flight plan back to the Caymans. Can you

handle that?"

"Need you ask?"

"Good man." Caner grabbed the threAbags and joined

the women at the end of the pier.

"What now?" Sharon asked.

"Taxi ... hotel . . sleep," Carter replied.

They found a sleepy-eyed cabby and drove to the Gran

KILLING GAMES

Hotel El Convento in old San Juan. Carter checked them in

and got a two-bedroom suite for himself and Sharon, an

adjoining room for Jova.

'Grab a shower," he said to Sharon. "I'm going to let

Jova in on her sister's cx:cupation."

Alarm showed on Sharon's face. "You're not going to

tell her what this is all about?"

"Of course not. We'll set up our own game plan for

Cory when I get back."

He slipped down the hall and raprEd on Jova's door.

"Come in." She was sitting on the bed, for all the

world like a sad, lost soul.

"Confused?" Caner asked gently.

"Very. But trust you."

He spent the next ten minutes explaining in as much

detail as just what it was that Salvation Limited

and Cory Howard did, as well as Lilly's part in it.

"My guess is they were trying to get somebody out, and

in the process your sister was killed."

The girl took a deep breath and sighed with relief.

men Cory didn't kill my sister?'

"No, quite the omx)site. I think Lilly's death is what

prompted whatever vendetta Cory has staned. That's why

I've got to stop him."

"Why have you brought me with you to San Juan?"

"Several reasons, Jova," he replied. "One of them is

our safety, but I don't want to go into that now."

He had already tinkered with the idea of telling her

about Rita Lyon's death and its implications, but scrubbed

t. The girl was already confused and afraid enough as it

was.

"Shall I go back to Washington?"

"Eventually, yes, but not yet. Arnold Kingsley and his

NICK CARTER

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

wife are in London. I want you to join them. Can you

handle that?"

"Yes," she nodded, wiping her eyes and sliding from the

To Caner's surprise, she threw her arms around him and

pressed her body to his as hard as she could. Her

and the fresh scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and her

strong, youthful tX)dy was doing strange things to his

nerves.

Suddenly he realized that Jova was all grown up.

"At Heathrow," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse,

"take a cab to the Strand Palace. Kingsley will already

know what to do. Okay?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Nick ..

"Yeah?" He was finding it impossible to disengage her

arms.

"Do me a favor?"

"I'll uy."

"Stay with me tonight."

A volcanic ripple went up his spine. He looked down,

only to find her lips coming up to rreet his. The kiss was

long and. very sweet. But it was as full of loneliness and

pain as it was passion.

"Mayt* someday, Jova... but now," he said

quietly.

"I'm not a kid anymore, not now."

"Believe me, I know it," he said with a smile, "but I've

got to take a rain check."

Finally he managed to extricate himself iid move to the

door, where he paused. ' One more thing .. e"

"Yes?" She was turned away from him.

"After I talked to you and Sharon earlier tonight on

Cayman Brac ... did she make another call?"

Jova whirled, her eyebrows arched. "You and Sharon

KILLING GAMES

(101 of 212)

+ 110%

KILLING GAMES

don't get along, do you? I could sense in the plane ... "

"Hey, slow down," Carter said, forcing a laugh to

cover. "It's just a little interservice rivalry. Nothing to get

excited about. Get some sleep."

"Nick... she did make a call. I didn't hear any of what

she said, but I know it was long distance."

"Okay, see you in London. And, Jova... there's no

need to say gocWbye to Sharon. I'll do it for you."

"You really don't trust her, do you?"

"Let's just say I don't think she is completely what she

ms to

He returned to the suite and his own room where he

howered without an ounce of hot water. When he stepped

rom the shower he thought he might awake enough to

ake the call he had to make, instead of hitting the sack.

He changed his mind when he stepFEd into the bed-

Sharon was lounging across his her back against

e headboard. She was wearing a blue negligee, an elabo-

te thing with built-in cups that pushed her breasts up and

utward. The bodice was cut so low that, from above.

arter could look down and see a goodly quantity of soft,

e flesh.

"You mentioned something a game plan?" she

"Yeah," he said, tearing his eyes from her body and

rossing to the mini-bar to build himself a nightcap. Or, in

is case, a daycap. "Howard's here, or at least he will be,

•ght after dark."

"Where?"

"It's an old sugar plantation on Topaz Road, three

• les outside Fajardo on the west end of the island. It's

alled Divino."

'"Ihat means heavenly."

+ 110%

NICK CARTER

"Yeah." Carter kept his face averted until he could erase

his smile. When he was sure it was gone, he retumed to the

bed, drink in hand, and sat beside her.

"What time do we meet him?"

"I'll know what time I meet him after I make a call this

afterncx)n."

"Why can't I go along?"

He shrugged. "Maybe you can. I'll know when I talk to

Howard. In the meantime, I want you to rent us a car.

Nothing showy, just transportation. We'll drive over to Fa-

jardo and check into a hotel."

Silence fell between them. Carter siprrd his drink arid,

out of the comer of his eye, caught Sharon watching him.

She looked a lot different at that moment. Her hair was

down and tousled instead of perfectly coiffed. Her eyes had

warmth, and the way she looked, with her lips partially

Suddenly there was also something different about her

beyond what he could see. It was a kind of electricity or

tension, an excitement that seemed to crackle noiselessly

around her. It was something that reached out from her and

touched him.

"I guess after tomorrow it's over," she murmured.

"You'll go back to Washington and I'll go back to a Lon-

don desk."

"Depends," he said, finishing his drink.

"On what?"

"On what Howard's got to say. think he's got a

damned good reason for what he's doir@ If he dcxs,

might have to go back to England and have a long talk with

Sir Charles Martin."

"Surely you don't think Sir Charles-—

"Sharon, right •now I don't think anything. I'm sure

you're as trat as I am, so why don't you trot on back to

KILLING GAMES

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