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71-80 collection of detective stories about Nick Carter

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  Carter Nick
  
  71-80 collection of detective stories about Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  71-80 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter.
  
  
  
  
  71. Target: Doomsday Island http://flibusta.is/b/684362/read
  
  Target: Doomsday Island
  
  72. Night of the Avenger http://flibusta.is/b/684617/read
  
  Night of the Avenger
  
  73. Butcher of Belgrade http://flibusta.is/b/608980/read
  
  Butcher of Belgrade
  
  74. The Assassin's Brigade http://flibusta.is/b/607271/read
  
  Assassination Brigade
  
  75. Liquidator http://flibusta.is/b/610142/read
  
  The Liquidator
  
  77. Code http://flibusta.is/b/607252/read
  
  The Code
  
  78. Agent-counter-agent http://flibusta.is/b/612843/read
  
  Agent Counter-Agent
  
  79. Hour of the Wolf http://flibusta.is/b/685950/read
  
  Hour of the Wolf
  
  80. Our agent in Rime is missing http://flibusta.is/b/687063/read
  
  Our Agent in Rome is Missing
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Target: Doomsday Island
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original title: Target: Doomsday Island
  
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  She said her name was Veronica, which in itself made me uneasy. The girls were no longer christened Veronicas, and this one didn't look a day older than sixteen. The fact that she was in the hotel bar meant nothing; these kids were just as likely to get a fake ID today as anything else they shouldn't be. One look at the cold face, the challenging eyes under the long blond hair, and most men would probably trust Ay-in everything. Suspicion is one of the main components of my profession; it's second nature to search for the truth behind layers of lies. He was on vacation, but it didn't matter. There are enough people in the world who would like to see Nick Carter dead to keep me on constant alert.
  
  
  Hers was in Westbush for a few days to rest after a stressful assignment in the Middle East. They weren't particularly difficult compared to the other tasks I did, and I didn't have any new bullet holes. But after more than a month in the wilderness of my need for snow and peaceful mountains, a group of people who have never heard a call to me before joins me at this remote but luxurious ski resort in Vermont. And now Veronica.
  
  
  I spent most of the day on the ski slopes, where it wasn't too crowded as it was the middle of Sundays. These days I can't ski as much as I would like, but I stay in shape, and as long as I don't try to match the champions, I can handle almost any downhill championship. Maybe be a little more careful; I've been beaten up too often in my job to just frolic with trees and boulders.
  
  
  When I reached the main hall, with a huge open fireplace in the middle and a brass curtain over it, it was pleasantly lively. The smell of burning walnuts mingled with the smells of leather, wet wool, and the enticing aromas of hot drinks that Dreadlocks mixed at the bar. Most of the people were young and sat or hung out in groups, while a few couples took advantage of the privacy of the deep leather sofas lining the walls.
  
  
  The bartender greeted me, a fat, always smiling red-haired boy. He already knew my name, so I wasn't surprised when he asked: "Nice day, Nick?"
  
  
  "Not bad," I said, sinking down on a stool. At first I didn't see the youngish blonde sitting in half a dozen chairs with her back to me. But when she heard my name, she slowly turned around, looked at me in the dark mirror behind Dreadlocks, then turned around and looked at me.
  
  
  "So you're Nick." Her voice was soft, a little husky, and despite her youth, it didn't sound like an act. Her, nodded, of course, cautiously. Even in a thick black sweater that reached to her hips, it was clear that she was exhausted, like the star of one of those funny beach movies. But I still prefer to see ih a little older; hey, maybe thirty, but she's not quite up to speed on the latest youthful trends yet, and I doubt I'll ever get to that point. She tilted her head so that her long, long hair fell over one shoulder like a golden waterfall. Then she nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes. You look like Nick. And then she turned her back on me and looked through the fireplace at the row of tall windows that looked out over the lighted snow slopes.
  
  
  That's it, I thought, and sipped Dreadlocks ' warm rum.
  
  
  After a while, the girl slowly slid off the chair; she was slightly taller than she looked sitting down. She glanced at me quickly, and it wasn't one of those fake sultry looks that teenagers practice; she bit her lower lip and her eyes looked genuinely through mine. When she approached me, it was with the air of someone who had just made a difficult decision. He got up automatically , and not out of politeness. Her hotel is to be prepared for anything that might happen.
  
  
  "Her name is Veronica," she said.
  
  
  Well, that's a good name, I thought. she probably picked up an ego while watching old movies on TV. "So we know each other by name," I said carefully. She put her hands behind her back, and he hoped she was only doing it to show off her luscious breasts.
  
  
  'Yes. Her ... I've seen you here before. You're the only one here, aren't you?
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  "I thought so. Her children."
  
  
  Her mimmo nah looked out into the great hall; now it was full and the noise increased. What a musician he is, he started playing the guitar. "I think a walk with this crowd of people will put an end to your problem," I chuckled, looking at nah.
  
  
  She smiled briefly, then chewed her lip again.
  
  
  "No, this ... Well, everyone here more or less belongs to everyone, and I don't want to ..." Hey, it seemed hard to get to the point. When she reached out, her hand froze, but she only removed a lock of her hair.
  
  
  Her started to relax, it was just a girl who was engaged wanted company for fun, and she was available. Instead, she asked me if I was married ...
  
  
  "Are you married, Nick?"
  
  
  "I don't have the pleasure."
  
  
  "Her married. A few months.'
  
  
  Her must have shown her surprise.
  
  
  "I know I look like a child, especially for older men..."
  
  
  Just like you; I tried not to cringe.
  
  
  "...but I'm twenty-one, and that's the problem."
  
  
  Well, I'm sick of her. 'What do you mean?'
  
  
  "You see, she was married-oh, she's already been told that. A few months ago. My mother didn't like my husband, so she asked my stepfather to kick out the ego, and now they're watching me closely."
  
  
  "And you're here alone?"
  
  
  "I mean ... here. In a hotel. But my family has a ski lodge on the other side of this slope." She pointed vaguely at the long row of windows. "You must have seen it."
  
  
  He shook his head, then stopped. During one of his journeys, he saw a long, high wall that seemed to extend continuously for several hundred yards, and the trees and bushes around it were cut down as if it were a prison or fortress. Beyond it, she saw a large house with chimneys and sloping roofs. A ski lodge, yes! I asked Veronica if it was the right house, she meant mistletoe.
  
  
  "Yes, this is the house."
  
  
  "More like a prison."
  
  
  She nodded. 'That's right. They brought me here to ... calm. It's not our property; Bert - my stepfather-took off the ego season. It used to belong to a special gangster or something, and there are all sorts of alarm bells and terrible traps on the grounds."
  
  
  "Sounds like a good place to spend the winter."
  
  
  "Oh, once you get into it, it's fun."
  
  
  "But you're alone on the street right now."
  
  
  "Well, its not mistletoe meaning that they keep me locked up or anything like that. But Mom and Bert always make sure that if I make friends with someone here, especially a boy my age, I don't want to lose my ego."
  
  
  "How are they going to do that?" I quickly looked around, but I didn't see anyone watching her, and I could see her clearly in the shadows. Damn good.
  
  
  'Henry. He's always waiting for me in the lobby, and he keeps popping in here to check on her."
  
  
  "Henry," I sighed. I started to think this girl was a little crazy.
  
  
  "This is, of course, our driver."
  
  
  'Of course. What if he sees you talking to me now?
  
  
  "You don't look like a man to be intimidated, Nick."
  
  
  Her, nodded to the crowd of young people. "What about them?" Some of the boys had the same length of hair as the girls, but there were also some who could have played rugby.
  
  
  "The couple I talked to, and Henry saw me with, did it. Then they started avoiding me."
  
  
  'Then what?'
  
  
  "And then after Henry ... I talked to them."
  
  
  "You pique my curiosity." He was starting to get a little angry; either this girl making up her own unlikely story, or Henry, if what she said was true.
  
  
  "Do you have a car, Nick?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "There's a bar ..." She bit her lip. "In a nearby town, and ... Do you know that I haven't been anywhere but here for almost two months?"
  
  
  "What kind of bar?"
  
  
  "I've heard that this is the most brilliant place in the area. Good music, funny people. You know that.'
  
  
  I knew her. He was just about to conclude that the girl was just waiting to be picked up when he saw a face peeking through the doorway of the lobby. The face was about the size and color of a basketball. Ego brows formed a continuous black line over the eyes hidden in the folds of skin, and the nose curved down to the flexible mouth. Nen was wearing a ski jacket and dark trousers, and it looked like he had a size that would make a Japanese sumo wrestler think.
  
  
  Suddenly, he grinned at Veronica, tossed some of Dreadlocks ' money on the counter, and firmly grabbed the girl's arm.
  
  
  "If it's Henry," I said, " it must be a piece of furniture from your gangster house. Come on, Veronica; I want to see this bar! '
  
  
  As we approached the door, Henry narrowed his eyes and raised a frown of black brows. Veronica tried to hide behind me. Henry looked confused, and his soft lips moved like a pair of excited worms. Ego's huge torso filled the doorway, but as we approached Licks, he took a step back.
  
  
  "Simple," I said cheerfully.
  
  
  Ego's eyes left me and turned to the girl. "Miss Veronica ..." he began, and ego's voice was absurd, threatening.
  
  
  "It's all right," ego interrupted. "She's with me."
  
  
  It was impossible to pass mimmo, but I kept going.
  
  
  Henry took another step back, then braced himself. I was curious about how far he would go in a public place, and he hoped it would be too far. Maybe it was more childish of me, but I don't like people who scare children.
  
  
  Veronica said, " Tell Mama and Bert I'll be home at midnight, Henry." Her voice had a tone of arrogant authority that usually annoys me, but I was a little proud of her for resisting the emu.
  
  
  Henry looked at me, apparently not sure what to do. I helped Em make his decision by gently placing my hand on his beer barrel-shaped body and pushing it down so hard that we could pass. He didn't resist, which was a bit disappointing, but the look in his ego eyes promised "later". We walked quickly through the lobby to the wide arched porch. It was completely dark now, but the tall arc lamps lit up the night. We made our way through the snow to the asphalt parking lot and played this game in my blue rental Ford. Veronica didn't say anything until I started the engine.
  
  
  .'Hello there! she said softly and laughed. "I had no idea mistletoe what Henry was going to do there!"
  
  
  "You thought he was going to spank me in front of all these people?"
  
  
  She shrugged and started rummaging through her large leather shoulder bag. "Do you have a cigarette for me?" she asked.
  
  
  I gave hey, one around my special gold-stemmed cigarettes, and her eyes widened when she saw it.
  
  
  "What kind of brand is this?" she asked.
  
  
  He opened it and tapped the dashboard with his lighter. "They are made in Turkey and have no brand."
  
  
  As I was driving down a narrow country road, I noticed that her eyes were looking at me, as if she had just realized what she was getting herself into. With my black hair - a little too long because I didn't have time to cut it - and my thin face, I can look almost sinister in certain light conditions, and my big hands show the marks of my countless battles. Hers isn't particularly tall by today's standards - over five feet nine inches - but it's all about the muscles, especially in the arms and shoulders, and it shows. I was wondering when the girl next to me would announce that she had changed her mind.
  
  
  "What's the name of this bar?"
  
  
  "Beautiful madness," and I believe it's on the other side of town." Her voice was calm; maybe he'd underestimated her again.
  
  
  The road wound for a few miles between high snowdrifts; we didn't see any other traffic until we were in a straight line, and then I saw the lights in my rearview mirror. He smiled to himself and slowed down. The car is behind us, too.
  
  
  'Henry? I asked her, the girl, pointing with my thumb over my shoulder.
  
  
  Veronica looked around. "I don't see his ego."
  
  
  "It's a big car. What kind of car do you have?
  
  
  "I think he's driving a Bentley today."
  
  
  He nodded to her. 'Actually. And he won't let you out of his sight, will he?
  
  
  "Probably not. She sighed. "Ah, take the tailor."
  
  
  I had to laugh. 'Calm down. What can it do?'
  
  
  She didn't answer, but I could see her biting her lip again.
  
  
  It was a small town, and the center was deserted and dark, with a few shops, a few churches, and old white wooden houses that stood silently around a snow-covered park. We drove through the park and found ourselves on a small fun track. There were two mobile restaurants, a motel, a pancake shop, and a small tavern with a row of vans parked in front of it; across the street, set apart from the other buildings, was the Beautiful Madness, a log cabin in an exaggeratedly rustic style with a large sign over the door.
  
  
  When we got out, Veronica looked back. The headlight was gone now, but I was sure Henry was somewhere behind us, standing on the side of the road with the lights off.
  
  
  As we entered through the thick door, the thunder of a long-haired rock band of four hit me in the ears. The interior was full, smoky, and dimly lit by candles and burning wood. A waitress in a mini skirt, green bathing suit, and nearly transparent blouse led us to a table and took our order. The specialty here was warm cider with Jack Daniels, which I thought was great. Veronica agreed absently; she concentrated on the music with a glassy look in her eyes.
  
  
  Its certainly nothing against rock; parts of it are pretty damn good, and when you listen to the lyrics of some songs, you have to admit that these young authors have a lot to say, and they do it with enthusiasm. But here, the room was too small, too hot from the fire and the crowded crowd for this level of noise.
  
  
  I was wondering what all these people around us might be talking about, because they couldn't understand each other.
  
  
  Her not one eye with day and wanted Henry. He didn't show up, which surprised me; I'd expected him to be watching us.
  
  
  After a while, he excused himself and ran to the men's room on the other side of the music stage. I bet that if I leave Veronica alone for a few minutes, she will quickly attract a crowd of fans. Even in this room full of beautiful girls, she stood out.
  
  
  I wasn't mistaken; when I got back, there were two young men around her. Veronica didn't encourage ih, but I could tell she appreciated the attention.
  
  
  She introduced me to the boys - ihk didn't understand her, but it didn't matter. IH asked her to sit down, and they played this game. They both had long hair; one had a mustache, the other didn't, and I thought I sensed a beardless boy around the hotel. He was right.
  
  
  He asked me. "You're staying in Westbush, right?"
  
  
  I told her to.
  
  
  "Hey, kid, you're a damn good skier. A professional?
  
  
  Well, sometimes I feel flattered, even though I try to resist. "No," I said. "I'm just resting."
  
  
  The rock band paused, which temporarily made the conversation more bearable. A few minutes later, two girls joined us, both young, dressed in standard suits all over jeans and fringed leather. Then the guys who knew well came up, and when the music started playing again, we had eight people playing this game on two chairs made up together. Veronica chatted to the others as if they were old friends, but she kept me talking. I leaned back, relaxed, and answered when someone said something to me. I thought they were good young people. They didn't smoke anything stronger than Camel, and apparently they didn't mind her being the eldest.
  
  
  The time passed quickly, and I must admit that I had a lot of fun. For a while, Henry even forgot to look for her in the doorway. One day, I looked at my watch. It was eleven o'clock, and he wondered if he should call Veronica's attention to it. But I decided not to; I didn't want to act creepy and drag her away from her new fans. After a few minutes, she tucked the sleeve of my sweater in and looked at the clock herself.
  
  
  "Come on," she said softly; she was so close to me that I could hear her clearly, her shoulder pressed warmly against me. He chuckled and looked hey in the eye. She kissed me lightly, but with an unmistakable promise.
  
  
  When we were out in the crisp cold, he pulled up next to the Ford. 'Where to?'
  
  
  "Home, I think." She said it casually, but with obvious regret.
  
  
  I looked around. Henry wasn't in sight, but he was still sure he was somewhere nearby.
  
  
  I asked her. "What if I get a chance to get rid of your shadow?"
  
  
  'What then? She was sitting next to me, looking at me with equally open, luscious lips.
  
  
  "We could go somewhere ... not home."
  
  
  She was kissed by ee, trying to make it easy, but her mouth opened and her tongue slid into my mouth, playing with my tongue.
  
  
  "Like where?" she whispered.
  
  
  "Well, I have a room with a beautiful view."
  
  
  She shook her head. "We can't go there; Henry will find us."
  
  
  Of course, she was right. But with her body pressed against mine and her arms wrapped around my neck, I wasn't going to let Cinderella go home.
  
  
  I looked down the road, feeling more frustrated than I'd ever felt with a ferret when I was a teenager. "Maybe we'll lose him."
  
  
  'And then?'
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "We will be able to use the car not to drive it."
  
  
  She grinned mischievously, and with that expression on her face, she didn't look like a sixteen-year-old anymore.
  
  
  I didn't know the roads, of course, but my light car with winter tires went through the twists and turns with more maneuverability than the big Bentley. Immediately after turning it, Brylev turned into a tree-lined alley and turned it off. And a moment later, Henry was actually driving the Bentley. As soon as he passed mimmo, Veronica hugged me.
  
  
  "Calm down," I said, gently pushing her away. I pulled out onto the main road and drove back the way we'd been going until I saw another country road. There was no snowplow going through it, but I saw two parallel tracks in the snow. He followed them to a sharp bend, followed it, and stopped under a tree. We were on a small slope with a moonlit view of a large white meadow dotted with the tracks of wild animals. "Voice now," I said.
  
  
  As I immediately suspected, she was wearing nothing under the thick sweater. Her nipples came alive at my touch, and she writhed right next to me, moaning and screaming softly. Her mouth was on my neck; her legs were pressed against mine. "This shouldn't have happened," she muttered. It was only much later that the true meaning of these words dawned on me. Personally, I prefer her large bed to a closed door, but I had to make the most of it. Veronica was demanding and skilled, and while we wanted a seat, her lips and hands were busy with all sorts of things with zippers. In the moonlight, her skin was pale and glowing, and her breasts were raised toward me. I don't know how hey managed to get rid of her tight ski pants, but she did, and then she sat on my lap with her legs draped over my shoulders. It happened quickly - a deep, powerful thrust, the rocking of her hips, the jerking of her body up and down. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth in a silent cry of ecstasy. When she arrived, she moaned long and cunningly and pressed her nails to my neck. Then he let her go, too, and Veronica moaned over and over, "Oh ... oh ... oh..."
  
  
  She was almost demure and distant as she dressed again. 'What time is it now?'What is it?' she asked briskly.
  
  
  He looked at his watch. "A few minutes past twelve."
  
  
  "Oh my God, you have to take me home." She zipped up her stretchy pants and pulled the sweater over her head.
  
  
  "All right, Cinderella," I said. To be honest, I was a little disappointed: I don't like this situation, thank you, ma'am, even in a parked car.
  
  
  But Veronica didn't even ask for a cigarette. When her husband turned around, she frowned in concern, and that expression didn't change until we reached the exit that led to her stepfather's rented house.
  
  
  "Maybe it would be better if you let me get out of here," she said. He didn't answer; he was a little angry with himself as much as he was with Nah. Its just gone.
  
  
  Next to the high iron fence in groans was what could only be called a gatehouse. A man in a fur coat was standing in front of him, and his shotgun was clearly visible. And there was a Bentley parked off to the side.
  
  
  Veronica grabbed my arm. "Not forever, Nick ..."
  
  
  "I'll just take you home, honey."
  
  
  "I'm sorry," she murmured.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. 'Why?'
  
  
  "Because that's how I did it ... so hasty."
  
  
  'And also? I asked with a shrug.
  
  
  "It's fucking midnight, you know."
  
  
  "No, I don't see that for her." "I slowed down.
  
  
  "Listen, my parents... I mean, they let me out, but the deal we decided... Well, she should be home by midnight. Do you understand?'
  
  
  "I thought you were twenty-one." If there was sarcasm in my voice, it was because I wasn't trying to suppress my ego.
  
  
  Nah had the decency to do it every year. "Well, that's not quite true. I'm more like nineteen and ... Tailor take it! They're more or less protective of me. I mean, they made that psychiatrist say I wasn't really competent, you know? And if I don't do what they say, they can put me in jail again."
  
  
  'Is it?'
  
  
  "I didn't mean to say that." She spoke softly. "I was placed in this house, and then... then cancellations. There was no reason at all to. Her...
  
  
  .. The Bentley's door slammed shut with an ominous slam. Henry walked up to my car like a big mountain.
  
  
  Veronica opened the side door, then leaned to the side and quickly stuck her tongue in my ear. "I'll call you tomorrow," she whispered, and left.
  
  
  Hers was about to go out, too, but Henry leaned against my door, his face falling through the open window like an overripe moon.
  
  
  "You have ten seconds to turn around and disappear," he croaked.
  
  
  Under any other circumstances, she would have rushed around the car and challenged the emu to get me to leave. But I could see Veronica already sitting submissively in the back of the Bentley, and a sentry in a fur jacket came up to me with a rifle ready.
  
  
  I think I could handle both of them; in a way, that's my job. But it didn't seem like there was much point in starting a fight over a crazy rich girl that probably would have involved the local police-because if his was fighting those two, there would probably have been fatalities by the time we were done. Henry was too big to handle without delivering the lethal blows he was so good at, and as far as she was concerned, anyone who attacked me with a shotgun was also doomed.
  
  
  So she closed the window before them ferret, until this giant had to step back, reverse the car and start the signposts. But when she stopped to move forward, she heard a dry chuckle that apparently came from the backseat of the Bentley. It wasn't Veronica; it was clearly a male sound. And then he heard her mumble the same voice, which ended unmistakably with the words "Nick Carter."
  
  
  I didn't like it at all. In Westbush, he didn't use his real last name. I never do this when I'm on vacation.
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  He planned to return to Washington the next day, but he wasn't going to do it. So when Veronica didn't call, it wasn't hard to talk myself into staying a little longer. On my second day - still waiting for the call-I was in the almost abandoned lobby of licks by evening.
  
  
  "Is that enough for today?" Dreadlocks asked me.
  
  
  'Yes. He absently sipped his warm rum and looked at the lobby door. Finally, I realized that the young bartender was looking at me thoughtfully, and decided that I should play my part both ways. "Oh girl," I began.
  
  
  Dreadlocks nodded, grinning. "That blonde?"
  
  
  'Yes. Does she come here often?"
  
  
  "I've seen it several times. Not in the last few days.
  
  
  "But did she really come for it?" Before I met her?
  
  
  "God, no. Her, only saw her a few nights ago."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Otherwise, I think she would have noticed you."
  
  
  "Well, you know what, Nick."
  
  
  "I thought she came here for about a month."
  
  
  Dreadlocks shook his head emphatically. 'No, it's not like that. Two, maybe three days until the day before yesterday. How'd it go?"'
  
  
  I didn't answer. He hadn't expected that either. He just chuckled and grabbed my empty mug to make another drink.
  
  
  Some time later, in the early evening, hers was in her room and wanted the best route to the Boston airport, where hers could transfer to Washington, when the phone rang.
  
  
  I knew it was Veronica even before I picked up the phone. 'Hello?'
  
  
  'Nickname? Her voice was strained and low.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "I need you."
  
  
  "That's good, honey."
  
  
  "I mean, I need you ..."
  
  
  "You know where she is."
  
  
  "You don't understand!' Hey, I managed to sob without raising my voice.
  
  
  "Then explain it to me." Hers was also ee's hotel, but didn't want to show it.
  
  
  "They're gathering, and ... oh, Nick, help me!"
  
  
  "What difficulties?"
  
  
  "Look, if I don't get out of here tonight, they'll do it again. They're locking me up! Oh, Nick, get me out of here before they do... -
  
  
  Her voice was cut off by the decisive click of the phone.
  
  
  I didn't think twice as I hung up. The phone company cut us off; it was someone in that house behind the high wall.
  
  
  I hesitated for a few minutes, but I really didn't doubt what I was going to do. Ladies in need aren't exactly my specialty, but this one gave me more than her hotel. A few seconds later, Hugo pulled it out around his suitcase and sheathed the deadly sharp stiletto on his arm. Then came Wilhelmina, my Luger in a light shoulder holster. It didn't bulge under the nylon jacket he'd worn over his sweater. It was unlikely that I would need any of those two weapons, but while I was about to get this girl out of the house, it was foolish not to prepare for the worst.
  
  
  Evening skiers gathered in high spirits on the low-lying plains of the slopes. I took the chairlift to the top of the second floor, above the lighted landing. There was no one else; the snow shone softly under me in the moonlight. He pulled a black wool mask with holes for eyes and an RTA over her head. Maybe a white mask would have been better, but it wasn't something Stahl was looking for. Besides, I doubted I could even slip through a wide field of snow in my camouflage without being noticed, with moonlight and spotlights to moan around the house.
  
  
  He descended, working his way to the left and making slow, carefully controlled turns until he hit a wall. He stayed behind the trees and looked at this place. Far below was a gate, and in front of the house stood a sentry, who kept his hands out to keep warm. There was no way to know if there were other sentries on the wall or not, so he didn't even try. By the way, there was no doubt an electrical alarm, and I didn't have time to investigate this corkscrew thoroughly.
  
  
  After watching for half an hour, I came to the conclusion that there was only one sentry at the gate; he didn't seem to have spoken to Hema and me, and there was no sign of a car anywhere.
  
  
  Pushing hard with his clubs, he descended the gentle slope. Coming out of the trees, he lifted his skis, waved his arms, and let out a muffled cry. I was hoping to create a successful imitation of a skier who lost control of his movements. He slipped and stumbled toward the brig. Then he rolled it up, apparently losing his balance, and threw himself into a blatant moan. Just before I got there, I swerved it a bit so that the collision wasn't as bad as it looked. He fell, jerking his leg helplessly, shouting:
  
  
  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
  
  
  Then he groaned loudly, struggled to get up, and fell again. 'Define me!' She moaned faintly. The sentry noticed me. Gun ready, he took a few steps toward me, then hesitated.
  
  
  She moaned again.
  
  
  The sentry raced toward me through the snow. I lay still, waiting for him to come to me. It was important to find out if he was really alone. But I didn't seem to care about the ego. He walked over, stopped, and let the rifle hang from his arm.
  
  
  "Are you okay, man?"
  
  
  It was a silly corkscrew, but he answered her.
  
  
  "I think I broke my ankle," gritted her teeth. 'Oh, right?'
  
  
  "If you can help me up ..." Her voice seemed as helpless as it could be.
  
  
  The sentry shook his head. "I'm not a doctor, man."
  
  
  "Well, will you leave me to vote like this?"
  
  
  He doubted it. "You shouldn't be skiing here, man. This is not a ski slope."
  
  
  "As if I didn't know! I just couldn't keep those damn skis going in the right direction."
  
  
  "Well ..." The sentry approached Licks.
  
  
  "Can you call the ski lodge?" I asked pleadingly. 'To the hotel? So can the doctor come?
  
  
  "I'll help you up, man, but I can't give you the phone." He jerked his head toward the brig. "There's no phone, just a connection to the house."
  
  
  All right, he said, and held out his hand. He let emu grab my wrist, then grabbed ego and pulled me forward, over my head. He rolled with it, turned, and landed on the emu's chest. Before he knew what was happening, her rifle was snatched out of Ego's hands and pressed against ego's ear.
  
  
  "One sound, one movement, "I growled, and they'll need to go to New Hampshire to find the other half of your head." He didn't move, but he was shaking under my knee like a trapped rabbit.
  
  
  'Fence. How does it open? '
  
  
  He said, and when ego poked him with the rifle barrel, he explained how the alarm goes off if two keys aren't turned in the right order. He took the keys out of his ego pocket and let em get up. With the hood of Ego's fur coat in one hand, he strode with it to the gate. I looked at the phone in the brig, and decided not to touch the ego; if I pulled the ego through the walls, an alarm might sound ...
  
  
  Wires ran through the gate's locks; ih told the sentry to open it. He hesitated, but when he gave her emu his finger on the trigger, he turned the keys in the correct order. Then he let the butt of his gun land on his skull, dragged her into the guardhouse, and slipped through the open gate.
  
  
  The road wound through a thicket of tall pine trees that blocked out the moon. The snow had been cleared away, so that the concrete slabs with their joints filled with tar were visible. He walked carefully up the driveway, keeping his eyes on the distant lights of the big house. He remembered what Veronica had said about "nasty traps," and resisted the urge to duck into the shadows on either side. And then the driveway collapsed beneath me.
  
  
  The last thing you expect is for a large concrete spit to fall under you like a swing string, but it did. Suddenly, he slid into the pitch-blackness, unable to hold himself in any way.
  
  
  There was no light at all, only cold dampness around me. He reached out and felt the stones on its sides. It was a wide tunnel, and the floor was dirty under my feet. Somewhere in front of me, there was a persistent, high-pitched sound. I went in the direction of the sound; that was all I could do.
  
  
  Mud, or something like it, was up to my ankles when I got to both ends of the tunnel. There was a trapdoor in front of me, surrounded by thick planks. I didn't try to open it. I was sure that someone would come to see me every year.
  
  
  The hatch took a long time to open. Meanwhile, he returned to the tunnel, crouching in the total darkness, looking both ways. No one was approaching from the side of the collapsed concrete slab, so I figured it was the sentry's job to serve that side.
  
  
  And then there was Sergey. A rope ladder led down through the open hatch.
  
  
  When her carapace went down this escape route, I had Wilhelmina in my hand. I couldn't see any faces through the hole, but I was ready to shoot anything that came up.
  
  
  I had a hard time getting up, because I had to keep the Luger ready, and the first thing I saw was Veronica's face. She was laughing.
  
  
  And then she saw a man standing next to her who wasn't smiling much, but at least he was smiling now, which was wonderful in itself.
  
  
  "Hi, Nick," the man said.
  
  
  Her knowledge of ego. Ego's name was Hawk, he's my boss, and he almost got shot by Ego on the spot.
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  David Hawke is a man in his fifties or sixties - no one knows for sure - with sparse gray hair and the stern face of a New England priest. The Swedes ' ego is mostly based on the professor's tweed, but the unlit cigar he usually chews gives Em the look of an elderly statesman. In short, Hawk is not an easy man to surprise - not at all.
  
  
  "Are you going to shoot around that thing?" "What is it?" he asked calmly, pointing at Wilhelmina. "If not, put it away."
  
  
  "What the hell is going on?" Ego's thin-lipped mouth twisted. "You've had almost thirty seconds, Nick; you should have known that by now."
  
  
  Maybe, but not quite. "Veronica," I looked at the girl, " is she someone around us?"
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "Student, but nah seems to be doing well."
  
  
  I looked around the room; there were bookcases and a thick dark red carpet. There were no windows. I was beginning to understand that.
  
  
  "So, this is our training center."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. 'The last one. By the way, Veronica was right about the previous owner; he was a bootlegger, and later Stahl was a major heroin smuggler. If you tried to climb over the wall, iron spikes would fly out and pierce your body. I'm glad you were smart enough to get through the gate. And by the way, bouncing mines are everywhere, on both sides of the roadway ."
  
  
  Her, knew what it was: step-driven devices that made ih bounce and explode in the air, sending the deadly city flying in all directions.
  
  
  "You're bound to lose a lot of students here," I said. Hawk shook his head. "For now, we need one. The bouncing mines are not fully loaded, and we just told our men not to try to climb over the wall. As you know, Nick, walls aren't usually the best way to enter a heavily guarded house.
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  "So, you performed very well today. We watched it on TV."
  
  
  It was in the house. In a home with such security measures, there should be television monitors everywhere.
  
  
  "It's a good thing you didn't kill the sentry," Hawk said.
  
  
  "What if he wanted her?"
  
  
  "We would have stopped you, Nick. The gate has a loudspeaker, and it would be time for a vast country, you to order.
  
  
  "You were hoping for this."
  
  
  Hawke nodded smugly, and I knew he was right.
  
  
  "Okay, you're here now," he said. "Let's get down to business."
  
  
  From the moment his ego saw her, understood that this vote-the vote must happen. I remembered that it was Hawk who had suggested Westbush as my vacation spot.
  
  
  Veronica stood up. She was wearing a pantsuit, her hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she looked - well, you could say a few years older than sixteen. Her eyes weren't looking at me, but I could clearly see the red spots on her cheeks.
  
  
  Hawk didn't say anything until she was out of the room. Then he leaned forward in the leather chair, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees.
  
  
  "Does anyone in Westbush know who you are, Nick?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. 'Nobody. My name is Nick Walton. The only other person who talked to her - other than Veronica - was the bartender at the hotel. One day he asked me about it, and emu gave her that name and said that I was engaged in international investment."
  
  
  'Good. You can use this name in Doublé Cay ."
  
  
  Its never heard of a Take-Kay.
  
  
  "It's a couple of small islands in the Bahamas," Hawke explained. "One is fully developed - there is a new hotel and an old hotel that has been here since the beginning of the century. On another island, they are building even more hotels and a bridge connecting the island ."
  
  
  She waited for him to continue. And, as usual, he moved on to another topic.
  
  
  "I prepared this event for you because I needed to convince myself of a few things, Nick."
  
  
  'Yes.' - I've been an agent with AX long enough not to be surprised by what the director did. We weren't our CIA, we were the FBI, and you couldn't even call us anything in between. We just existed, a small group of special agents doing things that no one in the government ever even thought of doing, and Hawk was doing business. Ego neighbors in Georgetown thought he was the president of a little-known foundation.
  
  
  "First of all," he said, " there was a tailspin about getting along with young people with long hair. Veronica told me that in "Beautiful Madness" you were super cool."
  
  
  I had to smile. 'Good.'
  
  
  "And then there was the problem of getting into this fortress. It wasn't all bad, was it? But you did it. I had my doubts, Nick.
  
  
  Her father glared at him; he had no right to talk to me like that.
  
  
  "All right, all right," Hawk continued hurriedly. "You've passed both tests, and now move on. Double-K, Nick. And Grady Ingersoll.
  
  
  It was a shock. Grady Ingersoll was perhaps the richest man in the world, a billionaire in his mid-fifties who in recent years had become a recluse.
  
  
  Hers, waiting for Hawk to move on.
  
  
  "Grady Ingersoll," Hawk boomed, as if he were reading through the files, even though there was nothing in front of him, " ego age fifty - seven, five foot eight, about twenty - five pounds. He has six children, mostly movie stars. He made a fortune in his father's construction company, which he founded in the late 1930s. Roughly speaking, a speculator. The society's egos dealt with shipping companies, produced uniforms, grain silos, oil pipelines-God, this man even made money from making movies. Piloted a bomber during the outbreak of World War II, was briefly flown over Germany twice, escaped once, but was placed in a prisoner-of-war camp a second time at both ends of the war. Today, he is an investor in many companies - a large investor, which in many cases means that she has a dominant interest."
  
  
  He knew all this about Grady Ingersoll... A few years ago, he retired to a remote area of New Mexico - the most famous hermit in history. These days, no one saw the ego, except for the ego of the" palace guard " of stern men who were the ego's only direct contact with the outside world.
  
  
  "Ego's last investment," Hawk continued, " was in the aerospace firm Ultimate Dynamics. Ingersoll owns the majority of the shares, so he's in charge. And because of this Nick, the Pentagon and the White House are biting their nails."
  
  
  'What do you mean?'
  
  
  Hawke smiled grimly. "When Ingersoll came to power, Ultimate Dynamics was putting the finishing touches on the most sophisticated missile guidance system ever invented. In short, it can survey the terrain below and correct the missile's course along the way with greater accuracy than a human pilot could; it can detect interceptor missiles and fire its defenses at them. But the most important achievement is that the device can detect the effect of previous missiles, and then fly to shoot at secondary or even tertiary targets."
  
  
  "In other words,"I said," this thing can do pretty much everything a human pilot can."
  
  
  'And more. This is the third ability that makes the ego invaluable. There's a lot of talk these days about excesses - how many times we can erase Russia or China from the map, compared to how many times they can erase us from the map. But with this device, it is no longer necessary to launch five or six nuclear warheads at the same target; once the first one completes its mission, the others can target other targets. So, you can imagine what this guidance system would mean for a weaker force."
  
  
  Hers, of course, could have imagined it. Only the United States and the Soviet Union had the nuclear power to destroy a large part of the world, but the Ultimate Dynamics device would allow any moderately developed country - such as China - to achieve nuclear power, even if it possessed only a small fraction of nuclear power. the number of missiles.
  
  
  Needless to say, the device is top secret and monitored with the strictest security measures. It's currently called Drikopper, which isn't a crazy name at all."
  
  
  "I believe, sir, Washington is concerned about Ingersoll's involvement."
  
  
  'Exactly. Grady Ingersoll moved to Double Cay almost a year ago. He owns islets, and one of the ego companies ih develops. Ingersoll lives in the old hotel he told her about... Hawk stopped and walked over to a special old-fashioned table. He picked up a rolled-up map and a thick brown envelope, then beckoned me to the table and unfolded the map. The two islands were kidney-shaped, with wide, curved bays facing each other. An aerial photograph showed construction work on one of the two islands, which Hawke had told me was called Domesday Island. The other, called Resurrection Island, was a sprawling hotel complex with a swimming pool, tennis courts, and golf course. Next to the pool, barely visible through the dense palm trees and other vegetation, was a sketch of another building next to a circular lagoon.
  
  
  "This is the Doubloon Inn," Hawk said, pointing to the almost hidden structure. "It is separated from the rest of the island by a wall and is equipped with conventional electronic equipment and armed guards. Ingersoll disappeared behind that wall when he got to Double Cay, and he doesn't show up again."
  
  
  "Has anyone ever been inside?"
  
  
  "I'll get back to that in a minute. The main thing is that during all this time, Ingersoll was not personally seen by anyone, except for a group of ego assistants. And this is another cause for concern."
  
  
  Egoist didn't interrupt her with questions.
  
  
  "Over the past year," Hawk continued, " the ego of the assistants has changed one by one. All of the previous assistants were in their forties and fifties, mostly men who are considering senior positions at Ingersoll firms. But no more. At the moment, there are six ihs, all young, apparently in their twenties, with long hair. One around them is a woman. I heard her, beautiful. Her husband chuckled automatically and allowed his boss to continue.
  
  
  "Although they all look American, they have passports from several European and Latin American countries. So far, we have not been able to show them anything, but on the other hand, there is little information about them ."
  
  
  Hawk pulled out half a dozen thin folders around the brown envelope and handed them to me. Ih flipped through it and focused on the 18 x 24 photos in cases. Five young men who looked alike - four blonde and one with dark hair-and a spectacularly beautiful dark-haired woman. In the end, I said to her without enthusiasm: "I think I understand where everything is going. You want these people checked out."
  
  
  "Much more than that. These young men - we call ih the "intimate six" - are the only ones who have direct contact with Ingersoll. Oh, he does call the CEOs of his various companies and does it more or less regularly, and outsiders have seen, ego...
  
  
  "But you just said.".. -
  
  
  Hawk held up a hand. 'Quiet. Over the past few months, Ingersoll had suddenly become a friendly host. You could have said that too. A large number of young people are staying at the Doublé Cay Hotel near Doubloon, attracted by the extremely low rates for young people, as they call it. Some of Ingersoll's assistants choose a group to invite ih inside walls on yahoo that supposedly err ... not prohibited. Guests can enjoy the best marijuana and hashish, drinks and music, and enjoy a swim in the lagoon. You can imagine what will happen around this. And then the climax comes: Ingersoll appears on stage from time to time. He stands on a sort of balcony behind a thick glass partition, addresses his guests through a loudspeaker - and " picks one out around the girls to visit ego in person ."
  
  
  To be honest, it seemed reasonable to me. After all, you'd expect a man with that kind of money to want to have fun, and he told her so.
  
  
  "Not Grady Ingersoll."
  
  
  He was skeptical. A man with six marriages and several well-known relationships is not averse to choosing a mature and young girl for yahoo.
  
  
  "But Ingersoll," Hawk explained, " was always a very secretive man. Everything he did in his younger years was done as carefully as possible; he didn't want publicity, and he certainly didn't put on a public spectacle."
  
  
  I guessed it right. 'Old age?'
  
  
  "Possible, but unlikely. After all, it's not that wouldnt and old.
  
  
  I thought I caught a note of defense in Goshawk's voice, but I ignored it.
  
  
  "Then what do you think it is?"
  
  
  Head AH looked at me, leaning on the chair with both hands. "Either something serious has happened to Grady Ingersoll's head, or this man isn't Grady Ingersoll."
  
  
  There was a long silence before he said anything to her. "But you tell me that the ego has seen."
  
  
  "You can't expect to learn anything about the present tense in Ingersoll from just these intimate six and bitches of young men."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "What about the girls he chose?"
  
  
  "As far as we know, ih was seven. All of them, without exception, left the island immediately afterwards ... dates ... on one of the planes by Ingersoll. We found one in a hippie commune in Mexico. She swears that they only talked and that Ingersoll gave her ten thousand dollars before putting her on the plane.
  
  
  He whistled at her. "Ten thousand for talking."
  
  
  Hawk smiled wryly. "And, apparently, was silent."
  
  
  "What about the calls from Ingersoll? How well does the ego know the people it talks to?
  
  
  My boss frowned. 'Yes. Most egos know. And no one wants to believe that the caller is a fraud. We even managed to get a voice print with the phone, and... well, it wasn't convincing."
  
  
  "I thought voice printouts were perfectly acceptable as an identifier."
  
  
  'Not exactly. We have a recording of Ingersoll's testimony several years ago before a congressional committee, and this voice seems to match the voice of a recent one. But there are differences. A radiotelephone on the islands for beginnings, not always very clear ."
  
  
  'Actually. Then you want her to know if this person is really Ingersoll, don't you?
  
  
  "This is one point. Of course, if he can be an impostor, you also need to establish what happened to the real Ingersoll. In any case, you need to find out who the members of the intimate six really are, what their motives are, and how they affect Ingersoll."
  
  
  "Do you think there might be any connection between them and the Three-headed Man?"
  
  
  "We don't know that yet. But as long as there is such a possibility, we must definitely find out ."
  
  
  "I assume a direct approach has been tried."
  
  
  'Yes. The Secretary of Defense personally tried to contact Ingersoll, and two Sundays ago one of the president's closest advisers flew to Dubla Cay. But Ingersoll refused to accept ih or talk to them. He's a private citizen, Nick, and the government can't force him out of sanctuary."
  
  
  "I guess ego billions have nothing to do with it," I said sarcastically.
  
  
  "It doesn't affect us. You know your assignment. There are a few more details to discuss, and then you'll head south. Get to Ingersoll, Nick. Find out what we need to know ."
  
  
  "And if it's negative?" If it's related to the Three-Headed one?
  
  
  "Then stop him. At your discretion.
  
  
  'Anyway?'
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "I don't send an AX agent with the Killmaster rank there just to ask a few questions."
  
  
  As for me, I was doubtful; the task seemed fairly simple, if not ordinary - and this was the second time in a few days that I had made a serious error of judgment.
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  The instructions took less than three hours, and it wasn't even midnight when the mansion left. The sentry grinned shyly at me and pointed to my skis leaning against the brig. She was asked to apologize to him, but not Stahl; he knew ego was waiting, and that was more than he could say to her.
  
  
  I expected to see Veronica again before I left, but she didn't show up. It was probably better that way. Now I knew what she meant by mistletoe in the car, on that snowy hilltop, and I could do without her rioting or defiance - whatever attitude she might have taken after getting carried away with a secret mission.
  
  
  Her little sleep that night. Even though my room was on the other side of the hotel, away from the lobby, I could hear the hum of a guitar accompanied by unsteady voices. At dawn, I got up, dressed, and packed my things. He didn't shave according to the instructions.
  
  
  The small package was in the trunk of my car, just as Hawke had said. When we talked the night before, ego extracted one through our agents. It contained a few things developed by the AX Special Effects department that could be useful in a difficult situation. It must have taken a lot of ingenuity on the part of Stewart's department to come up with weapons and tools that could be hidden in a bathing suit or a pair of sandals, but as always, they succeeded.
  
  
  It took me two Sundays to get to Miami, so I did my best to slow down my movement. Hawke's assignment was to grow a full beard, but by the fifth day it was itchy as hell and he was left with a mustache. My sideburns grew quite quickly, and he knew that by the end of two weeks, I would have a beard that would not be enough for a self-respecting member of the rock scene.
  
  
  He was Nick Walton, manager of several rock bands. Hawk selected three bands for me, two of which are currently touring Africa and Asia, on behalf of the State Department. The other group was temporarily disbanded and had to take a leave of absence from Dub-K while the group reorganized. On the way south-avoiding Washington altogether - he spent his evenings in the busiest bars he could find, listening to jukeboxes and local combos, immersing himself in the music and atmosphere. I spent hours visiting music stores, memorizing brands, names, and artists.
  
  
  By the time I got to Jacksonville, I thought I knew as much about contemporary popular music as the average teenager. My mustache was growing and I needed a haircut. Perfect. I had to make one last detour before getting on a plane to Miami. Hawk and I discussed this for a while before we decided to take the risk. They were just preparing the first test flights of the Three-headed System at Cape Kennedy, NY, and we both felt that I should get as much information as possible from the best sources.
  
  
  He arrived at the main building of the NASA complex just in time to join the tour. We gathered in the cool, bright reception area and walked down the hall. At that moment, I was stopped by a uniformed security guard.
  
  
  "Excuse me, sir," he said.
  
  
  He looked around, as did several other members of the group. 'Yes?'
  
  
  "Do you drive a blue Ford?" He read the license plate.
  
  
  "Yes, it's mine."
  
  
  "I'm afraid you've blocked a few more cars. We would appreciate it if you would rearrange the ego."
  
  
  "Damn the tailor," I growled. "When I parked there, there were no other cars."
  
  
  "I'm afraid I'll have to, sir. If you don't mind."'It's not really a request.
  
  
  'Damn it! Good. Angrily, he stalked back down the echoing corridor. When the guard and I were out of sight of the tour group, he took my hand. We stopped for a moment and looked around. There was no one in sight.
  
  
  "This way, sir," he said in the respectful tone he probably would have used for the head of NASA.
  
  
  He used his key to open an invisible door without a handle, which was already drowned in groans. We walked quickly down a long, low corridor. There were other signs here and there, all with numbers and letters, but no other identifying symbols. We didn't see anyone as we turned a few corners, descended a steel staircase, walked through two more locked doors, and finally reached what looked like a blank wall.
  
  
  With the toe of his shiny black boot, the guard nudged a piece of gray baseboard at the bottom of the wall. Nothing happened immediately, but after a few moments, the entire wall silently unfolded, creating an opening large enough for him to slip through. The wall behind me swayed, and he was left alone in a small room with a metal table, two chairs, and a large mirror that was supposed to be one-way. There was a door next to the mirror, waiting patiently for it to open.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter?" a disembodied voice asked.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Just a moment, please."
  
  
  He grinned at her in the mirror, but decided not to wave. These space geniuses tend to take themselves seriously, and I can't blame ih. They have something to take seriously.
  
  
  After about a minute, the door opened and two figures in white lab coats and immaculate tennis shoes walked in, pushing the immaculate steel chair she'd seen too often in hospitals.
  
  
  "We need to get your finger prints, sir," the younger of the two said. Neither of them looked more than thirty, and they were both wearing glasses. Even ih's long hair-ten years ago ih would have had a crew cut-didn't detract from ih's sense of purpose. They put ink on my fingers and unfolded ih on paper. Then one of them unlocked a chair, opened a document drawer, and compared my finger prints with the second set, then nodded.
  
  
  I asked her. "Did you take a fingerprinting course at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology?"
  
  
  "California Institute of Technology, sir," the older man replied. "And no, but we both went to the FBI academy." He smiled faintly.
  
  
  He showed it in his amazement. "Does everyone here do that?"
  
  
  "This way, sir." He pointed to the open door. "Dr. Avery is waiting for you."
  
  
  The doors in this corridor were open; in small offices, energetic men and a few women in white coats bent over drawings and technical books, talking to each other in small groups, writing equations in chalk on blackboards. At the end of the corridor, my escorts opened the double door twice and ushered me into the study and meeting room. The man at the table didn't seem much older than my Escort, though his short graying hair barely covered his tanned skull. "Come in, Mr. Carter," he said, standing up. He pointed to a green leather chair.
  
  
  "I assume you're Dr. Avery. Or are you also an administrator? He smiled when he asked, but he didn't answer.
  
  
  "We don't have much time, Mr. Carter. Should we start?'
  
  
  There's no point in repeating all the details he gave me over the next hour. Much was said about coordinates and satellite mapping, computers, compasses, stabilizers and actuators, extendable gliders and sensors, and anti-interception systems. That was more or less what Hawke told me, but so detailed that by the time Avery finished it, he felt like he could almost put together a three-headed system himself. Well, maybe not quite.
  
  
  Avery seemed to have the same idea; the couple's ego was almost condescending. "Simply put, Mr. Carter, look at Project Three-Head like this: we're launching a battery of miniature rockets at Arlington across the Potomac in Washington, DC. It is permissible that the four around them are aimed at the White House, our main target. Using the Jefferson Memorial as a guide, the surveillance cameras in each rocket make the necessary adjustments. Anti-missile missiles are being launched; perhaps, despite our defense system, one or two of our missiles will be shot down. We must consider this possibility, even a small one, if such an attack is launched. Either we destroy the enemy with the first salvo, or it's all over for us. Yes?'
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  'Good.Let's say the first missile aimed at the White House is a direct hit. Then other missiles should not hit the same target. Sensors detect the impact, and then activate the computer mechanism. The second target is programmed in the guidance system. The actuators do their job, the retractable sliding wings open to increase lift, and our rocket heads for, say, the Fourteenth Street shopping district or the Hilton Hotel. Is that clear?"
  
  
  "Its just as I thought. In other words, in an all-out nuclear battle, we must hit the main targets, that is, launch several missiles at once. But if the first one hits, we don't need to spend the second one."
  
  
  'Exactly.'
  
  
  It took Em an hour to tell me what I already knew. "What about the system itself, Dr. Avery? How big is it?
  
  
  "I can't show you. I don't have permission to do that."
  
  
  'Of course not. But how big is it? Can it be stolen?
  
  
  The ego gesture encompassed the entire underground complex, cut off from the rest of the base. "Forget about the precautions; its sure to be spotless. He didn't understand my sarcasm. "How big is this damn thing?"
  
  
  Well... add up the dollar "Driekopper" is a computer. In terms of its size, it is much more complex than anything that has been developed to date."
  
  
  "That's what it means?"
  
  
  "Oh ... maybe the size of an ordinary car engine." With his hands, he pointed to a cube of meters around.
  
  
  "So no one can walk out the door with it."
  
  
  'I don't think so.'
  
  
  'Good. Who else knows about this device? »
  
  
  "Very few people. My staff, seventeen people, all of whom have security clearance. The White House, other government agencies, and the military high command ."
  
  
  "And Ultimate Dynamics?"
  
  
  "Almost everyone who worked with Driekopper is now part of my staff."
  
  
  'Almost?'
  
  
  "Only two people around the group don't work with me. The Odin around them died in a plane crash some time ago. The other is the company's executive director ."
  
  
  "What does it mean that he reports to Grady Ingersoll?"
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  "Which means Ingersoll knows."
  
  
  Avery looked surprised. "You certainly don't think someone like Ingersoll..." Em didn't need to finish the sentence, obviously em didn't like my subtext and didn't know what to do with it.
  
  
  "I heard you're doing a test flight of the Driekopper soon."
  
  
  'Yes. By next week. The exact date has not yet been determined. Only my employees know about the system, and they will personally insert all the parts into the rocket."
  
  
  "Is there any chance that a foreign ship will step in and fish this thing out to sea?"
  
  
  "No chance. If the rocket doesn't land exactly where it's programmed to, it will self-destruct."
  
  
  It didn't seem like there was anything else I could do in this air-conditioned tomb, so Avery thanked her and left it to ego. I wasn't interested in the security arrangements at Cape Kennedy, NY, and he knew that the people involved were doing their best. But this remark about Ingersoll and the ego of the trusted six made me feel like hell.
  
  
  Perhaps if I hadn't thought about this problem, I would have paid more attention to what happened a few minutes later. After looking at the TV screen, the guard let me go back to the deserted corridor. While the unmarked door with no handle was still closing behind us, a couple of chattering Asians in straw hats, dark suits, and cameras around their necks walked through the main door.
  
  
  They hesitated when they saw me and the guard, then continued chatting. One of the people around them stopped to take pictures of the soft interior; when the other turned his camera in my direction, hers started to cover his face, then made me forget to look at everything. Finally, today, everywhere you go to see us, you'll see Japanese tourists with cameras; it wasn't until I got to tut that I realized that these two Asians on the dell itself didn't look anything like Japanese.
  
  
  The flight through Miami to New Providence Island in the Bahamas was nothing more than a hop, with almost no time for a drink as we plunged into the light green sea dotted with sandy islands. The afternoon sky was slightly overcast, making the dark green vegetation look almost black, and as we circled the airport, rain lashed the windows of 7271.
  
  
  Passengers rushed across the platform to the shelter of a dilapidated seraglio, which they called the station building. . A band was playing inside, and flight attendants were handing out free rum drinks while we waited for our luggage. Customs wasn't a problem; at the height of the tourist season, there were probably fifty suitcases each opening. But it took the baggage handlers more than half an hour to unload everything on the plane, for reasons that will always remain a mystery to me. The suitcases arrived on a long, narrow conveyor belt, and mine was almost the last. I had two suitcases, and one had a special compartment for Wilhelmina and Hugo. I don't carry a gun when I cross the border, because being detained is one of the most painful things that can happen to a special agent, and it's usually not worth the risk.
  
  
  A tall, dark-skinned man in a carnival costume was standing outside the train station. Next to it, facing the palm tree, was a sign that read "DOUBLÉ CAY-Air Taxi". The rain had stopped, but the sky was still gray and cloudy. Three other people were already standing under the palm tree; a middle-aged couple and a teenage boy with a guitar, shoulder-length hair and copious baby pimples.
  
  
  "Yes, my friend?" the black man greeted me. "Are you in Double C?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  He asked me my name and checked the list. "The plane is at the other end of the field. A limousine will come here to take you.
  
  
  We stood awkwardly under a dripping palm tree, grateful for the wind to soften the steaming dampness. A thin, gray-haired man in a torn sweater, trousers, and dirty tennis shoes stood at the end of the sidewalk, staring intently at the door of the station building. When it was clear that the last passengers had alighted, he shrugged, turned, and raised his hand. A dark brown Cadillac pulled out onto the sidewalk, the door opened, and the man walked in.
  
  
  He was staring at the gray-haired man so intently that he didn't notice the group in the parking lot until the Cadillac was out of sight. There were two young men, tall and blond, with loose curls, dressed in strict dark suits, and next to them sat a girl who was also almost the same height as the men. She was covered from neck to toe in a simple, flowing dress that clung to her body in all the right places, and her dark brown hair fell over her shoulders almost to her waist. A collection of necklaces dangled between her breasts, and even in the dim light, her face seemed to shine.
  
  
  My first thought was Khadisha d'Ark, or perhaps Joan Baez; Nah had such radiant confidence in her expression, in her demeanor. But that thought was quickly dismissed when I realized I was looking at Angela Raffles and the other two members of the Intimate Six.
  
  
  Her photos of the Intimate Six were researched enough to immediately recognize ih, but only the girl really stood out. The five young men were so similar in appearance that I wasn't sure which names would suit the pair. Not that it mattered, she thought; her, I hoped Angela Raffles was my starting point on my way to Grady Ingersoll.
  
  
  I looked at her, and she looked back. Her serene smile was both convincing and intimidating, as if she could draw a man to her without doing anything. And she knew it. According to the information Hawk had given me, Ay was twenty-five, but she seemed ageless. Her eyes snapped away from Nah before she forgot what she was here for. A six-door Mercedes pulled out onto the sidewalk, and a dark-skinned man began to lift luggage into the trunk. A couple and a guitar carrier follow me into this game. He paused for a moment and looked up at her through the gleaming roof of the car. She was still smiling, still looking in my direction. He ducked and looked resolutely in the other direction until we were gone.
  
  
  The four of us stayed in the spacious luxury cabin of the Lear Jet. No one around us said anything; the couple looked a little confused, the boy sullen. The black man brought us some rum and disappeared forward. When he reappeared and announced that he would be leaving in a few minutes, he thought the woman would pass out. Her sam was quite surprised, but when he looked closer, through the baggy trousers and gold-threaded jacket, he saw a cheerful competence that was reassuring.
  
  
  "My name is Herridge," our pilot said, " and I hope you have a good time on Double Cay." He noticed that the ego accent was gone; apparently, emu had to play all sorts of roles. The acceleration was short and smooth, only when we took off from the runway, the sun broke through the clouds. He took a sip and looked out the window. We flew over the cerro-green area around the airport and soon reached the outskirts of Nassau. The sun seemed to shine softly on the luxurious coastal villas with ih pools, beautiful gardens and incredibly green lawns. Herridge let the plane fly over the harbor in the center of the city; He saw piles of baskets, colorful fabrics, and the same copper products that are sold in all markets from Marrakech to Singapore. A tall, dark-skinned woman with a red bandana on her head and a tent dress waved furiously. Herridge flapped his wingtips for a moment, then we took off as he turned north and flew over the widest part of the island. A few minutes later, the sea was under us again.
  
  
  I saw a few white stripes below her, and a boat was moving fast, leaving two stripes in front of her. The boat kept pace with us for a while, and I realized that it must be a hydrofoil boat. It was on the same course as us, and I had the feeling it was Grady Ingersoll's boat. I was told that he also had a fleet in which ego assistants sailed back and forth between Doublet Cay and Nassau.
  
  
  And then the twin islands came into view, as I'd seen them from a bird's-eye view of Hawk. In the bright sunlight, Resurrection seemed to sparkle - the pool, the golf course, the walled lagoon, the gleaming white towers of the hotel-while Doomsday looked as boring as any construction site. Large gaping holes had been made in the sand and undergrowth, some filled with concrete, others with bulldozers and cranes. The steel frame of one of the buildings rose into the air, casting strange shadows on the ground.
  
  
  As Herridge turned sharply to approach, she saw a bridge under construction between two islands. Massive concrete pillars were already installed on the shore of the "Last Judgment", around which a wall protruded. From air sampling, it looked like part of a roller coaster ride, only a few more.
  
  
  I should have paid more attention to the fleeting impression I'd had, but Herridge had already landed, and I had to help em by gritting my teeth and gripping the chair arms. Like all the pilots I know, she's a bad passenger.
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  My hotel room was obscenely luxurious. The balcony overlooking the water was very large, and the bathroom wasn't much smaller. The green carpet was ankle-deep and so soft that a pair of wide beds seemed almost unnecessary. Inside the small refrigerator was a large carafe of rum punch, and the grinning servant who was busy opening the doors and windows of the cupboards seemed really pleased with my tip. It was a place that anyone could easily fall in love with.
  
  
  From the balcony, he could see the corner of the large pool below him, still crowded in the early evening, with a few figures occupying the beachhead. Under the awning around the woven palm leaves, the steel band made undulating sounds, and I could hear her soft laughing voice. I'm not a big fan of the tourist hotel, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the atmosphere was wonderful.
  
  
  He quickly put on a pair of sun-striped flared trousers, a dark blue see-through shirt, and a faded denim jacket. Around one suitcase, I took what Stewart had made for me in Special Effects, and decided to take a slightly dented pair of tennis ballet slippers. No socks. Wilhelmina and Hugo remained in their secret compartment; he didn't think they would be needed. As I walked through the huge lobby, I had to tell myself that I was here in Double C on business, not on vacation. Everywhere I looked, I saw young girls, some in swimsuits, others in shorts, miniskirts, and jeans that looked like they were painted on their skin. A quick glance convinced me that there were as few bras on the island as there were polar bears. I was curious about what a middle-aged couple named New York-Providence was doing here.
  
  
  Her carapace to the pool, along a wide corridor lined with shops selling beachwear, souvenirs, spirits, books, tobacco, handmade leather goods - when Angela Raffles saw her again.
  
  
  She was sitting in an open room with the setting sun, but even by her silhouette, I recognized her immediately. The girl Angela was talking to was shorter, which meant she was of average height, and almost all of her brown skin was bright in the tiny bikini she was wearing. Her jet-black hair was wet and flowing down her back, and tiny droplets disappeared into the space between her buttocks. Even before he saw her face, her, he felt that she was extraordinary, and he was not mistaken.
  
  
  Her, nodded to Angela, passing mimmo them. She nodded at rheumatism. OK, that was enough. In my disguised role as the super-cool manager of a rock band, I couldn't start with the first friendly gesture, I had to get used to the fact that I was being clambered on by a crowd of female fans.
  
  
  When he was some distance away, he stopped, looked at the pool and the crowd, and gradually turned around so that he could see the tanned girl in front.
  
  
  Her features were almost oriental, and her slightly slanted dark eyes sparkled with animation as she spoke to Angela. Her high cheekbones shone in the late sun, and the water clung to her velvety skin in gentle drops. Nah's mouth was wide, and her full lips curled into a smile that didn't challenge Angela. Her shoulders moved constantly as she spoke, and her high, arched hips swayed. Her breasts were covered with a cloth that accentuated her nipples; her legs were long, muscular, and well-defined, and between her legs, a few tufts of black hair curled out from under her bikini bottom.
  
  
  I hadn't had a woman since Veronica - the girls I'd seen her in the beer stalls along the roads, in Virginia and North Carolina, weren't my type - but even if hers had just come back from a trip down the Nile with Cleopatra, hers would still have been smitten by this girl.
  
  
  She looked at me. Just like Anton, who was already walking towards me. 'Hi. Nah had a voice like a church bell on an early foggy Sunday morning.
  
  
  'Hi there. Hey smiled and took off his sunglasses to get a better look at her.
  
  
  "Didn't I see you at the airport earlier today?"
  
  
  'Indeed.'
  
  
  "Do you plan to stay in Double C for a long time?"
  
  
  "I'm not making any solid plans yet."
  
  
  A knowing smile. "Well, don't leave too soon."
  
  
  She turned around with a hip swing that was very blatantly sexy, and walked arm-in-arm into the hotel with a girl in a bikini, two of the most amazing women she'd ever seen. It was good that I had fun with Veronica; I was curious to know what Hawk knew about our short romance, and he concluded that it would be better for everyone if I never found out.
  
  
  He walked around the pool and looked at the high stone wall beyond. It was masked by trees and shrubs, but a quick glance revealed barbed wire - electrified, I was told - that ran straight through the wall, through leaves and branches.
  
  
  De Doublon's part was obvious. It was a three-story building built around dark stone and weathered brick. The windows facing the pool were closed and shuttered. The only opening in the groan was behind the pool near the hotel's doors, where a solid iron gate blocked the entrance. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would take a day trip all over the island-like a tourist going on a field trip. Night fell quickly as the sun sank into the ocean, but the swimmers stayed by the lighted pool. There was a bar under the same roof as the Tireless Steelband, and I managed to buy bourbon and water instead of rum. I sat there for a while, watching the crowd and the band next to me, and heard the soft splash of water under the low wall of candid water behind me.
  
  
  I went back to the hotel and looked at the casino. There was a sign at the entrance with the names of artists from a nearby cabaret, and one of the photos made me pause.
  
  
  There was no mistaking the oriental features and arched hips, the bold smile that sometimes sparkled even brighter than the photographer's lamps. Ee was called the Negress Table, and apparently she was working in a suit that didn't cover anything but a bikini. She was a friend of Angela's, and that was enough to test her. Besides, the name itself made me uneasy: I'd heard it mentioned by several girls of mixed Cuban, Mulatto, and Chinese descent, mostly whores from Florida. But in Double C, with Grady Ingersoll and Ego directly connected to the Three-Value Attack Skill device, anything that had anything to do with Cuba or the East had to be taken seriously. Everything was important in my work.
  
  
  The casino was a softly lit, luxuriously decorated room with a high ceiling, thick carpets, and modest lighting above the tables. There were two roulette chairs, three poker chairs, and maybe half a dozen chemin-de-fer tables. An alcove at the back of the main hall was reserved for baccarat - big players only, with its own bar and service. Playing cards or dice isn't my game; I have enough on my mind not to worry about numbers on cards or plastic dice. But people who part-visit the casino, part-discover to an experienced observer more than, say, the foreground class of a plane around New York to Lisbon. When her entered, there weren't many people to watch, but soon her saw that-that-that row.this convinced me that I wasn't wasting my time.
  
  
  It was the largest Asian couple I've ever seen, at Cape Kennedy, NY. Odin was around the two of them rolling dice at the poker table, while Ego's companion was paying more attention to the rest of the room than to what was happening on the green baize under ego's nose.
  
  
  He saw me the moment ego noticed her, and those" unfathomable " oriental features gave off a flash of recognition before he quickly looked the other way. I took a deep breath and kept walking, thinking about the picture I'd taken that morning of her with that damn door behind me.
  
  
  As he left, he tried to ask her the nationality of the two men. As I'd realized earlier, they weren't Japanese; that was for sure. He thought of Korea; they had construction and landscaping and a large number of Koreans. On the other hand, they could have come from anywhere between Jakarta and Kabul, and I had no reason to think they were any other tourists who had taken the same route as hers.
  
  
  But her didn't trust this to us for a second.
  
  
  It was time for a cabaret performance, but the place was deserted except for a few people at tables and a few at the long, curved bar. She was taken to a stool near the stage and Stahl waited, sipping an iced bourbon. There was a juggler, a comedian, a horse-faced woman who was also working on parrots, and a squad of Lebanese acrobats who filled the time before Chyna arrived.
  
  
  The wait was worth it. Suddenly, the stage was pitch black, followed by a prolonged drum roll, and the beam of the projector flashed against the closed curtain. It opened abruptly, the folds quivering wildly in the shadows, and the drum stopped. The stage was empty, the silence in the room held its breath - and then, with the clang of a cymbal, the Scene unfolded into the spotlight.
  
  
  For a moment she sat motionless on one leg, like a bronze statue, and then the drums began to beat and she began to wave slowly. She was an amazing combination of life dancer, go-go and stripper. Her costume consisted mostly of a handful of feathers and sequins; she performed barefoot, occasionally tapping her heels in time to the pounding rhythm. Bracelets rattled on her wrists and ankles. Her body shone in the spotlight that followed her like a stubborn lover, and the two mounds of her chest danced and quivered as if everyone had a bicycle. As the pace increased, her dark black hair swirled wildly in all directions, sometimes covering almost her entire torso.
  
  
  And then, she somehow managed to untie the bra from the suit and let Em fall onto the stage. The strands of her hair fluttered across her chest and stomach, parted for a split second and then closed again. I found myself leaning forward on the bar stool and holding my breath.
  
  
  She spun faster and faster, until the hair rose from her head like an umbrella, and every muscle in her body moved wildly...
  
  
  Darkening - and silence.
  
  
  I blinked, trying to see into the pitch darkness, but I couldn't see anything.
  
  
  And then the spotlight came back on, and she was sitting with her head bowed, her chest heaving under her hair, her arms at her sides, her legs pressed together. The applause was supposed to be loud, but the audience was too small. I tried to applaud her, too, and as she left the stage, looking like an Inca princess, she glanced in my direction, and I was sure I saw her smile.
  
  
  Brylev turned on slowly in the hall, and he took a sip of his drink. What now? I didn't have to wait long to find out.
  
  
  She slipped through a small door at the far end of the stage, swung between the tables, waved to the orchestra, and walked over to the bar. She was wearing a white shirt dress that was so low-cut that the neckline didn't end far from the hemline, which barely reached below her thighs. Nah had a white scarf tied around her hair and she was wearing sandals. She didn't look at me at all.
  
  
  The bartender placed a bottle of champagne and a glass in front of her. Instead of sitting down, she put one foot on the nearest stool, picked up her glass, drained it, and refilled it. During the performance, several men had come out of the casino and were now grinning and peeking in her direction. She ignored nu, and when one of the men around them whispered to the bartender, he shook his head and pushed away the bill the man held out to Ego.
  
  
  It's time to use my attention trick. I pulled out a small gold plate about the size of a silver dollar that I'd been given to back up my cover story. He let the thing spin, and Stahl waited.
  
  
  The girl still didn't look in my direction. Odin by the Asians she saw, at Cape Kennedy, NY and again at the casino, walked in and approached her sincerely. She didn't seem happy to see him, but she shrank back as he approached. He took her hand, put his face close to hers, and apparently spoke urgently to her. She shook off ego's hand, but remained motionless. Finally, she nodded, and the man went out again.
  
  
  She didn't seem to take my bait, so I called the bartender.
  
  
  'Yes sir?'
  
  
  "Hey, man, do you think this band could play anything other than the 1933 Broadway songs?" Her, nodded at the orchestra playing the Cole Porter song.
  
  
  The bartender looked like a Miami refugee, with a pencil-thin mustache, a loose face, and carefully slicked-back hair. They were too black, probably painted. "Well, I think the band can play to order, sir," he said automatically.
  
  
  "Ah, never mind." He allowed the gold plate to spin again and thump loudly on the counter.
  
  
  He agreed. "It's an interesting coin."
  
  
  It was handed to Emu by thing. "Read the sign, man. In my work, it means "Oscar".
  
  
  He picked up the coin and held it up to the light of the bar. Ego's brows rose in approval. "Hey, I know this band." Emu must be in his fifties, but he still knew more or less about show business. "Are you a member?"
  
  
  I managed to look both modest and arrogant.
  
  
  "No, her ih manager. It was our first gold record ."
  
  
  It worked. She looked in our direction.
  
  
  "Do you play anywhere nearby? Paradise island? Free port?"Her," he shook his head. "God, no." He looked at the nearly empty hall. "We're not playing here, man. You know, he's here on vacation. Her, I heard that it was fashionable here, but I don't notice it."
  
  
  The bartender coughed, looked at Chyna for a moment, then back at me. "Well, our entertainment..."
  
  
  "Oh yeah, I know her, man. This girl is amazing, but the music... I grimaced, held out my hand, and pointedly pointed my thumb down.
  
  
  Qin chuckled hoarsely and finished her champagne. "Tell the gentleman that it's good that he's talking silently to me," she said in a slight Spanish accent that cut through the music.
  
  
  Hey nodded, and smiled. Her teeth gleamed as she laughed too.
  
  
  "And give him something to drink, Max," she added, before she did.
  
  
  turn around and quickly head for the casino.
  
  
  More than once, a girl who looks like every man's dream girl offers me a drink and then leaves without even asking my name. Her hotel refused, but then came to the conclusion that it would be stupid. The ice has broken, and the next time I see her, we'll have something to talk about first.
  
  
  I didn't have to wait long. Half an hour later, Chinu saw her again. Her mimmo passed by the pool and saw a white dress in the illuminated darkness on a solid iron fence in the Ston de Doublon. She found herself between two well-built men in dark suits. They were moving fast, and even at this distance, I had the distinct impression that the girl was walking two legs faster than I would have liked. He saw the gate open and close right behind them; Chyna didn't seem to have much trouble, but apparently just didn't want to go in. It wasn't hard to suppress the impulse to pursue ih; the memories of Veronica and how she passed me off were still too fresh and painful. Besides, it wasn't my job to save all the girls, even if it was absolutely necessary.
  
  
  I went back to the casino, lost twenty bucks on chemin-de-fer, fought off a chubby girl who somehow heard about my so-called profession, and then stayed in the big house for a while. There was no sign of these Asians, which was a disappointment; it would have been an excuse to ask a few questions of the desk clerk or secretary.
  
  
  Finally, he went to the counter to get the key. The receptionist was a small, mobile black man with a perfect English accent.
  
  
  "We hope you enjoyed it, Mr. Walton."
  
  
  It's like a tape recording, I thought. "There aren't many people here," I said.
  
  
  He gave a quick shrug. "We're almost full, sir."
  
  
  "But they're not a couple, are they?" he told her with a chuckle and nodded toward the nearly empty casino.
  
  
  Ego's smile was grim. "Maybe ..."
  
  
  "But you're lucky to have some great players at home from both ends of the world."
  
  
  'Simple ones, sir?'
  
  
  "Those Japs or whatever. Her, I saw several people sitting at the poker table. .
  
  
  'Oi. Yes. We have gentlemen from the East on Double Cay.
  
  
  'Oh, right?'
  
  
  It was almost midnight, and the desk clerk was as bored as I'd expected. "We're talking about the Doomsday Project, a twin island, you know. Mr. Ingersoll has signed a contract for the construction of landscaping with a firm on Formosa or somewhere nearby ."
  
  
  "Oh, yeah?" she says again, trying to stifle a yawn.
  
  
  "Indeed, sir, I believe this is a kind of experimental construction project; Mr. Ingersoll, as you may know, is actively involved in improving the living conditions of minority groups around the world."
  
  
  'I can imagine.'Her,' he said, looking at the skinny little black man. "Don't you think he might have started a little licking, towards the house?"
  
  
  Ego's eyes became opaque. 'Yes, sir; my time is almost up, and I still have a lot of administrative work to do.'
  
  
  He opened the door of his room a crack when he realized something was wrong. I'd left it on holier than usual, as I always do in hotel rooms , but now he stepped out into total darkness. He stopped and listened.
  
  
  The only sound she heard was her own breathing. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The light switch found it. Clicked hard.
  
  
  It's still dark.
  
  
  All I could see was the pale rectangle of sliding glass door to my balcony, lit by moonlight hovering over the sea. As my eyes began to adjust to the dim light, I heard a soft movement, saw a shadow slide toward me.
  
  
  He ran across the carpet and grabbed someone's clothes. The shoulder is twisted and turned under the fabric. I tried to pull him away, but although the intruder was smaller than me, he was quite strong. He caught a glimpse of her small, round, expressionless face in the shadows. It was supposed to be one by Asians. Then an elbow hit me like a sledgehammer between the ribs.
  
  
  My grip loosened; with my free hand, I poked her in the throat and slapped him across the jaw. The man growled and backed up against the balcony railing. In the moonlight, he saw that the metal in ego's hand glinted. Ego's hand turned to me, and I grabbed her wrist, half-twisted Ego, ducked under her plump body, and lifted her up.
  
  
  He didn't make a sound as he flew over the railing and fell seven stories to the tiles around the pool. There was a very dull thud, like a watermelon breaking on cement, then complete silence.
  
  
  He leaned over the railing and tried to see the body, but the saint by the pool had gone out all around him. No one seemed to have heard anything. He waited for her for a long time, then went in and turned on another light switch.
  
  
  Still nothing happened. I checked the lights; they were all there.
  
  
  The phone rang. He picked it up.
  
  
  "Mr. Walton?"
  
  
  Yes.'
  
  
  "Simple ones, sir. You speak to the front desk, we inform all guests that the electricity has been cut off. It will be restored in the near future ."
  
  
  I remembered that Sergey was still on in the corridor, and said so.
  
  
  "Oh, yes, sir, they're working on a different pattern."
  
  
  He seemed to be complacently proud of his own - or someone else's-ingenuity. "We always have saints at the Doublé Cay Hotel, sir."
  
  
  "Well, that's good, then. “thanks. He hung up and quickly checked his luggage with a flashlight. The intruder did not find the compartment in which he hid his weapon, although he slightly ruined my clothes.
  
  
  It didn't matter what he could find, so she undressed and bench-pressed to sleep. Even though I couldn't get a good look at the man's face, I'm betting that there are fewer obese Asians in Double C now."
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  By dawn, the body was gone, and it was almost noon when he heard her whisper. I was sitting on a chaise longue by the pool, waiting for the enemy to move in my direction. My plump, mascara-smeared potential suitor crackled in my ear. Some of her peers, both men and women, gathered around us, looking at me with some doubt. Although I'm not exactly Mick Jagger, he was the best on all the available idols. "Are you looking for ... er ... talents?" The questioner was a boy with acne who was on the plane with me yesterday. "I'd like that, man." I was getting tired of the word, and he decided not to use it very often. "A breath of fresh air sampling between two rounds. Do you play this thing? I nodded at his guitar. He blushed. 'A little bit.''Yes. He looked the other way, squinting against the sun reflecting off the pool water. Indifference - vote part of the image. One of the girls was sitting at the foot of my sunbed, the bottom of her bathing suit pressed against my toes. She was small, round, and exuberantly built, and her light brown hair shone in the sun-or something. I resisted the urge to explore her, but accidentally shifted my foot so that my ankle slid against her warm thigh. She giggled and deliberately resisted, so my heel settled between hers. She really started to appreciate the cover Hawk had developed for me when a tall, bearded young man burst into the group. "Hey, haven't you heard yet?" As far as I could tell, he hadn't spoken to Hema or me in particular. Ego's skin was the color of the stucco wall on the other side of the pool, and he could lose forty pounds without dropping below the numbers. He had to be a poet; He began to recognize types. Someone said no, they didn't hear anything. "Last night, some guy made a big jump. There. He pointed to a spot under my balcony. No one seemed particularly interested, so I was given a spin.
  
  
  'Who is it?' Beard shrugged. "Who knows? The desk clerk who told me this said he jumped off his balcony. He's alone again, this time on the balcony open under mine. "It was a Vietnamese or something. He left a suicide note saying that he couldn't live in this decadent society anymore or anything like that. Ego didn't really trust her with the story - by the time the story got around to the pool, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the dead man was a six - foot Swedish acrobat who'd fallen during a midnight workout-but I strained my ears at the mention of the suicide note. If this was true, it meant that there was a very efficient cleaning team working on my attackers. The girl on my feet squirmed a little more insistently, and I had to think about it. "Yeah, well, I think I can jump her a little bit on my own," I said, standing up abruptly. After a few steps, he reached the end of the pool, dived into the blue water, and slid as far below the surface as he could before surfacing to gasp for air. There weren't many people in the pool; it looked like it was mostly a group of people sitting and watching. He swam across to the other side, turned around, and pushed back toward the center of the pool. He floated on his back for a while, looking up at the cloudless sky. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a high stone wall and De Doublon beyond it. When I looked at it, a trapdoor opened, and I saw a glimpse of the reflected world outside her window. A telescope - or a telephoto lens; I had to do my best not to look openly out the window, but if someone was interested in me, there was no point in showing that I knew about it. I didn't realize I was swimming below a high trampoline until I heard a muffled "Watch out!" and looked up to see a white and bronze figure flying toward me. He swam away, plunging one hand deep into the water and kicking with all his might. The diver sank a millimeter into the water, grazed my shoulder, and kicked up a wave that almost engulfed me. I didn't get hit hard, but I stuck my head under the water to see if the diver was hurt. The body lay at the bottom of the pool, its legs bent and its body twisted in the refracted sunlight. It didn't move for a while, and he was about to dive for it when his legs suddenly straightened up and the diver lunged at me. Our foreheads collided, but it didn't hurt; her long hair softened the impact. She laughed as she approached, and her full lips were so close to mine that it was almost an insult not to kiss her. But I offended her-I played cool. It wasn't so bad. "Ah!" she was gargling. "It's you, Mr. Walton!" I didn't ask her how she knew my name. After all, Byblos had signed it the night before. 'Yes, it's me.'"Did I hurt you?"'I don't think so. Are you okay?"Even when she was in & nb, hey managed to shrug. I saw that-ee, the white bathing suit only covers the minimum, and maybe not all. The warmth of her tanned body greeted me as we swam, our knees touching under the water. Without saying a word to us, we swam to the edge of the pond - opposite where he was-and climbed out, The water moving with the smooth grace of a seal. She picked up a large towel from the chaise longue, wrapped it around her shoulders, and looked at me. 'Good?'
  
  
  I didn't have to ask her what mistletoe meant, not the way she looked at me. Without any clothes on, or in swimming trunks, which is more or less the same thing - I had a pretty impressive appearance. I say this simply because it is a fact, and I try very hard to make it so. The bullet holes and stab wounds I've had throughout my career have been expertly patched up by surgical geniuses that AX has hired, so I don't look like a piece of meat that they show at meat school. "Let's go for a walk," I said sincerely. "I haven't had the chance to do this circus yet." 'Why not?
  
  
  In any case, I don't need to lie in the sun." She slowly swiped the towel around her dark body at will before tossing ego onto the chair behind Nah. This was my password for scrutinizing ee; her skin apparently didn't need suntan lotion to get that shade. He did it slowly and decisively, starting with those sensational legs, pausing for a moment at the softly rounded bottom before looking down at the breasts stuck in the bikini. Her nipples were visible through the white cloth. "You're wearing the same bikini as yesterday," I commented softly. 'Ah! You noticed!''Yes. She laughed soundlessly, and her eyes glittered. "I always think that if you find clothes that fit you, there's no point in changing them. Don't you think so, Mr. Walton?" "I think so too. First Name Nickname. ' Yes. It's mine... "I can read, too. Your photos don't do you justice, though. 'Never.'The girl knew how to handle compliments. Her carapace to the ocean along the wall De Doublon, while She chatted next to me, her thigh almost touching mine. "So you're on vacation?" 'Exactly.' We circled around a group of elderly sunbathers, mostly with white bellies and one-piece floral swimsuits. She was seen by a middle-aged couple around the Lear plane, the woman glaring at Chyna, trying to keep her full body in view between the girl and her husband. I couldn't blame her. "Will you be here for a long time?" "It depends on what you'll need to do."
  
  
  He stopped and pointed to the corner de Doublon, which was a prominent wall. "What's that over there?" "This ... something like a mansion. A very rich man lives there ." He grinned knowingly. "I was invited," she replied. I didn't insist. Ahead was a gap in the moaning embankment with a whitewashed staircase leading to the beach. As she walked ahead of me, she ruffled her hair so that the wet strands brushed my bare forehead. Here and there, small groups of people were lying on the sand, and there were several figures lying in the calm. There was almost no surf, just ripples on the waves and the splash of pale green water on the beach. Eyes - male and female-followed us as we walked across the heavy sand at the water's edge. We ignored the stares. She walked smoothly, not swaying much. Hey, that wasn't necessary. To our left, the Stena de Doublon continued along the coast. After walking a few hundred yards, I noticed an opening above a small cove. This should be the entrance to the lagoon. A small pedestrian bridge stretched out over the water; above it, the walls bulged out like a mushroom spouse over smooth concrete. No chance of getting to the other side, even with a hook and rope, which didn't surprise me. I also knew that the short tunnel leading under the wall to the lagoon was closed off by a retractable iron fence, and I was wondering what it would take to raise the ego. As we were crossing the bridge, he pointed to the hole. 'What is it?'"Oh, it's like a big pond. This man has his own boats. 'Oh, right?' She nodded and took my hand; her hips passed mimmo me. "Do you like boats, Nick?"' 'I have one. That means I can use it alone around the hotel ." "What boat?" This... I do not know what they call it. A fast boat? A small boat that doesn't go very fast ." "Speedboat. Yes. Well, then we should go there." "Are you good with the boat?" She snuggled up to lick me, and her dark eyes smiled. "I can drive a boat." I knew damn well what she was implying, but I wanted her to say it. "We'll see. "' Later?'"Yes, later."
  
  
  De Doublon occupied the entire western part of the island. We walked along the wall in a wide circle; there were no swimmers or sunbathers here, and the soft surf lapped around the barely sheltered coral reefs not far from the shore. A single white sail stood out in the sea on the horizon; other than that, there was nothing to be seen but the gently swirling water. "How long have you been working here, Sir?" "Oh ... almost a year, I think." "Oh, that's a lot." She shrugged her shoulders. "They pay well, and life here is pleasant."
  
  
  "Did you live in Florida before that?" She stopped abruptly and looked at me searchingly. "Why are you asking this?' 'I don't know. It seemed quite likely to me ." The girl nodded, a look of pain in her eyes. 'Yes. She escaped from Castro." "I didn't mean...", "Ah, it doesn't matter. It's been a long time, she was a little girl when we ran away. My mother and I used to go with the others in a small boat. They shot at us, the Cuban patrol, but we got away. Almost. Her brow quirked questioningly. "Mine... my mother. She was injured and seriously injured. For more than a month, the doctors said that Hoi would get better, and then she died." 'I'm really sorry.' She shrugged again. "That was a long time ago, Nick." "Right after the revolution, Castro threw ego in jail. With them, her ferret hadn't heard anything about nen. There was nothing to say. I'd heard too many stories like this to just believe hey, but there was always a chance that she was telling the truth - and I didn't think it mattered at all. We walked in silence; she came close to me, but seemed lost in thought. Finally she said: "You know that's not my real name." 'Oi? She smiled briefly. "That's not surprising to you." He shook his head and smiled knowingly. "When she came to showbiz in Miami five or six years ago, my agent didn't want to record me as Margherita Ortiz. "Too ordinary," he said, looking me in the face.
  
  
  Your mother was half Chinese. My father was a mulatto. Hence the name of the Negro. " 'Oi. She stopped and looked at me. "Do you know everything, Nick?" "Ha!" She squeezed my hand. "Why did you come to a place like Doublecay, Nick? It's just hippie kids and old men with their fat women." "Ah, I heard about this piece of dynamite that's putting on a dance show here, so I had to come." Her guttural laugh is absurdly skeptical. She stood on tiptoe, her breasts pressed against my chest. Her velvety lips parted and her eyes dimmed. We kissed. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and her pelvis turned against mine. My rheumatism was immediate and unmistakable, and she pressed harder against me when her tongue would mine. My hands slid down her back, to the bottom of her bathing suit, to the warm skin between her firm ass. It was probably a good thing that at that moment two young couples could be seen walking slowly along the high wall. IH saw her first and drew Chyna's attention to them. She sighed, then giggled and touched the bulge on my bathing suit. "I'll follow you around until you cool off, okay?" She laughed happily. "I knew I was right, Nick. You're the character that lets them go to hell." He smiled gratefully, and we went to meet the others. After we'd passed nu and turned the corner of the wall, she wrapped her arms around my waist and rubbed her cheek against my arm. "It's my day off, Nick." "What do you usually do in the evenings?" "Sometimes I drive her to Nassau. Or her, I'll stay in my room to read the book " Or are you going on a boat ride?" Yes. These are children."I think it's a good idea. This evening?''Of course.'"See you at the cabaret bar. Let's eat first, then... "No," she said sharply. "Not in barr. I don't like... Well, you know. I won't let anyone take me there if we have an appointment. I'll come to your room." "Do you know where it is?" She nodded. "You should have written the number on the front desk last night." 'Oi. It's true.' We walked a little further until we could see a hotel in the distance. "You have ... hmm ... there's no one here, is there?" 'What do you mean?''More?' 'Oi. No, not particularly, Nick. There is no one here who would give me pleasure, even for a short time." Her eyes told me that I was apparently an exception, but when we got to a small area off to the side of the hotel where a dozen colorful beach buggies shimmered in the sun, I thought it was damn hard to believe that a beauty like Me was just waiting for Nick Walton to fill her lonely evenings.
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  I didn't feel like it, and a few bottles of ice-cold Amstel beer were brought to my room. The waiter set up a table by the balcony door, and when he left, she took out a few things around her suitcase that she wanted to study. On his leisurely journey south, he drove through New York and bought some navigation charts. Oni struggled to find what his hotel was, but in the end we found a map of Doublet Cay. She had barely looked at Nah then; she was very anxious to get out of this bustling city and hit the road. Now he drank half a glass of beer and unfolded the map. She can't see much; no self-respecting skipper Stahl would use her to maneuver a large ship near two islets, but this was the web map that was able to find her. Several dangerous underwater obstacles were pointed out; two old wrecks, coral reefs he had seen earlier that day, and several shallow areas. The lagoon at the De Doublon site was marked, but the exit across the ocean was not visible. This was not my immediate concern; I was more interested in the waters around another island, Domesday Island. There were shallows and irregular reefs. Ih tried my best to memorize it, know that it won't do me much good in the dark. But at least he knew they were there, and that might make a difference. Then he opened it and stepped out onto the balcony, the sun now obscured by a pile of high, fast-moving clouds. He leaned far over the railing, but could see nothing but the corner nearest to the sea, De Doublon. I made sure to get a room on the top floor of the hotel, but now I realized that I should have tried to get a room with a full view of the hotel. Well, all you had to do was walk into the room looking like that. I changed into old white jeans, a terry-cloth sweater, and leather sandals, put on my sunglasses, and made sure I had enough change in my pocket; then I walked down the long, silent hallway. Most likely, these were numbers from 716 to 729. I took the elevator to the lower-floor lobby and, in case anyone noticed me, entered the large, dimly lit lobby. I picked it up and ordered rum, which I didn't want at all. After a few minutes, he asked her where the men's room was and headed in that direction. As I had hoped, there were two phone kiosks. She dialed a hotel number and asked for 722. When I called her, I thought my first attempt was a success, a woman answered me; she seemed sleepy and agitated. I asked her about her family, she said that her family wasn't there, so I apologized and hung up. Patience, he told himself, and went back to his barstool. Over the next half hour, I called the other rooms on my floor twice and found them both occupied. If the next time I called, I didn't find an empty room, I had to try something else; people who manage large tourist hotels are not stupid, and sooner or later everyone will realize that the same person is calling different numbers on the same floor. It's an old hacking trick - so old that I was almost ashamed to use it. But I didn't have much time, and I didn't want to use a more direct and violent tactic to get into a room that didn't give me the view I wanted. On the fourth attempt, he let the phone ring ten times before making sure the room was empty. He hurried back to the lobby and took the elevator to his floor. The first thing I was taught as a spy apprentice was how to type reports, and the second was how to open locks. Every belt I own has built-in tools, and in less than a minute, I found myself in room 721. He left the door ajar - so that when the residents returned, he could apologize for seeing the door open and going in to enjoy the view-and quickly walked over to the balcony door. I didn't have to stand on the balcony for long. From where I kept it, I could see most of the terrain clearly. She caught a glimpse of the men walking purposefully back and forth, just outside the wall. They weren't wearing uniforms, and no weapons were visible, but the loose Swedish casual clothing they were wearing was surprisingly similar and could disguise anything from a .45 caliber to a sawn-off rifle. There were several water-powered boats in the lagoon, and some of them sailed in & nb. He saw a section of the wide cobbled square where other people were sunbathing, with servants in white jackets walking between them with trays of drinks... and other things. There was no need to get a close-up to see what else was being delivered. She recognized a bearded young man weighing about 140 kg as he reached for a rather special white top hat, neatly folded on a tray presented to emu. Hashish, most likely; it took more than a free drink to entice some of the customers. But that was all he could see. The trees around the inn were planted close together, and the curved inner wall behind the lagoon blocked a good view of the building's facade. So, the double barricade, which always created the problem of having to climb over the outer wall, I don't know where the guards are - and then if it somehow got past those obstacles, there was the problem of getting through the inner barricade, and God knows what else to overcome. .
  
  
  "Look, sir. Can I help you with something? Hearing her voice, he turned around, mentally cursing the cursed thick carpets. The tall, dark-skinned man standing in the doorway was dressed in ordinary casual clothes. One hand was carelessly tucked into the ego-minute short doublet. He smiled questioningly and seemed completely at ease. I cleared my throat and hoped I looked embarrassed enough. 'Please excuse me. I saw that the door was open and went in to see the view from this side of the hotel."
  
  
  'Yes.'He closed the door behind him - an act that made me wary. "This is the highest point of Resurrection Island, and the view is very interesting." This time, he smiled broadly, and then her knowledge of ego. "Herridge?" The Lyra pilot bowed his head for a moment. "Of course, Mr. Walton." 'I'm really sorry. Its just a hotel... I waved a tired hand at the balcony, then grinned shyly. "If you check, you'll see that I didn't come here to take anything." He took a few steps into the room and continued to stare at me. 'This is not necessary; You don't look like a thief to me, Mr. Walton. He put in a lot of effort to assume a relaxed posture. "Apologize," he said, then let his natural curiosity get through. Herridge nodded in understanding. "Yes, this is my room. Doublé Cay treats its staff very well. Equality for all ". He said it without a trace of bitterness. "I'm glad to hear it. They understand that the ih pilot should be happy ." "I'm satisfied." He nodded at me over his shoulder. "Maybe you were interested in this rather unusual situation, behind the wall?" "That's all, isn't it? I mean everyone who knows who lives there." "But I thought he was a hermit. Who are all these people frolicking in the ego lagoon? "Oh, Mr. Ingersoll may be a recluse, but he's not selfish. It invites parts of young people to use their egos ... private premises ". "I'm starting to get it." "Me too." 'Oi? Herridge pointed in the direction of the inn closest to the pool. "It is no longer a secret that Mr. Ingersoll installed several television cameras between these trees. He seems to be enjoying himself by watching the guests and personally choosing the ones he wants to invite to his property." "It's a secret to me." This possibility, for estestvenno, came to my mind when Hawk instructed me, and I was glad that it was confirmed. "You know that now, Mr. Walton." Well, listen, I'm sorry I just came in. You see, someone who travels as much as she does-hotels, sanatoriums, and the like-gets into the habit of sticking their nose in everything. You never know when you'll meet an old friend or something. 'I understand her. Herridge stood like a rock, a little out of the way to let me pass.
  
  
  Mimmo walked past her, nodded, waved vaguely as he entered the corridor, and carefully closed the door behind him. On the way to her room, I wondered why the pilot, in his work clothes, had a gun in the pocket of his doublet. Perhaps, I thought, Herridge had other responsibilities at Double C, which I already knew about.
  
  
  There was still enough time left to explore Resurrection Island a little more. A jolly slave in the parking lot handed me a beach buggy, one of those wrecked Volkswagen cars with a special body and wide tires. He drove down a winding driveway lined with palm trees until he reached the golf course. The club was no more than a covered pavilion, open on three sides, with a row of lockers on the fourth side. There was a small bar and tables inside and out, but no one was there.
  
  
  He walked across the wooden floor of the pavilion and looked out at the golf course. The gently sloping fields were covered with lush greenery, dotted in places with flowering plants and artfully arranged palm trees. In the distance, he saw a lone quartet of players and two golf carts; otherwise, the course seemed deserted.
  
  
  He got back into the buggy and continued on without a destination. At the end of the golf course, the road widens, skirting bushes and abruptly joining me in a small harbor. Breakwaters jutted out on either side of the bay; two or three good-sized cruisers were moored at the port of Bar, along with a handful of small sailboats and speedboats. I've never seen anything like a hydrofoil before.
  
  
  Ingersoll must have had a fleet somewhere in on lagoon, he thought, wondering where.
  
  
  On the other side of the bay, Doomsday Island saw her, with its steel skeletons rising around the sand and its bridge pillars jutting out over the waters of the bay. From where he'd stored it, the renovation of the bridge at the farthest pier looked more like a mass of steel beams thrown in and forgotten. There was no sign of construction activity on the bridge, but I could see it in the distance, the crane's lifting beams and the dots of yellow construction helmets swirling around it. It seemed like a normal construction project to me, and he wouldn't have realized if it was anything else when looking at the open water from more than half a mile away.
  
  
  The muffled growl of a roaring engine drew my gaze to the left. The white boat rounded a remote spot at the end of the bay, and the white hull rose above the water on gleaming metal struts. A hydrofoil boat, and I didn't have to wonder where it came from. Angela was sitting in the back of the open cab, next to a square, plump Asian man, and behind the wheel was one of the long-haired young men I'd seen with her at the airport the day before.
  
  
  The fast boat made a wide signpost and headed into the strait between the two islands. She swam to the long port of bar, which also went into the water of the Last Judgment, slowed down, approaching the shore, and plunged into the water. Several small figures came forward to grab the mooring rope, then the trio climbed the ladder, jumped ashore, and disappeared behind a cluster of low buildings.
  
  
  The" contractor "from the" Formosa " mentioned by the registrar, the companion of my attacker the previous evening, apparently urgently visited the construction site with two members of the intimate six ...
  
  
  I was watching the boats in the small harbor, and I was curious about what kind of boat Chyna was. At first, all she wanted to do was listen to her, see what she could tell me about Ingersoll's operations, but now I had a better idea.
  
  
  The airstrip was located on high ground, not far from the harbor. The Lear Jet was parked in front of a shack with a wind sign flying over it, and there were several sports planes nearby. I had nowhere else to go, so I drove on the concrete platform. A man came out around the shack and watched for a while, then went back inside. He was just a tourist.
  
  
  Now he rode the buggy to the beach for the first and last time, completing his lap at a smooth pace over the sand until he reached the tennis courts next to the hotel. They were as deserted as a beach; it was obvious that the guests of the Doublé Cay Hotel were not preoccupied with anything more stressful than golf and lounging at home by the pool.
  
  
  After returning the buggy, I went straight to my room; now was not the time to be wary of young men who might attack me. I slept through it for an hour, then began to prepare for the upcoming evening.
  
  
  Hers weighed the potential need for my hidden weapons against the likelihood that with Rank I wouldn't have much chance of hiding my ego for long; then hers reluctantly decided to leave Wilhelmina and Hugo in place. Under otherwise favorable circumstances, espionage work is difficult enough, but given the slim chance that the dancer was just what she thought she was, I couldn't afford to complicate matters by starting the ego with a gun and a stiletto. I'll get caught.
  
  
  He put on dark slacks, a dark brown sweater, and a light blue blazer, and left behind his somewhat worn tennis ballet slippers. Then hers, I sat on the balcony for a few minutes and looked at my corner near the pool. The steel belt was still occupied, and the late sun was breaking through a ragged cloud cover.
  
  
  Someone coughed softly. I turned around, but there was no one in the room behind me. Then he heard a low murmur of voices, but the words were unintelligible. Hearing the sound, he went to the balcony railing and listened. Around the few words I heard, the language seemed vaguely familiar, but strange. He looked down and leaned forward just enough to see the balcony railing below.
  
  
  A brown hand and a piece of black sleeve lay on the railing. Her head slowly tilted back, and I guess the smile on my face was grim. So they remained open under me - and for a fairly flexible person it will not be difficult to climb from the ih balcony to mine, and even easier to get up again. Only yesterday's intruder failed to take advantage of this easy escape route ...
  
  
  It took me a few minutes to arrange something in my room, and I was just finishing when there was a knock on my door. Her body was motionless, but relaxed as she stared at her watch. I arrived on time.
  
  
  When I opened the door for her and saw her standing there, for a moment I almost wished I hadn't had to use her the way I'd planned. It only took a moment.
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  "Yes," he told her softly, slowly studying her. As always, she was dressed in white, this time in an intricate floor-length dress, draped, pleated, and tucked in more or less Indian style. As she walked, her dress loosened here and there, exposing her bronzed legs, and the low neckline made it clear that Irene wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her breathtaking breasts brushed against my camisole as she swam mimmo me, and when she was in the middle of the room, she pirouetted and posed with the light around the balcony wall behind her.
  
  
  "Do you like me?" she asked.
  
  
  "It's a stupid corkscrew."
  
  
  She giggled. 'Yes. She looked around, her eyes fixed on the large bed. "Can we have a snack before dinner?"
  
  
  I usually don't slow down to respond to such suggestions, but this panther woman was too fast for me. She sensed my hesitation and raised her eyebrows innocently.
  
  
  "I mean, a little drink."
  
  
  In a way, it was all for the best; I had plans for the evening, and she asked me to sort them out in the right order. "Rum punch?"
  
  
  'Champagne.'It wasn't a request.
  
  
  Her, went to the phone. "Let's see how quickly the ego is brought in."
  
  
  'Not necessarily. She went to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne from behind a large punch decanter. "I don't drink anything else if I get this," she said.
  
  
  "Did you put that bottle in there?"
  
  
  "Her." She tilted her head and looked at me. "Do you like it too?"
  
  
  "I don't mind it."
  
  
  We each drank chilled glasses, which she also left in the refrigerator, and deliberately stayed away from each other. Our conversation was interrupted; she asked me about my work, but didn't seem very interested in my answers. That sent another warning to my brain; This was supposed to be a showbiz hustler, and if she wasn't planning on spending the rest of her career dancing on Take-Kay, she should at least pretend to be fascinated by my carefully rehearsed stories.
  
  
  Instead, she turned the conversation to herself, to her unhappy childhood, to her bitterness toward Castro and all the Communists. She told all about her mother, how she escaped across mainland China to go through it all again. She was almost convincing, but she was too insistent on it.
  
  
  And that was fine with me; I no longer had the slightest doubt that I was going to do it at night.
  
  
  When we came out, it was dark around the room. Downstairs, we avoided the main dining room in favor of the living room; the consecration was so soft that it looked as if Chyna's white dress was glowing. She led me to a secluded corner with a view of the water, as far away from the bar as possible and the cha-cha-cha band playing behind a small dance floor.
  
  
  The waiter immediately appeared with a bottle of champagne and only one menu.
  
  
  "They know me," she explained.
  
  
  I had to laugh.
  
  
  "The fillet is always very good, Nick."
  
  
  'Good. You are a real expert ." I didn't care if the girl took matters into her own hands that way, after all, she was here at home, and it didn't hurt to play by her rules. For a while.
  
  
  She was insatiable in ed and attacked the buttery tender steak with delicate concentration. We didn't talk much, which I liked. Some couples were dancing, mostly elderly people, with the exception of one couple kissing like newlyweds. A couple of long-haired boys were sitting at a table near the band, dressed in bright but relatively normal clothes - like students playing hippie games on weekends.
  
  
  After the coffee was served, he asked her to dance. She shook her head firmly, her long, white-streaked hair falling over her shoulders. "I dance for money, Nick." Her teeth gleamed in the gloom. "Everything else I do is just for fun."
  
  
  He looked at her for a moment, then lightly took her hand. "Then you'll definitely want to dress up."
  
  
  Her eyebrows shot up. 'Oi?'
  
  
  "Unless you want to go for a swim in your race boat."
  
  
  "A speedboat. You told me so yourself.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "But then why would I dress up?" She squeezed my hand and stroked the folds of her dress. "That's nothing either." We went out the side door and walked around the pool to the parking lot. Chyna, of course, had her own beach buggy, and she drove with the same ferocious concentration she'd shown over dinner. When we reached the port of bar, she pulled up to the dock, the planks rattling under her wheels.
  
  
  The boat was parked at the end of Port Bar, next to a large Chris Craft with several lanterns on the lower deck. She giggled, rolled her eyes in ego's direction, and headed back to her boat. It was a high-speed boat, about five meters long, with a large cabin heavily covered with soft mats. Like everything else in the Ranks, everything was white. I didn't really like it, but there was nothing I could do about it.
  
  
  She pulled up her skirt, took off her sandals, and jumped lightly into the cab. She was thrown off by the aft mooring line as she pulled back the 75-hp Mercury outboard engine, and when it began to work steadily, the bow line untied her and sat down next to her. She was good, she knew what she was doing as she stepped back, turned the signs 90 degrees, and swam around the bay with a growing roar.
  
  
  'Where do you want to go?'Stop it!' she shouted over the roar of the engine.
  
  
  He waved his hand vaguely. "Let's just watch something."
  
  
  We raced through the haze, a short wave, guided only by the distant lights of the hotel on the left and a few work lanterns on Domesday Island on the right; a sliver of moon meant nothing. She pulled the boat onto a thread of the runway and dashed parallel to the shore. We passed the hotel, skirted the farthest point where the gloomy walls of the Doubloon cast shadows on the sand, then turned back.
  
  
  Chyna's hair fluttered in the wind, and the ribbon she had tied in her hair fell apart. He reached out and pulled it out. She grinned and patted my leg.
  
  
  Hey shouted in her ear, pointing at the steering wheel."Can I see it?"
  
  
  She hesitated, then said. 'Of course. Why not?"We switched places, which was an interesting maneuver in itself, when we were climbing over another one, but we didn't do anything because we were still going pretty fast.
  
  
  It sped up and we flew on, and now the hotel to our left flashed a mimmo departure point. He slowed down and turned to Chyna.
  
  
  "How about another island?"
  
  
  "Do you mean' The Last Judgment?'
  
  
  'Yes. What do you see there?
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. "Only bulldozers. Very ugly.'
  
  
  "Let's go take a look."
  
  
  She looked at me doubtfully. "They won't let anyone in."
  
  
  "God, baby, her, love to watch construction landscaping. Let's see.'
  
  
  I didn't care if she fell for it or not; she was swerved. We raced across the bay to the concrete piers and the beach beyond.
  
  
  Before we passed the last pillar, I saw people running down the k & nb slope. Even in the dim light, he could see the weapons they were carrying. He slowed down and let the boat drift until the bottom brushed the sand.
  
  
  We were blinded by a powerful flashlight. He raised his hand and looked at Chyna. She sat motionless, lips parted, eyes blank.
  
  
  "Relax!! Relax territory! Go away! The cry in the dark was insistent and shrill.
  
  
  Hers, grinned in the blinding beam of light. "Hey, man, we're just floating. What do you even have on this sand dog? He got up and climbed over the windshield to the bow of the boat.
  
  
  A solid silhouette loomed in the beam of light. The ego carbine was aimed at me in life.
  
  
  'Get out!'he hissed. "This is our territory. One more step and I'll shoot."
  
  
  'Nick! A woman shouted from behind me. 'Come on!'
  
  
  He shrugged, grinned at the light, circled the gun around his index finger, and dropped his thumb like a hammer. "All right, mate, I'll call you next time," I said, climbing back into the cab, wondering if she was getting carried away with her role as an over-ripe hippie.
  
  
  I turned it on in reverse and took the boat off the shore. Slowly enter the bay. When we were in the open & nb, her grew up on a bike and left the boat afloat. "Hey, they have a nice reception committee," I said. Her smile was tight. 'She warned you.'
  
  
  "What right do they have to do this?" I asked indignantly. "Don't they know that someone can go ashore as long as you stay below the full-water mark?"
  
  
  Her smile was a little more genuine. "Do you know about such things?"
  
  
  "I was sailing."
  
  
  She puts her hand on my shoulder. "Don't go too far, Nick. Such laws are flouted there ."
  
  
  "Well, that's a good way to do things!" Hers, I hoped, was well-accumulating my resentment. "They can't do shit like that."
  
  
  "Nick ..."
  
  
  He pulled her roughly to him. It was a calculated move, but hardly an effort. "Look, Kid," A growled in her ear, " there are too many people trying to keep us away from something. First Ingersoll with an ego-cursed wall, and now this! Understand?"'
  
  
  She didn't answer for a long time, and he was afraid that he had gone too far in his comedy. Then she slowly lowered herself to me, putting her hand under my jacket and wrapping her arm around my waist.
  
  
  'Nickname? she whispered. "Hey, we were supposed to have some fun..."
  
  
  Ee put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. It fit my body and wriggled comfortably. Her face lifted, and he kissed her on the lips; first gently, then with increasing passion, to which she responded excitedly.
  
  
  A small searchlight swung over the water from the Domesday Island side behind us. Waiting for her. Sergei reached us, turned even further, hesitated, then came back and caught us with his beam.
  
  
  She stirred, looked up, and frowned. Then she raised a brown hand and held out her middle finger in the universal gesture of despicable defiance.
  
  
  The searchlight moved on. "Those fucking voyeurs," she muttered, and snuggled up to me again.
  
  
  We drifted with the current as our lips and tongues explored, and the intricate folds of her dress parted. Her breasts came alive at my touch, and my lips slid down the tawny column of her throat to the rising parapet until they reached her erect nipple. She was breathing heavily, pressing my head against her body and crossing one leg over mine.
  
  
  It wasn't easy, but it was her who broke free. 'Damn it! I muttered.
  
  
  "What's this, honey?" She didn't try to cover her bare chest, and in the soft light, she looked like a barbarian slave around an Ancient Rhyme.
  
  
  "Sorry," I growled , "but they're steaming ..." Her, shaking his head as if he was too angry to put it into words.
  
  
  "Forget about them," she said urgently. "Just think of the Rank."
  
  
  "Don't worry, honey." He let go of her hand, took off his jacket, and tossed it on the floor mats. "I'm thinking of you." He took the boat with an angry jerk and sped up. We sped out to sea, the bow rising and falling on the waves.
  
  
  'Nick! What are you doing?'
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "Can you imagine the game, honey?"
  
  
  "I do not know ..."
  
  
  "Look!" He pointed with his index finger at Doomsday Island, which was already no more than a ledge on the horizon behind us. "Wherever her nam goes, these pigs are there to annoy me." I had to shout over the roar of the engine as the sea foam drenched us and soaked us. Chyna didn't seem to care.
  
  
  "That's why we're going back to this damned island."
  
  
  "But ..." She seemed really confused. "We were..."
  
  
  "Yes, we were busy. And we will continue to do so ."
  
  
  Ee put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her roughly to him. "We're just going to do it on the other side."
  
  
  He turned the boat in a semicircle and headed for the other side of Doomsday. 'There is.'
  
  
  "You're crazy, Nick."
  
  
  'No, it's not like that. Just having fun with her defiantly looked at nah. "You want to sleep with me, right?"
  
  
  'Ah, yes!'
  
  
  "Then we'll do it under the gun of the fucking pigs. Ok? Resolutely, he cupped her bare chest with his hand, then pushed her dress aside to reveal the other one. She sat motionless for a moment, then shook her head helplessly and leaned down to stick her tongue in my ear. I slowed down until we were almost ahead, and skirted the far thread of Doomsday Island, on a different stretch of bay and construction site. While we were doing various things together, I slowly sailed along the coast in search of a possible patrol. Finally, he ventured out to the coast.
  
  
  As soon as the boat emerged from the sandy bottom, its engine shut down and jumped forward to pull a small anchor to shore. She was genuinely behind me.
  
  
  'Nick! she whispered. "What if they find us here?"
  
  
  "So what?" The anchor blade caught her on a bush. "What can they do but kick us out?"
  
  
  "But they..."
  
  
  He stood up and looked at Nah, almost sneezing. "What's wrong with you?" I said, laughing bitterly. "Those pigs are on the other side of the island. They'll never know.
  
  
  She slowly ran her hands through her hair, and her breasts rose like bound balloons. Then she took my hand and pulled me down the short, steep slope to a rocky outcrop. We walked around ego and came to a lone tree surrounded by tangled vegetation. When we came to a field of tall grass, she stopped and looked at me questioningly.
  
  
  She was dragged by ee into the soft grass, drowning in the waves of her hair as we hugged. The rest of the dress with the buckle at the waist fell open, forming a white blanket underneath. My clothes weren't easy, but we managed, and our bodies merged together as we lay side by side a few moments later. Her, felt her warmth envelop me, her legs wrapped around mine, her taut body heaving violently. His hands soothed her until she lay there, still shivering, her eyes opaque in the pale moonlight.
  
  
  "Nickname ..."Oh," she breathed. "Enter me ..."
  
  
  We walked slowly-exploring, the blooming garden opening up to me, her legs lifting, her body stretching, then a long slide dive. She snuggled up to me, our bodies now wet from the jar, her thighs writhing.
  
  
  'More, more! she gasped, and her hot breath brushed my ear. "Oh, Nick, she's never -"
  
  
  I silenced her, stroked her sides with my hands, felt her nipples press against my chest. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated by sighs and moans of pleasure, and then he saw her eyes suddenly open wide as her body tensed.
  
  
  "Oh, no ... Oh yeah... yes, yes, jajajaja ..."
  
  
  I had no trouble adjusting to her climax, and as we both sank down side by side, exhausted, we stayed for a while. rest in silence. She was the first to move, leaning down to nibble at my neck with her incredibly soft lips. "Nick," she muttered. "Oh, Nick, this has never been so good..."
  
  
  It took all my willpower to break free of nah, but somehow I managed to roll over and get to my knees. He looked down at Nah, at her flawless, shining bronze body, and laughed.
  
  
  "What is it, honey?" "What is it?" she asked doubtfully. "Am I that good?"
  
  
  "God, no. I thought only of those armed heroes below; they would have climbed the walls if they knew we were here now - and what we had done ."
  
  
  "Oh, forget ih." She held out her arms to hug me. "Come back to me, my Nick."
  
  
  He forced himself to stand up. He looked across the island at a steel frame that stretched half a mile into the sky. "I'm pretty damn curious what they're doing out there that no one can see."
  
  
  "Oh, it doesn't matter, dear. Come to me... "
  
  
  I pretended not to hear her and started pulling on my pants. "Let's go for a walk, please. We spent the whole night together."
  
  
  She sighed, rolled over, and stood up in one smooth motion, like a "cobra" coming out all over the snake charmer's basket.
  
  
  He put on a dark sweater and ballet slippers and wanted to help her with the dress. It took the ego out of my reach.
  
  
  'What are we doing?'What is it?' she asked, pouting.
  
  
  She was pointed out by a worker saint at a construction site. "Let's just go over and take a look. Are you ready for this?
  
  
  "Ha!" she snorted contemptuously. "I'm ready for anything."
  
  
  Before he could stop her, she was striding across the grass, letting the dress trail behind her like a bride's veil.
  
  
  He quickly caught up with her and forced her to slow down. She didn't look at me, and without resisting, she followed my guiding hand. We stumbled through the thicket of bushes, walking in silence, a light breeze rustling the branches of the crooked palms that grew around us. When we got so close that we could clearly see the construction site, he stopped.
  
  
  "Stay here," I hissed, quickly approaching the dark shape of the concrete mixer. He sat down beside her and listened.
  
  
  I couldn't hear her except for the wind. All I could see were a few corrugated iron chains, a drilling rig, and a crane in the distance. Outright ahead was a huge gaping pit, cemented on three sides - I guessed it was a partially finished foundation with a steep earthen rampart that sloped down to the bottom and was beaten up by bulldozer tracks.
  
  
  I found it odd that they were so tightly guarding one side of the island, rather than patrolling the rest. He was about to leave his hiding place when he heard a gurgling cry behind him.
  
  
  Her, turned around. I was nothing more than a blur in the dark, but there were two more spots between us. They approached me, but stopped to look in the direction of Chyna, who was already shouting.
  
  
  I could tell by the way they were standing still that they hadn't seen her yet, but if she'd just bent down and slipped away, she probably could have made it to the boat without being seen. Instead, she turned and ran, dragging that damned white dress behind her like a matador.
  
  
  They caught her before she could run fifty yards. Her watched around the shadow of the concrete mixer as they threw her to the ground. What they were saying went flying in the wind, but a moment later, they pulled Chyna to her feet and dragged her back to me.
  
  
  I waited for her and saw her captors. When they came up to lick it, he saw that they were strong, purposeful, and both had carbines. The trio was walking to my right, in a wide arc around the concrete mixer. My problem was whether to jump into them or wait to see if there were other guards nearby. When they passed me about twenty yards away, I saw her stumble, bow her head, and try to cover herself with her dress. Odin around the guards laughed. Her, heard her sobbing.
  
  
  Her, went down to the ground and went under the concrete mixer to check ih. They skirted the yawning foundation, disappeared for a moment behind the hut, then reappeared, still walking briskly. I let my feet drag, and one of the guards gave her a rough tug on the arm. I heard her cry out in pain, followed by a fake laugh.
  
  
  When they were out of sight, he rolled out from under the concrete mixer and raced toward the nearest cabin. In the distance, she saw three silhouettes, so close together that they looked like an unlikely six-legged monster, heading for the structure on cement blocks next to a tall steel skeleton. They stopped for a moment, the door opened, they entered, and the door was closed.
  
  
  Her, leaned against the cold moan of the hut by the corrugated irons and considered the situation. It was more or less as planned for this evening. The problem was that I had the feeling that someone else was also planning, and that I was anything but an innocent spectator.
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  There were no solutions. Even if Chyna's capture had been coldly planned - and I was pretty sure it was; otherwise, she was too smart to wave her white dress around in the dark-I would have had to play my part as a savior. Also, I needed to find out how strict the security was on this island. And why it was necessary.
  
  
  He led her away from the iron hut, away from the work lights on the high steel frame. There were plenty of bushes and palm trees for her to take cover when she dropped to all fours and carefully crawled towards the building on a cement block. On the other side of the tall skeleton building were two men, and beyond them he could see a gap in the slope leading to the bay. He stretched out on the floor and looked around the building that Chinu had been dragged into.
  
  
  There were no windows on my side, just an opening with a rotating fan. As he lay there, he heard a muffled cry, " A woman, of course.
  
  
  It wasn't for nothing that I dressed in dark clothes and left my blue jacket in the boat. After a quick survey of the area, he ran to the building that he saw between himself and the guards. Hers crept around the corner and came under the window around the reinforced glass. It was ajar, and she caught a handful of her ego in her gaze. Too small to fit through.
  
  
  Another cry of pain, this time with many feet louder. He carefully pulled himself up to the concrete frame and looked out the window.
  
  
  She was sitting on a hard wooden chair, her hands tied behind her back, and her head was bent so that her hair covered her face. In the bright light of the bald bulb, he could see the red welts on her arms and thighs, and her bare breasts; a trickle of blood ran down her stomach and into the tangled black hair between her thighs.
  
  
  The man sitting next to her, his back to me, was dressed in loose khaki. Across the room sat two men dressed more or less identically, holding their carbines casually. They grinned at the girl, whose features were almost - but not quite-oriental. Ih faces also had indeterminate Latin features, and when the chubby man spoke, he knew what kind of people they were.
  
  
  It was the same disconcerting mix of languages he'd heard earlier on the balcony below mine. I know Spanish and some Chinese dialects, but I didn't understand what the man was talking about. Still, he knows the combination, " and wondered if I was involved in some family quarrel; after all, Chyna had the same background.
  
  
  But at that moment, the man hit her, and it happened.this convinced me that this wasn't a family fight. He hit her so hard that blood gushed down her nose, ran down her lips and chin, and dripped onto her chest. That made me decide; I had to get her out of there.
  
  
  Her, got down to the floor and was about to turn around - then I heard her shuffling foot. My hand came up, but too late; someone dropped what looked like an anvil on my head, and he sank into a pool of molten lead, where everything glowed red and black, red and black, red and black ...
  
  
  The sun rose on a thundering smash and made an infernal noise, almost as terrible as the fierce glow that seared my eyelids. He tried to raise his hand to protect his face, but couldn't. It took me a huge effort to open my eyes, and a few seconds to see where I was.
  
  
  The fan spun high in the concrete moan, and the bare light bulb by me forever threw sharp beams through my skull. He was lying on a cot, bound hand and foot, and when he turned his head, he saw that she was still tied to the chair in the center of the room. As far as I could see, we were alone. I was curious about how long it would take.
  
  
  "The table!" I hissed. I had to repeat her name three times before she looked up. When she looked at me, her eyes were blank.
  
  
  I asked her. "How long has she been here?"
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, " I don't know.
  
  
  . "Ten ... maybe fifteen minutes."
  
  
  'Where are they?'
  
  
  'I do not know. And I don't care, " said the tone of her voice. Dried blood was running from her nose to her chin, and there was also a clot in her hair. "Didn't they say anything?"
  
  
  "I didn't hear anything."
  
  
  "Well, we should get out of here. What can they learn from you?
  
  
  'I do not know. I think it was made on the island. They just interrupted me." She sighed wearily, as if she was used to being beaten.
  
  
  "What language did they speak?"
  
  
  "Something like Latin Chinese. I remember her ego from her mother."
  
  
  'Do you understand?'
  
  
  "Not so good anymore."
  
  
  If it was a comedy, she did it well. I was inclined to question her further, but since our guards were probably eavesdropping on us, she was encouraged to jump at the slightest chance that my cover still hadn't been blown.
  
  
  Her, looked into the room. In addition to the cot on which he was lying, there was an ordinary chair, several chairs, a file cabinet and a telephone. I was curious as to where these guards were.
  
  
  I didn't have to wait long. The door swung open and I heard shaggy footsteps on the concrete floor behind me. There were large shadows in the room, and he looked up into the face of Chin's interrogator. The ego faces were Asian, with a slight hint of Latin; he might have passed for an American Indian, but for the yellowish tinge of ego skin. He wasn't tall, but his khaki shirt was impressively stuffed with muscle.
  
  
  'I like it. So you're awake? Ego's lips barely moved as he spoke.
  
  
  'Yes. What do you really think you're doing? '
  
  
  "What we do with all intruders." Ego's English was impeccable, with a slight accent.
  
  
  'What is it?'
  
  
  He laughed; it was an unpleasant sound. - You will know when it will be forever. What's your name?"'
  
  
  'And yours?'
  
  
  Ego the huge hand was moving so fast that I didn't even notice it; my target shuddered with the force of the blow, and the star-studded black of outdoor activity covered me. But she quickly disappeared, and he glared at the man.
  
  
  He asked. 'Good?'
  
  
  I told emu the name I was using; I had no reason not to.
  
  
  "What were you doing here on the island, Walton?"
  
  
  Her, looked at Chyna. "We just wanted a quiet place to... well, you know."
  
  
  "I see," he said flatly. "But that doesn't explain why you were searching the island."
  
  
  "Just curiosity, voting, that's all."
  
  
  "It's not good of you to do that, Walton. As they say - curiosity can kill you?
  
  
  I was surprised. "Hey, you don't want to say..."
  
  
  He nodded slowly.
  
  
  "God, man, we just invaded here. Even in Russia, they don't kill for it."
  
  
  "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Walton."
  
  
  He turned to Chyna and spat out a series of words in that bastard language with lightning speed.
  
  
  The girl looked at him blankly. He hesitated, then spoke to her in English.
  
  
  "What do you know about this person?"
  
  
  'I don't know anything. He's a guest at the hotel. I don't know anymore.'
  
  
  "At the very least, you should have known better before going to this island."
  
  
  She nodded helplessly. "I tried to tell em that, but he was angry at the way your people treated him."
  
  
  The man's lips curled into a sickle-like smile. "I wish you could have calmed my ego's anger better." He turned abruptly and pointed at one of the guards around him. "Untie this math guy's legs, too. We'll take both of them to the dump.
  
  
  The guard did as the emu was told, then untied the ropes that bound my hands. Before I could do anything, he tied ih to my back, and the rough fibers bit painfully into my wrists.
  
  
  At the same time, the captain pulled Chyna to her feet and also tied her hands behind her back. For some reason, he picked up the remains of her white dress and draped it over her shoulders. It didn't cover much.
  
  
  We went out - we with the Rank, security and the captain. Maybe it was the lights hanging in the steel frame above us, or a combination of everything that had happened in the last few hours, but the setting and situation was unreal. I didn't see anything that would make ih kill me, and neither did Chyna; besides, how did they think they could kill the girl if every hot-tempered man in the Bahamas went looking for her if she went missing? She thought they were bluffing, but why?
  
  
  When we came to the unfinished side of the open foundation, the captain motioned for us to stop. He turned to me, and his eyes were small black balls in the dim light. "Maybe you're just the one you're talking about, Walton. But I can't take any chances; it's my duty to fight the intruders. My people are looking for your boat; if they find it, they will capsize ego and throw it into the sea. Of course, your bodies will never be found, because they will be part of the foundation down there. He pointed to a huge pit, a large area of which was covered with cement blocks and iron bars.
  
  
  He pushed us forward, and we dragged ourselves down the steep slope to the bottom. When we arrived at the already crowded precinct, he nodded to one of the guards, who raised his carbine and aimed it at the back of Chin's head. Luckily for me - for us-I was working out with the tennis shoes that Special Effects had prepared for me. With the toes of one foot, he pressed down hard on the thread of the wide plastic strap that ran through the other shoe. I felt it give, and a razor-sharp blade flew out across the flexible steel. Ei lunged at the guard who was aiming for China, mercilessly slicing Ego's leg just above the heel, severing Emu's Achilles tendon. He screamed, which hurt. He kicked his ego in the ass, causing it to trip over the edge of the concrete box, then lifted his foot and slashed at Chyna's bound hands, careful not to touch her wrists.
  
  
  The other guard, with the bewildered expression of a man, was just raising his carbine when her head tilted toward him. She was hit by his ego in life, and pushed back against the captain; the three of us fell to the ground, and he rolled on, pulling his legs tightly under his body and saying a quick prayer.
  
  
  For a second, I thought I couldn't take it; the ropes were too tight around my wrists. I put my hands under her ass, but they were stuck there. In desperation, he pulled with all his strength and felt the bound hands slide a little further; hers twitched again, but did not move. Lifting my legs up, I tried it again , and my hands slid to my thighs, then to my calves.
  
  
  With the last effort, the boot slipped off my foot, but at least my hands were in front of me now, and I had a chance - if it hadn't been too long.
  
  
  The two men were still confused, and my entire maneuver lasted no more than two or three seconds. The guard still had the carbine in his hand; ego kicked him, but missed in the dim light. Her ego cut her neck with a blade in her shoe. Bright red blood gushed down ego's throat.
  
  
  The captain was on his knees, ready to pounce on me; I hit his ego in the face with my knee, then reached out and pulled the carbine around the dying guard's arms. The captain was tough; even though there was blood running down the ego of his broken nose, he came at me. I didn't have time to turn the carbine and aim at him, even if I could have done it with my hands tied. It was raised by ego for the barrel and lunged with all his might.
  
  
  If it was hit by his ego openly high, his brain would be splattered all over the Double-K. The carbine now grazed Ego's fleshy shoulder and caught him in the skull, but nen had enough power to knock him out. With a groan, he fell on his side and lay motionless. She looked at me with her mouth hanging open. Her arms were relaxed - my quick kick had obviously done the trick-but she remained motionless.
  
  
  "If you would help me?" It was Ay who held out her bound hands.
  
  
  She stared at the carbine in my hands. He saw her swallow hard and decided to keep her away from the weapon. Not now. Her carbine dropped and he walked over to her.
  
  
  Her fingers were clumsy, but finally she untied the knots enough for her to do it on her own. He leaned down to pick up the carbine and take a quick look at our opponents. The captain lay motionless, and so did the man in black. The guard who cut her throat will never move again.
  
  
  'Let's go.'She was grabbed by Chinu's arm, and I practically had to drag her to get her up the foundation. When we were on the first floor, she was looking at the dark part of the island.
  
  
  "My boat..."
  
  
  "Forget it," he snapped at her. "They must have found ee by now." He pulled the white dress off her shoulders and shoved it under the concrete mixer. "Forget that, too; we'll probably have to take advantage of the darkness, and there's no point in waving the white flag at these guys again."
  
  
  She didn't seem to care about her nakedness - not so much, supposedly. He dragged her across the corrugated iron surface, over the concrete block, over the steel frames. There were no other guards in sight, but he didn't trust us with her for a second.
  
  
  We came to the top of a slope that sloped down to the bay. It was fairly well lit, and she could see several small buildings and a long jetty stretching out into the deep water. At the end of the port bar, there was a metal chute under which there was enough room for a large truck. He guessed it was a cement warehouse; they brought the material in by ship, filled the trough, and mixed it in concrete mixers.
  
  
  There were also about six sentries walking purposefully in pairs. They seemed indifferent, probably unaware that the pair of intruders had been captured. For us, this was an advantage, albeit a small one. On the other side of the bay, he could see the harbor of Resurrection Island, and in the distance he could see the main lights of the hotel.
  
  
  "You're sure you can swim well," her Chinee said.
  
  
  She nodded, startled.
  
  
  It began to move to the left as the projector beam swept from one side of the bay to the other. I forgot about it.
  
  
  We waited while he calculated the beam frequency. The cycle lasted about a minute: 30 seconds in one direction, 30 seconds in the other. I didn't like trying to dodge it in an open game, even if we managed to dodge it every time the world approached.
  
  
  He pointed to a point to the left of Port Bar, where it was relatively dark. "Now, my dear, go down there very slowly and carefully, as you can lick to the water's edge."
  
  
  "What are you going to do, Nick?"
  
  
  The carbine lifted her. "The Saint will go out."
  
  
  He waited until she disappeared into the shadows, then went in the opposite direction and crawled along the top of the escarpment until he was on the other side of the bay. There wasn't much time left; I had to hurry before the man who'd hit her with the butt of a carbine came up and alerted the guards below.
  
  
  He slid down the slope on his stomach and crawled through a thicket of bushes about fifty yards from the water's edge. He waited and watched as the long beam of light deflected, then paused for a moment, then returned painfully slowly. The searchlight was installed in the back of a truck on the riverbank. With any decent rifle, it would have been an easy shot, but with a carbine, it was a different matter. It was designed for short-range shooting. He decided to fire a full automatic salvo in the hope that the weapon would be accurate enough.
  
  
  He pressed the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and peered into the short pocket. As the bright lens turned in my direction, a shout came from the top of the slope behind me.
  
  
  He pulled the trigger and held it. The carbine rattled and missed its target. He lowered the weapon slightly and fired again. This time the lens shattered and the holy light went out. He turned the barrel of his carbine toward the nearest two guards and fired a broadside. They both fell, and the one around them pulled the trigger of his weapon and fired aimlessly into the air.
  
  
  Then, his, shot at a man in khaki, with big hands, but Stahl didn't wait to see if her ego hit or not. He leaped down the slope and plunged into the water in a long, steady leap. Even with the floodlight off, there was enough light on the beach to see me. Then, after a few strong blows, it disappeared, and abruptly changed course, swimming parallel to the shore. It was the right maneuver; behind me, bullets were flying into the water, following the direction I had originally chosen.
  
  
  A bar swam up to the port and surfaced several times with infinite care, gasping for air. The people on the shore must have thought I was heading openly for Resurrection Island, because no one was looking in my direction. After reaching the port of bar, it remained in the shadow of the piers. If Chyna had any sense, she'd be halfway across the channel by now, but I had to make sure; after the last hour, her brain didn't seem to be functioning too well.
  
  
  Min waited for her for a few minutes, swimming under the dock. If I don't call out to her, maybe someone will be close enough to hear me. In the end, he decided that if she wasn't on the road now, it was her problem, and swam alone to the canal.
  
  
  I was halfway there, fighting a strong current between two islets, when something swirled open in front of me. He stopped and instinctively pulled his legs up under him. sharks!
  
  
  Anyone who says they're not afraid of sharks is an idiot or a liar. Especially at night in tropical waters. After all, this is the ih element, where humans are clumsy swimmers at best. (On the other hand, I felt that if I ever ran into a shark on the beach, I would have the advantage.) He waited for her, his heart pounding, trying to see where the creature was hiding.
  
  
  "Hey, Nick!"
  
  
  She hissed in my ear, so close that I would have jumped if it had been physically possible.
  
  
  "The water is good, isn't it?" She touched my arm, playfully splashed water on me, and swam away with powerful strokes.
  
  
  I laughed and followed in her footsteps; in her clothes, I did my best to keep up with Nah, and at the same time we reached the port of Bar on Resurrection Island.
  
  
  Finding clothes for nah was easier than we expected. She just borrowed a big towel around the wheelhouse of one of the big cruisers.
  
  
  She smiled all the way back to the hotel, and I was glad she didn't insist on driving the buggy herself, because after everything we'd been through, I didn't see the point of crashing into a palm tree. She pointed to the side entrance of the hotel, and we went up the back stairs without being noticed - not that it mattered much. I didn't think the sight of a gorgeous, smiling girl walking into the men's room in Dubla Cay, around midnight, would have raised many questions.
  
  
  In the room, she poured herself a rum punch - there was no more champagne-and I discreetly checked the traps I'd left behind. Well, they didn't touch it, which meant I didn't have any visitors, it was late at night, or they were pretty damn careful.
  
  
  'Nickname?'
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, her hair tied to a towel around her chest. "If you took off these wet clothes, we could dry another one with another one."
  
  
  With that, she untied the towel and handed me an ego, then started massaging my hair-and hers probably set the world record for the fastest undress. Our night, as it turned out, was just beginning.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  When I woke up the next morning, she wasn't there. It occurred to me then that I didn't even know where she lived - in a hotel, in a cottage? Well, I was sure I'd find her if I needed her.
  
  
  Nothing was missing from my room except my old robe, which indicated that I must have been modest at dawn. He chuckled as he stepped into the shower and introduced Chyna to the humble one. It wasn't so bad.
  
  
  Apart from a few scratches, a bruise on her knee, and a purple patch on her shoulder left by Chyna's teeth in the trash for a long night, hers was in pretty good shape. Then a quick breakfast in her room, went downstairs to reserve a beach buggy.
  
  
  It was already a hot mid-belly morning, and while driving past mimmo Golf Pavilion, she saw several players waiting in line. There weren't many visitors in the harbor, although there were a few small sailboats plying the canal. A red-faced man wearing a sailing cap with more gold than the admiral's waved angrily at the uniformed officer. He heard the words "thieves" and "towel," managed to stifle a laugh, and trudged back to the bar.
  
  
  Chyna's boat was there, moored just like when we left the night before. Was this the same marina? I wasn't sure, but I thought so. It was clear that the people on Doomsday Island had returned the boat overnight, but how did they know where to put the ego?
  
  
  A glint in the binoculars at the other end of the channel gave rheumatism. Sure. Cold-blooded killers, the men must have noticed Chyna when she took the boat out for a ride.
  
  
  My jacket was still lying on the cabin mats, badly rumpled, and my pockets were turned inside out. They couldn't find out anything by searching it; Ego had bought it on the way south in Atlanta, and I had nothing in my pockets but a lighter and cigarettes - not even my special brand with a gold holder.
  
  
  He picked up his jacket and slung it over his arm. On the way back, the red-faced admiral looked at me suspiciously, but I ignored him. He wasn't the only one watching me.
  
  
  Herridge was standing at the top of a hill near the runway, dressed in pale blue jumpsuits and a wide-brimmed flower hat. Ego's wide lips curled into a knowing grin. I went up the hill in the ego direction.
  
  
  "You're up early, Mr. Walton."
  
  
  "Not so early. The sun has been shining in the sky for several hours now ."
  
  
  "Ah, but I thought that the people involved in your mail business are always sleeping until noon."
  
  
  "Not when they're on vacation," I said.
  
  
  "Do you like Double-K?"
  
  
  "Why is she here?"
  
  
  He looked pointedly at my jacket, then at Chyna's boat. "Obviously," he said.
  
  
  "Are you flying to New Providence today?"
  
  
  "Every day, Mr. Walton, weather permitting."
  
  
  "Are you ever going to Florida?"
  
  
  'Very rare medicinal ones. From time to time, a guest is late for a connecting plane and asks for a special trip, but not parts. It's expensive, and Doublé Cay doesn't yet appeal to people who are willing to pay effortlessly for such things."
  
  
  "Except Grady Ingersoll."
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment, then smiled smoothly. 'But of course. He owns it."
  
  
  "Did you bring ego here when he first came here?"
  
  
  'Oh no. Well done=) just two, almost three months.
  
  
  'Actually. I raised my hand and turned around. "Mr. Walton."
  
  
  Its stopped.
  
  
  "Are you interested in learning something about Mr. Ingersoll?"
  
  
  Her, looked openly at him. 'Why not?'
  
  
  It's been a long, boring day. He went through the lobby, looked through the stores, and won fifty dollars at the chemin-de-fer casino. However, the dealer was sorry that I was leaving, which is not surprising. If everything mainly caters to long-haired and guitar players, then there isn't much going on in the casino; these steamers just don't play - at least not like that.
  
  
  One day he walked down the seventh-floor corridor to Herridge's room, hoping to get another look over the wall of the De Doublon estate. But there was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle. The only difference from the symbols that were given to each guest was that under the printed words was written in pencil: "Trust me!"
  
  
  A special message was meant for me, and I trusted it. Herridge had a professional competence that went beyond the ego of jet-setting abilities; it was as if we'd learned the same thing in each other, and that made me feel uneasy. There were too many frustrating strangers in this assignment to feel the need for an external stranger. I decided not to worry about Herridge just yet, but I won't forget him.
  
  
  Not when De Doublon took another walk along the wall and found nothing except the day before. There was no doubt that I would be able to log in, but even if hers had done so without setting off the alarm bell, hers probably wouldn't have received anything. Finally, when a group of boys and girls were called in every few days, it was clear that there was nothing to be found outside the hotel.
  
  
  After what happened last night at the Last Judgment, I had no doubt that something was going on that needed to be investigated. The corkscrew, on the other hand, was whether I could be sure to her that this had something to do with Grady Ingersoll. The task of figuring out the connections between the Three - headed Missile Guidance System, the Intimate Six, and Grady Ingersoll - if the man in the Doubloon really was Grady Ingersoll-began quite simply. But things got so damn complicated that I was going to call Hawke to tell em that immediate action was needed, and he could do it if I had to wait another day for something to happen.
  
  
  But that wasn't necessary. Licking, in the evening I took my place next to the pool, and saw how potential fans of ih male colleagues were gathering around me. They had a thick beard.
  
  
  "Hey, man," emu told her. "I saw her yesterday when you were inside the outer wall." He pointed to the pool.
  
  
  'Oh, right? How do you know that?"'
  
  
  "I was upstairs in another room, and we could see you."
  
  
  "Yes, tailor, man. Nothing to worry about but a bunch of assholes and an old man who likes to look at them. Do you understand?'
  
  
  "What is he looking at?"
  
  
  He grinned obscenely. "The sien, buddy. Just sien.
  
  
  He snorted contemptuously. 'What then? Girls on water bikes? A bunch of pot-smoking personalities? Come on!'
  
  
  He gave a massive shrug, making his entire body shake like a tub of vanilla ice cream. "What you could see around that hotel room was nothing, man. What happens inside gives the old man pleasure."
  
  
  'Are you serious? At the hotel, you mean?"
  
  
  "I've been there a few times." He grinned. "If I had told you what was going on, you would have knocked on the gate to be let in."
  
  
  Her, leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting out the conversation. He told me as much as she did, thought he should have said, and he didn't want to sound too impatient.
  
  
  The sun was sinking below the horizon when he saw them pass through the gate. Anton led the way in her usual long beaded dress. She was accompanied by two long-haired men in dark suits, both blond, with the arrogant self-confidence you'd see on the faces of the young, promising bosses of multibillion-dollar corporations.
  
  
  Hers, watching them walk through the pool. From time to time, Angela would stop to talk to a girl here, or a group of young men there. She didn't look in our direction for a moment, but a small delegation was heading our way. He leaned back and almost squeezed his eyes shut.
  
  
  They came up to lick. The bearded fat man stood up, his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his colorful knee-length swimming trunks. Several girls in the group also stood up, automatically running their hands through their hair. Anton and her entourage stopped by my chaise longue. He opened his eyes and looked neutral.
  
  
  "Ah, Mr. Walton," Angela purred.
  
  
  He nodded to her. 'It's me.'
  
  
  "My boss asked me to invite people to De Doublon on ... a party. Do you want to come?' Hers hesitated with great affectation. 'Now?'
  
  
  "Unless you have urgent business."
  
  
  She was sitting in front of me, the sun behind her, and he could smell her shampoo and soap. Its got up. "I don't know why not," I said.
  
  
  Her eyes were almost level with mine, and as still as a statue's. Somehow, Ay managed to smile without opening her lips. 'Good. So what then?
  
  
  The rest of my small group followed them, even though they weren't invited. Angela didn't seem to notice as she walked serenely along by the pool, nodding a girl here and a young man there. When we arrived at the gate to the Ston de Doublona, a group of about twenty-five people was gathered there. Angela turned to me. "I hope you have a good time, Mr. Walton."
  
  
  "I'm sure it will."
  
  
  With an old-fashioned key hanging from one of her many necklaces, Angela opened the iron gate and pushed ih inside. She led us inside, and the two blonds lined up in the rear. I stayed close to Angela as we walked along a winding path bordered on both sides by lush, colorful flowers that led to the lagoon. On the other side of the wide expanse of water were a few trees, where the entrance to the tunnel to the sea imagined it, and where the faint gleam of white hulls could see it. He guessed they were Ingersoll hydrofoils, and he remembered where they were.
  
  
  We suddenly reached a clearing, and passed through a wide square between the inn and the lagoon shore. Later, the sun was still setting, touching the colorful tiles laid out in an intricate mosaic. One of the girls in our group, apparently feeling at home, dived into the water and climbed into one of the water bikes floating in the lagoon. The boy followed her, and a moment later they were engaged in a miniature naval battle. A handful of white-coated servants emerged from behind the curved wall that covered the front of the inn. They were carrying trays of drinks, a pile of shrimp, chunks of lobster, and other food items. A tape recording of a rock band started playing music through loudspeakers hidden in the foliage; some of the girls started swaying and twitching as if by reflex, followed by a few guys. It didn't take long to get these people dancing.
  
  
  She wanted to see Angela, but she wasn't there. Feeling a little embarrassed, he picked up a tray with a tall glass and sauntered over to the railing of the wall. At the end of the bend, she came across a high fence surrounded by closely spaced iron bars, topped with deadly spikes. It was also visible from the front of the hotel, with a deep covered verandah extending across its entire width, and the massive double doors in the center were closed. For the shutters in front of some of the windows she saw a burning saint, but nothing more. I hadn't seen her the day before, and there was no sign of any guards around Herridge's room, but I'd seen her in the shadow of the porch, like two people sitting in the dark, watching intently.
  
  
  I went back to the group by the lagoon, wondering if I'd hit another dead end.
  
  
  The girl who always liked to sit on my feet snuggled up to me. "Don't you think it's great?"
  
  
  "Yes," I said sourly.
  
  
  "Hey, but that's nothing. Wait until we get into a rhythm.
  
  
  'Into what?'
  
  
  'Yes. It's just a warm-up, angel. She stretched out her back to show me how cheerful she could be; I patted her on the back just because it seemed like the only polite thing to do. Besides, I liked it.
  
  
  "Are you going to smoke?" She asked, nudging me gently with her hip. 'Perhaps."Her raised the glass in her hand to show that I was drinking.
  
  
  She looked at him with disdain. "Oh, that shit? If Grady has this great potty?
  
  
  "Okay, I'll watch it." Her big hey smiled and took a long sip of the light drink. He had a taste of humanity, and concluded that this wasn't the best place in the world for a secret agent to drink an unknown substance.
  
  
  It was getting dark fast, but the outside light wasn't on. Some of the young men around them were already high; a plump girl with mascara-covered eyes was smoking a cigar-sized hookah pipe and taking long, slow puffs, puffing acrid smoke around her nostrils. She saw that I was looking at nah and came over to me, ready to share her joys with me. He glanced quickly in the other direction, then walked slowly to the edge of the lagoon, kicked off his sandals, and dived into the water.
  
  
  It was warm on the surface, but just below it was cold and dark. When it was sunk a few inches, there was not a single saint to penetrate, and there was something calm and threatening in the depths that quickly lifted me back up. He started to step on & nb and move in a slow circle. The sun was too far down to see the white hulls on the other side of the lagoon, and around the stone-paved banks, palm trees and other vegetation cast deep, dark shadows. Once she was spotted by movement at the tunnel entrance, but it stopped before ego could identify it.
  
  
  I climbed the metal ladder, and the clerk immediately handed me a huge white towel, which I dried off. Its started to get impatient; its got absolutely nothing from this yahoo.
  
  
  And then it started happening. Suddenly, two men in dark suits appeared, and at the same time, the music stopped. The guests watched impatiently.
  
  
  "Anyone want to come in?" The tallest man in a dark suit asked, and I knew who he was because he was the only man in the Intimate Six with dark hair. Ego was called the Train, and in the dim light it looked the size of a locomotive.
  
  
  Corkscrew's ego was met with a disjointed chorus of "Yes" and "You keep the Money". He pointed to the gate. 'Come on, he's waiting for us.'
  
  
  Shell's "train" is ahead of us, heading for the open gate in the iron gate. In the shadows on either side of it, I saw several men in white. There were no weapons in sight, but I had no doubt they had them handy. As we walked through the gate and out onto the porch, her father thought we looked like a group of prisoners being herded into the compound.
  
  
  The large double doors were open, and inside was a long, dimly lit hall leading up to a wide staircase. A large part of the group obviously knew where we were going and moved forward impatiently. But the Train turned its head and looked at them, and they fell behind again.
  
  
  We came to the double doors again. Train and another man in a dark suit opened the door and stepped aside to let us pass. Up close, the dark-haired man looked even tougher, with thick black eyebrows, a strong mustache, and wiry hair falling over the emu's shoulders. As her mimmo passed him, his eyes bored into mine, and I thought I saw his mouth twitch for a moment. The feeling of being trapped was so strong that I hesitated for a moment, but then her followed the others; after all, she should have been here. The room we entered was long and wide, with a ceiling of several floors. Soft colored lights glowed all around, low couches and piles of pillows were scattered everywhere, and the smell of incense was suffocating. Huge posters hung on the windowless walls: psychedelic drawings, portraits of rock superstars, and erotic photos that were almost art down to hardcore porn, such as shots of two very young girls and an excited pony. Above us, a huge sphere studded with small glass panels slowly rotated, flooding the room with an ever-changing pattern of light that made it almost impossible for me to focus.
  
  
  The double doors closed behind us. The only way out was a small door at the other end of the room. The room wasn't filled with us, the servants, our guards, us people in dark suits, but high up in one of the walls there was a large rectangle around the glass. It was supposed to be an observation post of the "master" and a place where he appeared from time to time. I was curious to see if we'd be honored this evening-and she immediately got rheumatism, in her tailspin.
  
  
  The glass rectangle began to glow until it was completely illuminated and transparent. There was no us, no sound, and some young people were already playing such a game on benches and pillows. The couple had just begun to undress when an apologetic cough was heard around the speaker system.
  
  
  Everyone looked around, then focused on the illuminated rectangle.
  
  
  A long silhouette appeared, moving slowly as it approached the light. Even then, the shape was indistinct due to the spinning ball effect, but you could see it well enough to know that the person there looked like Grady Ingersoll.
  
  
  He cleared his throat again, and I saw that he was a fat, slightly stooped man with a smile that was almost apologetic in his round, pale face. When all eyes in the room were on him, he began to speak.
  
  
  "Good evening, and thank you for coming."
  
  
  They listened intently; Hawk had played me several tapes of ego's voice, and the man upstairs also looked very much like Grady Ingersoll.
  
  
  "As you may know, I can't speak to you directly. But I hope you'll have fun as if it were your own ... er ... a tent. He smiled broadly, proud that he had found the right word. "You will find everything you want to drink, eat and smoke. I especially recommend fudge on silverware; I believe they will be pleased. Her only request is that you do not attempt to take any ... snacks... outside the premises-De Doublon. What we do for us is one thing, but the authorities will not allow a gross violation of their rights of justice. One day these repressive laws will be repealed, but now we must obey them. And now... He raised his hand and gestured. "My tent is also your tent. Have fun.'
  
  
  With Ego's last words, Sergei began to fade, and the rectangle turned hazy black again.
  
  
  "My God,"a voice said in my ear," it's always the same nonsense."
  
  
  It was a dark, thin girl who was just staring blankly at Odin around the erotic posters, her hand resting absently on my shoulder. Nah had a blackened pipe in her other hand; she raised it to her lips, took a long drag, panting, and handed it to me. Her hotel shook its head, but decided not to be such an obvious square. I don't see much point in doing this, but I've done much worse things in my line of work.
  
  
  As her drag tightened, the girl removed the bra around her bikini. She dropped a piece of cloth at my feet and looked at me almost - but not quite - openly. Hey, she should have left her bra on, or at least found a guy who was just as high as she was. Half-naked, she wasn't exactly appetizing, all bones and skinny rosebuds. When she started to take off her pants, the phone rang again.
  
  
  "Don't go," I said. He kissed her nose and made his way through the moving crowd to another thread of the room. I didn't think she'd miss me; when I looked back, she was alone, doing something interesting on the arm of the couch. The music now filled the room; a heavy, rumbling rhythm that felt it as much as it heard it. The room was filled with smoke, which further obscured the saints; with the exception of two or three couples and what looked like a threesome, smoking, drinking, and eating fudge seemed to be the most popular activities - at least until now, ferretting.
  
  
  At the small door at the other end of the room, she paused to examine the scene. As an orgy, it was a child's game, and I was curious to see how much Ingersoll enjoyed watching it from his glass booth.
  
  
  He leaned against the door and carefully turned the handle. Of course, she didn't give up. He ran his hand over the door and found the lock. I found two locks; they looked like standard locks. My tight swimsuit didn't look like it could hide anything, but the cordon stripes on the nen were deceptive.
  
  
  After making sure no one was looking, he began scanning one of the strips on the flat, flexible lock pick. But before ih could pull it out, the button on my back moved.
  
  
  He quickly closed the small invisible hole with a miniature flap built into the swimsuit. Her stepped aside to catch a glimpse of the door out of the corner of my eye, and leaned against moaning, trying to look as if hers was engrossed in the scene under my eyes.
  
  
  A pale ray of light fell on my feet. She was caught by Angela's fresh scent, and before I could turn around, she whispered in my ear.
  
  
  "Having fun, Mr. Walton?"
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "I've had more pleasant experiences."
  
  
  "I'm sure it will." Her hand was on my arm. "Then come with me; I think you'll find this much more fun."
  
  
  He followed her through the half-open door. Her cloud of hair and loose robe covered my eyes for a moment. Then she stepped aside.
  
  
  The room was small and softly lit, with only a huge mattress on the floor. The girl lying on the nen with her back to me was naked, but I didn't need to see her face to know who it was ...
  
  
  "The table!"
  
  
  She started to turn slowly, but when I heard the door close behind me, I quickly looked back at Angela. She was sitting with her back to the wall, one hand gripping the buckle that held her purple robe just below her chest. Her smile was mocking. He looked back at Chyna, and saw the same expression on the dancer's face.
  
  
  Hearing the rustle of Angela's clothes on the floor behind me, he quickly walked over to Chyna. Obviously, it wasn't arranged like a normal threesome, and he knew this girl better... And in that moment, I was convinced that I needed someone to be on my side.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  "I hope you don't mind if I bring your dress this morning, Nick." She rolled out of bed and stood in front of me, feeling perfectly comfortable in her nakedness. Not at all.'Her, knew that Anton was behind me; she was still out for the day.
  
  
  "You slept so well, I didn't have the heart to wake you up." She pursed her lips as she looked at me, but kept out of reach of my hand.
  
  
  She raised an eyebrow at Nah. There was something dead in her eyes, even though I'd always seen her with such a lively look before. But she continued to smile, as if hers were a conference participant offering hey champagne at a bar.
  
  
  "Do you know why?" Angela's voice was slicker than expected, which meant she could move like a shadow. "You were right about him."
  
  
  Her muscles tensed.
  
  
  'What do you mean?'What is it?' she asked.
  
  
  He felt Angela's cool hands on his shoulders, then on his arms, and finally on his thighs. She squeezed me gently.
  
  
  "No extra fat. A man of ego age ... You're thirty, aren't you, Mr. Walton?"
  
  
  "Definitely," I said grimly.
  
  
  "I'm glad you're not joking. Yes, "she continued," a man of his age and profession should not be in such a physical state. Very pretty body, isn't it, dear?
  
  
  I knew damn well she wasn't talking to me. She tilted her head and looked at me frankly. "Yes," she agreed. "And he does such exciting things with it."
  
  
  "Oh, yes," Angela said, a hint of sourness in her voice. "You know all about it, don't you?"
  
  
  'But of course. Nick is the perfect person ."
  
  
  Her flattery was appreciated, but he wanted to get out of the line of fire. Her, stepped aside to see ih both at the same time. This was my first look at a nude Angela. Compared to Chyna, she was almost skinny at first, but a second glance changed that impression. Her chest was firm and beautifully shaped, her hips were slightly arched, her legs were thin but beautiful. The Ee of life was smooth and flat, and the fluffy triangle of hair underneath was so light brown that it almost looked light. Perfect change, I thought, and at that moment Angela grabbed my arm.
  
  
  "Do you think I'm worth taking a look at?" It was a challenge, and for the first time he saw the dark doubt in her eyes.
  
  
  "Am I looking at you?" Nah had a power that he couldn't break out without paying special attention. I didn't bother her.
  
  
  "Would you like to sleep with me?"
  
  
  He hesitated, looked at Chyna, then back at Angela.
  
  
  'At the moment? I asked, trying to look nonchalant.
  
  
  'Why not? There's room for all of us." She pointed with her head at the huge mattress on the floor in another part of the room.
  
  
  'If you want. I wasn't going to argue with her; his feeling was that Angela was just as dangerous naked as most men, fully clothed and armed.
  
  
  She moved closer to me with a tight and slightly weak smile. "Do you mind sharing them?"
  
  
  "If you don't mind."
  
  
  'Or share?' She leaned roughly over my shoulder and grabbed Chyna's breast as she lowered her head to lick a dark nipple. Then she straightened up and looked at me openly. 'Do you understand?'
  
  
  "I would never have thought that."
  
  
  "Oh, go on, dear," She protested. "If you want to try it, do it. But don't do it so badly."
  
  
  "Am I doing everything badly? After what you did last night?" Angela glared at Chyna like a deceived woman.
  
  
  She sighed and gave me a pale smile, then quickly turned her face expressionless.
  
  
  Hers stepped out of the way again; hers was between them again, and obviously it wasn't my place. Anton suddenly hugged me, and her angry eyes wouldn't let me pull away. I did this because the pointers to my pelvis could show that there was something else in my swimsuit besides me.
  
  
  "Don't you want to fuck me?" she challenged me.
  
  
  "Come on, you know best."
  
  
  "Then take off your damn swimming trunks."
  
  
  Happy to do so, I quickly got out and threw ih on the bed, where I could reach through them what I needed. When I was naked, it was clear that I was interested in what Angel was interested in. She stared at my erection for a long time, but when she slowly leaned in, I reached out and hugged her.
  
  
  "Don't be so greedy, baby," she purred, gently biting my shoulder.
  
  
  Angela's eyes lit up. "You thought you had a monopoly?"
  
  
  She shrugged. "No, dear, I'm not being selfish. But we always share everything, remember?
  
  
  'Of course. Sincerely, just like last night.
  
  
  'Why? You weren't there, what was I supposed to do, tell em, no, I have a very jealous mistress?
  
  
  Angela bared her teeth, almost growling. She was about to grab Chyna when the door next to the bed opened. I had never noticed it before; the door was as inconspicuous as the door at Cape Kennedy, ny, to the secret laboratory where I had been informed of the Three-headed device. "All right, girls; that's enough for now."
  
  
  Train led the way into the room, followed by two blond members of the Intimate Six. The other two were standing in the doorway, but ih couldn't see her.
  
  
  Angela glared at Train. 'What are you doing here?'
  
  
  "You know damn well how hello kitty is." The ego grin was as fake as hers. "Have you forgotten why you're joining that guy here?"
  
  
  Anton almost screamed. "But I didn't ask you to come!"
  
  
  "But we came anyway." Train stepped aside, followed by a fat man in low-key khaki from Domesday Island.
  
  
  "Take ego's sandals," he ordered.
  
  
  He had to admit that he had started well; after last night, he apparently wasn't taking any more chances. Before anyone could approach me, her sandals kicked Train; he caught nu like a star hunter.
  
  
  Two other members of the intimate six were lined up on either side of me, which told me they knew what they were doing; the person closest to me had hands like pincers and seemed ready to use them.
  
  
  The khaki-clad man pointed to another man in a dark suit standing behind him. He entered a room that was also square in the Oriental style, with indeterminate Latin features. He glanced at me, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small, crude photograph that didn't look like it had been ripped out through the leaves of contact prints. Then he pulled out another photo, compared ih, and showed it to a man in low-key khaki, saying, "That's him, Mr. Tsunganos." They both grinned.
  
  
  "It's as simple as that," Tsunganos said.
  
  
  "You keep the money," I growled.
  
  
  "You see, Mr. Nick Carter -" He didn't say anything, but I wasn't surprised that he said my real name; I already knew he was caught.
  
  
  "It took us a full day to identify your photo, Mr. Carter," the man continued.
  
  
  "It's so exhausting to work in these primitive conditions, coupled with; you had to fly to the mainland and use these services there to contact Beijing, and ... Oh, aren't you surprised, Mr. Carter? He was grinning mercilessly now. "Ah, perhaps you don't know as much as you think you do; our organization didn't actually burn any ships behind it. Connecting lines are open, but they don't necessarily run in two directions. Do you understand me?"'
  
  
  It seemed clear enough to me. "You don't agree with China's current domestic policy toward the United States," I said.
  
  
  "Home, Mr. Carter?" He sighed like a schoolteacher who refuses a stupid student. "Ah, let's just say that some around my ancestors may have called the ego their home. As for the rest... -
  
  
  He shrugged his massive shoulders.
  
  
  I was tempted to make a little fun of him, accuse him of being so backward and out of the world right now, like that Japanese soldier found on an island in the South Pacific, almost thirty years after the end of World War II, but I decided against it; there was no reason why I should not. but he wouldn't have killed me on the spot, and he was interested in a better chance.
  
  
  "Well, at Cape Kennedy, NY, you had steamboats take my picture," I said, looking at the small photo he was holding in his hand. "By a fluke."
  
  
  He shook his head. "You're out of luck, Mr. Carter. Our organization has a lot of members, and every day we have two or three or more ... erm ... tourists. We Easterners are all alike, of course, and we all go with our cameras. Isn't that right?'
  
  
  "It's a big base," I insisted.
  
  
  'Yes. But we, like you, were interested in a certain part. And the entrance to a special area that most tourists don't even notice. We make sure to take pictures of everyone who goes out that door ."
  
  
  He swallowed hard. "Do you know about this?"
  
  
  Ego's grin was like a carnival mask. "What do you think, Mr. Carter? Aren't we all here for the same reason?
  
  
  He hit me several times while I was tied up; nen was wearing heavy work boots, and it was bolted. Stolom and Angela put on their clothes again-pouting, he thought - and when my hands were tied, Stolom politely insisted on getting my bathing suit back. I tried to read something in her eyes as she did this, but she never looked above my chin.
  
  
  Tsunganos pinned me to the moaning bed, and ego's eyes flashed with hatred. "You killed three of my men around you last night, Mr. Carter, and seriously injured a fourth." He groped for his head, where he could see a yellowish bump under the straight black hair. "It would be nice for me to arrange a slow death for you now, but there's no time for that right now. You have messed up our schedule, so you must be removed immediately. You can talk about luck."
  
  
  He slapped me hard in the face; hers, ducked and caught the ego kick high in the head, but my ears were ringing.
  
  
  Tsunganos looked at it carefully. "Earthquake to the last moment, eh, Mr. Carter?" Take the ego. He pointed at the two blond guys who were pushing me to moan. "You know where he's supposed to go."
  
  
  Including two girls, and I should have added that there were seven of them in the room - and my hands were tied behind my back. I didn't resist.
  
  
  Two guards and I went through the back door and into a narrow, carpeted hallway. They pushed me down the stairs and into a sloping stone-walled corridor, the wet stones of which scratched my shoulders.
  
  
  My guards were almost identical, but my careful examination of ih photos yielded results. Wilf and Kevin. One with a passport around Venezuela, the other presumably rutabaga-ih voices were with Midwestern, North and South American accents as far as she could hear. They could have been superstars at Indiana University; it was the impression of total competence that they created. It was hard to believe that these Americans could have killed me, but I didn't waste any time deluding myself.
  
  
  We went out, around the hotel above ground, behind the hedge around the bushes that covered the lagoon. A few moments later, we emerged into a clearing at the water's edge, with three medium-length boats lying plainly below us. Wilf, who was slightly taller and stockier than Kevin, poked me in the ribs with the gun.
  
  
  "Hurry up and jump."
  
  
  I made it, I was told, landing with a thud on the fiberglass deck, where I slipped a little; the evening was a little wet with dew. Wilf followed easily, slamming me against the railing of the small cab. Kevin went to the steering wheel and started the engine, then jumped forward to release the hydrofoil cable.
  
  
  The powerful engine rumbled as we turned around, then turned to head for the dark tunnel that led to the sea. Kevin pressed a button on the dashboard, slowed down a bit, and flew into a dark tunnel. Her, saw the iron railing still go up, and we swam clear under it, and then we were out in the open sea.
  
  
  They tied me up with a braided iron wire, which pressed very hard on my hands when I pressed them. My wrists were bleeding profusely, which might have helped if I'd been dealing with a rope, but it was all useless to me. I found one around the stripes on the back of my bathing suit, but my hands were tied too high behind my back to reach.
  
  
  Wilf was next to him in the cockpit, struggling to get up, and the hydrofoil lifted on its metal skis and skidded down the river. He looked at me with casual disdain.
  
  
  "Maybe we should leave you," he said, loud enough for Ego to be heard over the high-pitched screech of the engine.
  
  
  'Why not? I said lightly. I leaned my back against the railing and managed to twist my arms slightly so that hers could reach the strap of my swimming trunks. He was working on the contact zipper of a small triangular pouch at the bottom of the coccyx.
  
  
  Wilf smiled distantly, and Ego's hair fluttered in the wind. "If you were here a week ago, we would have left you. To find out how many people know about us. But now... he shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore. It's too late to stop us."
  
  
  "What are you up to?" She was being asked to keep talking; I had my bag open, and if only my numb fingers could make it work ... Wilf laughed. 'What do you care? If we let you live, you'll find out soon enough, Carter. But it doesn't really matter on the dell; it's just the beginning, and people like you won't be there to see the thread."
  
  
  The whoosh of the engines became a muffled roar. I hadn't finished it yet; my fingers were still like stuffed sausages, reaching for the contents of the bag on the back of my swimming trunks. The ski boat sank to the hull, rocking in a long swell. Kevin looked at the flickering sensor on the control panel.
  
  
  "This is deep enough," he announced, turning away from the steering wheel.
  
  
  "Can we finish it off before we drop it?" Wilf asked. "No," Kevin held up the wire cutters. "We have a dissolving flex."
  
  
  He grinned at me. "Do you know what this is?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head, even though he knew damn well about it. "It's a synthetic lace that's as strong as steel until it stays in the & nb for two or three days. Then it dissolves, you float free of the coral block you're tied to, and poor Mr. Nick Carter becomes a drowned man. That is, if they can identify the body after the fish is done with it."
  
  
  I asked her. "A case of drowning with your hands tied behind your back?"
  
  
  "Oh, we'll cut that candid wire before we throw you overboard. Don't worry, Carter; we know what we're doing."
  
  
  "I really appreciate this," I said sourly, feeling the small bundle I'd pulled out around my swimming trunks.
  
  
  The boat drifted to a stop, bobbing up and down the sea. Kevin went down to the small cabin and pulled out a piece of coral the size of a beach ball. He wrapped the synthetic rope around the rough pink coral, then pulled the thread forward to tie it around my ankles.
  
  
  It's time for my battle. With numb fingers, he opened the small bundle he held on his back. Red-hot flames erupted and burned my arms and spine, but I bit my teeth and pressed the bag to my wrists. According to Stewart around Special Effects, a small magnesium torch burned through a three-quarter-inch-thick piece of metal in less than three seconds, but it felt more like three years to me. Hers, I felt my skin burn and my tendons turn to melting oil; if hers was just pressing my wrists against the wire, hers felt an excruciating pain that sometimes brought me to the edge of unconsciousness.
  
  
  He kicked her, and Wilf staggered back. Kevin was holding a coral block, and when Ego kicked her with his bare foot, her face was exposed under his chin. He took off and flew over the opposite side of the boat, still clutching the heavy load. If he ever showed up again, but her ego didn't see it.
  
  
  I freed my wrists; the pain was so intense that I had to check to see if my hands were still on her. It happened, and she was punched in the stomach by Wilf. He reached into his jacket, but not fast enough; hers drove four hard fingers into ego's throat with all his might, crushing ego's windpipe. He died gasping for breath and covered my chest with blood.
  
  
  He dived overboard to wash it off, then climbed back into the boat. Doomsday Island was now to starboard. Now that my cover was exposed, it was time to conduct a thorough investigation; her engine was brought in again, and then searched the boat in demand for weapons.
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  A few yards from shore, the ship's engine shut down and dropped anchor over the side. Wilf's body was attached to it. Ego a small .25 automatic pistol is stuck in the waistband of my bathing suit. I had a broad-bladed knife in my hand, not very sharp, but I was sure it was bigger than Wilf's little pistol.
  
  
  He lowered himself into the water and swam slowly toward the strip of white sand that glimmered dimly in the moonlight. There was no sign of any patrol on the beach, but I waited for her, lying as low as I could on the beach, for fifteen minutes before I got out on the beach and ran for the thicket.
  
  
  This time, the route was more or less known; he kept his eyes on the work lights in the tall steel frame, and as he approached, he saw people walking along the coefficients of the atmospheric density model. A good time to build, I thought.
  
  
  It bypassed the exposed foundation and crept into the office building around the cement block. Through the single window, the saint could see the sentry standing for the day. It was well known to the people in the building, which meant I had to be very lucky or very fast-maybe both.
  
  
  I looked out the window first, pulling on the frame. The office was deserted. Her hotel went down, but changed its mind. Why was there a sentry guarding an empty office? Her, looked again. The bottom drawer of the cabinets was open, and the chair was tilted at a different angle than the night before.
  
  
  I started to get ideas.
  
  
  The window was too small to climb through. It should be a door.
  
  
  He crept into the undergrowth behind the building and began coughing, softly at first, then louder, like a serious smoker. When he began to think the sentry was deaf, he poked his head around the corner.
  
  
  He coughed again and scraped his feet in the bushes. The sentry raised his carbine to his shoulder. He held his breath and lay still. He lowered the gun and took a few hesitant steps toward me. I'm lying on my stomach, and it's crawling noiselessly to the right. The sentry stopped. He pulled a small automatic pistol from his belt and threw Ego into the bushes where he lay. The sentry moved quickly, carbine ready, but in the wrong direction. Her, knew it would be a long way off, but it was my best chance; Her, got up, took a few quick steps, and dived onto the emu's back.
  
  
  My wrists were still burning and bleeding, so the heavy blade
  
  
  it didn't glide smoothly; when his ego hit her in the back, her carbine reached for the trigger guard and felt the sentry's thumb curl. When I thought it was too late, I managed to get my finger on the trigger, and when he turned his head in my direction, his eyes dimmed. He fell under me.
  
  
  He struggled to his feet, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and pulled. It was just as difficult as it came in, but even though I now had a better weapon in the form of a sentry's carbine, hers, I knew I'd probably need a knife to cut the anchor rope if I returned to the boat. If only he'd gotten it.
  
  
  I waited for him at the corner and watched the workers build the frame of the building, then slipped in to the door. I already had picks in my hand, and the lock wasn't complicated, but with my back to the men upstairs, it felt like an eternity to open the door. Finally, I was able to get in without being noticed, and I was curious what they were doing there that they were so busy.
  
  
  Behind the chair, he found a small square shaft that ran down into the concrete floor. Metal handles slid down from one side; I went down about thirty meters to the bottom. I was in a narrow hallway, lit by a few low-ceilinged dim lights, and about fifty feet ahead of me was a closed door.
  
  
  Ih the security was either sloppy, or it was so close to zero that they didn't care anymore. Whatever it was, he pushed open the door and it opened; he threw himself across the nah and aimed the carbine at the space behind the nah.
  
  
  He found himself in a room filled with instruments, flashing light panels, and clicking rows of computers. Four men in khaki suits were gathered around a large map on the opposite side of the building, and as hers crept up on them, hers saw the outline of ee from the east coast of Florida to Maryland.
  
  
  Tsunganos saw me first. "Carter!" he growled, and once again I had to give the emu its due: the ego reflexes didn't stop at the ego flag of permission to execute. He ducked to the right and found the carbine propped against the table; her ego didn't want to kill her - not yet - so he took careful aim and put a bullet in the emu's shoulder. He jerked to the side and fell to the concrete floor as blood spattered his shirt.
  
  
  The others took cover; her shot hit one of the men around, and he fell, though he couldn't see where Ego had hit him. The other two dived into a row of computers. Then he switched to automatic mode and fired into a tall gray cabinet, followed by a pleasant shower of sparks and the smell of burning insulation.
  
  
  Her, he turned to Tsunganos - too late. Now he had his own weapon in his hands, and it was pointed directly at my head.
  
  
  When her, dove to the ground, her heard the crackle of an ego carbine and felt a sharp sting when gawking eyes scratched my neck. He rolled over twice before stopping to take aim; I didn't have time to switch to a single shot, and with a single pull of the trigger, he punched six holes into Tsunganos ' face and chest.
  
  
  There was no time to be sorry; Her, got up and walked over to the burning row of computers.
  
  
  'Show yourself! I roared.
  
  
  The other two didn't answer, but I heard a heavy boot scuff on the floor. Her cell squatted on a metal chair and Stahl waited. The noise of computers broke the silence. While waiting for her, her, looked at the big map on moans and saw red pinheads pinned to the Florida coast north of Miami. At first, I thought it was Cape Kennedy, NY, but then I saw a cape even further north. What lay between what was a suitable goal and a goal for what?
  
  
  Odin Poe of the hiding people decided to try to escape and ran from behind the computers to dive for the Tsungano carbine. It was stopped by ego firing a shot at each tribe, and ego's cry echoed vividly in high space. He rolled back and forth like it hurt, his yellow skin turning an eerie gray.
  
  
  The last person was waiting for her. There was a long silence before he spoke.
  
  
  "Carter?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "I don't have a gun."
  
  
  "Come out and show it."
  
  
  There was a pause, and then a hand appeared around the corner of the computer case. The hand was empty.
  
  
  "Okay, bye. Now watch the rest."
  
  
  He walked out with both hands in the air. It was the man who identified me with Tsunganos.
  
  
  "Come here," I ordered.
  
  
  He moved cautiously, as if the floor was slippery. When he was a dozen paces away, she motioned for the emu to stop.
  
  
  "Carter ... I'm in pain."
  
  
  'Oh, right?'
  
  
  'My ankle. Maybe it's broken.
  
  
  "Then you're in luck, other. Now, quickly. Tell me, what does it all mean?
  
  
  "This ... it's nothing."
  
  
  'No, of course not."I raised my carbine so that it was pointed at the emu's face. "Try another rheumatism treatment, and this time a good one."
  
  
  The man licked his lips, and ego's eyes flickered around. "Me ... I can't say anything."
  
  
  I couldn't afford to play games, so I put a bullet in the ego's raised arm. He screamed, his eyes wide with fear; when he tried to grab her injured arm, an emu was threatening her with a carbine. He held his hands up as sweat broke out on his forehead.
  
  
  "The next gawk will go through the elbow." I wasn't sure how many shots I had left, but I didn't dare check.
  
  
  'No, no! the man gasped. "I'll say it! I'll tell her that! '
  
  
  It was my own stupid fault for not paying attention to the man who'd shot her in the kneecap. He had another carbine before I knew he was moving, and it was probably only the excruciating pain of the ego injury that prevented the ego's first shot from hitting me. He ducked behind the chair again.
  
  
  Ego: The second shot was one hundred percent accurate. The man she was interrogating lunged forward, then collapsed into a chair and almost fell on top of me, gawking as I was caught in the neck. As he pushed the body away, he heard another shot , then silence.
  
  
  He looked her carefully around the chair and stood up. The last man lay beside Tsunganos, still holding the carbine in his mouth. Groan Ego's back card was wobbling with bright red blood. Before doing anything else, he examined the four bodies. After confirming that they were dead, he examined the map. A bunch of pinheads were pinned to Palm Beach, which meant nothing to me. But the fine lines drawn on the map from a tiny dot in the Bahamas told me even more.
  
  
  They led from Domesday Island to their destination - all but one. This one line ran along the entire coast in a straight line, heading inland to the south of Cape Hatteras. It came to Washington, and he thought they wouldn't need a pinhead to mark this target.
  
  
  I hurriedly searched the four chairs in the room, but found nothing more useful than a few blueprints and computer printouts, which seemed like gibberish to me.
  
  
  But it was clear that this was some kind of control room, and this led to the logical conclusion that something was happening here on Domesday Island.
  
  
  With the butt of the carbine, she knocked out all the sensors on the panel, and went back to the shaft leading to the office. I ran out the door and ducked into the undergrowth, not noticing anyone in the frame of the building.
  
  
  The hydrofoil ship was where her ego had left it, anchored. He cut the line with a blunt blade, then turned on the engine and drove slowly away from the bank until the ferret was safely on full throttle. He sailed back to Resurrection Island and headed for the beach next to the hotel.
  
  
  I lowered the boat, got out on the beach, and walked over to the sidewalk she showed me. It wasn't until I got to my room that I realized I didn't have a key with me, so I had to use my lock picks again; this assignment was becoming a refresher course on opening locks.
  
  
  He took off his swimming trunks, showered, applied salve to his burned wrists, and examined the bullet wound on his neck. It was a large but superficial wound, and he'd put a Band-Aid on it and put on a dark turtleneck sweater and slacks.
  
  
  There was no doubt about it now; Wilhelmina and Hugo had come out all over the shelter. The Luger loaded it, tucked Ego into a soft leather shoulder holster, then strapped the stiletto to his left forearm. He threw on a blue jacket. He looked at the clock he'd left in his room. It was hard to believe that the evening was still beginning.
  
  
  Her picked up the room key on the table below, walked through the mimmo elevators, and returned back to the casino. As usual, the audience was small, but I wasn't interested; I went to a cabaret.
  
  
  The comedian was on stage, which meant he wouldn't be performing for about half an hour. I didn't know if I could wait that long before I made contact with her; I didn't even know if she would be working that night. He ordered a drink, waited for the bartender to do it on the other side of the bar, then quickly walked through the door that led directly to the stage.
  
  
  I went down a small flight of stairs and found myself in a narrow corridor between stacks of crates and a row of locker room doors. Lebanese acrobats sat in the cramped room, but they didn't look at me as I passed.
  
  
  I tried it three days before I found Chyna's locker room. She was sitting in front of the mirror, wearing only the lower part of her suit, and there were feathers around it. He slipped inside with Wilhelmina in his hand.
  
  
  "We need sound,"I hissed, pointing at the Luger.
  
  
  Her eyes widened as she turned to me. "Nick!" she gasped.
  
  
  'Yes. Keep your hands where ih can see her."
  
  
  She tried to stand up, holding out her hands to me. "Oh, trust me, Nick, it's not mistletoe's idea that they were going to kill you !"
  
  
  'Of course not. Get up. Put something on."
  
  
  She got up slowly.
  
  
  "Wear something?" It was the same smile again-almost. "We don't have time for this, dear. Hurry up, or I'll put you in your place right away."
  
  
  She sat motionless and stared into my eyes; he knew what she saw there.This convinced her that I wasn't joking. She picked up her clothes from the chair and put them on. It was my robe.
  
  
  'Where are we going?'What is it?' she asked, her voice slightly trembling.
  
  
  "Is there a way out here?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Then we'll go through there."
  
  
  We walked down the hall, out the back door, and came to a now-familiar side door. She walked with her head held high and didn't look back, while Ei stayed a few steps behind Nah. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back.
  
  
  "To your room?"
  
  
  "As you guessed."
  
  
  "And you couldn't even wait for the show to end? How nice of you.'
  
  
  'Hurry up.'
  
  
  In the room, ee pushed her down on the bed hard enough to bruise her a little. Her eyes filled with doubt for a moment, then they began to wander again.
  
  
  "So you escaped from them. She's so happy about this, Nick.
  
  
  'Drop it. What does this situation mean at the Last Judgment?
  
  
  "This ... I really don't know."
  
  
  It was aimed at Wilhelmina Ay's face. 'Try answering again.'
  
  
  She let the robe slide off her shoulders. I moved my left hand and let Hugo's stiletto slide into my hand so that she could see it. It dawned on her.
  
  
  "You wouldn't ..."
  
  
  "I don't have much time, dear. Answer me."'
  
  
  She lowered her head and sobbed into her hands. "My father, Nick. He's at the camp. If they find out, him, tell them... -
  
  
  There are a lot of fathers in the camps, " I said sharply. "Talking...'
  
  
  She raised her face, and the tears were real.
  
  
  "Honestly, Nick, I don't know much about it. Initially, they said that they were doing something to liberate my country, but some time ago I realized that this was a lie. When I almost got killed last night...
  
  
  "Almost." Did you think they would actually do it?
  
  
  "Who knows? She's never been to Domesday Island; they ordered me not to go near it."
  
  
  I hesitated; it didn't matter if she lied or not, because I already knew enough about the Last Judgment.
  
  
  "You have to believe me, Nick." There was a note of hysteria in her voice now; it was perfect.
  
  
  "How did you help them? What was your job?
  
  
  "I didn't do much; they just told me to report everyone who asked questions in silence."
  
  
  'How is she?'
  
  
  "I never told them about you."
  
  
  'Of course not.'
  
  
  "I'm Not Even Angela?"
  
  
  She lowered her head again, her thick hair covering her face. "She didn't ask anything. Nothing like that. When these people entered this room tonight, I was just as surprised as you were."
  
  
  "Who sent you to Double C?"
  
  
  "My agent. I swear on my mother's grave." She crossed herself quickly. "They came to me when she was here for one or two months. They said they knew about my father, they said they wanted to help liberate my country. But later she realized that they were lying because they said my father would be killed if I didn't do what they said."
  
  
  I didn't learn anything new from her. 'Good. Tolerable, I believe you. Now tell me how to get to De Doublon." And I don't mean through the gate.
  
  
  She looked up and bit her lip. Finally, she nodded. "There is a way ..."
  
  
  After tying her up with strips of sheet and the belt of his dressing gown, he went down the back stairs and walked quickly along the beach to the entrance of the tunnel that led to the lagoon. I needed to go swimming tonight, at least once more, but this time I would have a weapon that I could rely on.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  During Prohibition, De Doublon served as the main transit point for rum smugglers, when barred gates were installed to close the bay, as well as hidden buttons that opened the ih on both sides. When Grady Ingersoll bought the island, he left the system intact, even using remote control launchers that worked from hydrofoils. It wasn't careless; sometimes Ingersoll thought of even putting other boats into the lagoon that weren't equipped with remotes. But it was impossible to reach the handle from anywhere but a boat in the bay - or almost impossible.
  
  
  The console was a small dot on the side of the pedestrian bridge, slightly lighter than the rest of the stone-and-concrete structure. The only way to reach it is to climb over the edge, and reach for the button when you fall into the water. She told me that she had done this many times in the early stages of her romance with Angela, when they had to be careful because Angela still behaved more or less like the mistress of Ingersoll. It didn't matter these days; the billionaire's tastes were more exotic.
  
  
  His bench press on the bridge made sure of the spot's location and moved forward, rough rocks tearing at my jacket. And then he fell and hit the spot with his hand as he fell, then dived into the water.
  
  
  When I swam up to her, I didn't see anything, but as my eyes began to adjust to the twilight, I just saw a gate rising in the tunnel. I had twenty seconds to get through it, and it was the outgoing tide.
  
  
  It was a strong tide, and my Swedes were very much in my way. After wasting more than half of the allotted time, he still wasn't close to the critical point. Taking a deep breath, he dived with his head and hands, and began to swim with all his might. I couldn't see how far his progress was, but I kept swimming until the little clock in my head told me that the time must be up. I lifted my head cautiously and felt the sharpened iron bars scrape my ankle.
  
  
  My ankle was caught between two bars, and he felt me being pulled down. He turned wildly, grabbed his trapped leg, and pulled. There was progress, but not enough. The gate continued to sink to the bottom of the bay. I managed a candid breath before my head sank, then her tried to work quietly until the dark water closed in over my head.
  
  
  Panic almost killed me, but when I started to thrash, I imagined what would happen if I got out of here, and a kind of calm came over me. It was almost as if I'd managed to breathe deep beneath the surface, methodically relaxing my ankle. When she finally came out, her voice quickly surfaced. He slowly swam to the vertical stone bank of the lagoon and climbed ashore.
  
  
  After my breathing returned to normal, Luger emptied it and carefully wiped the cartridges dry with a palm leaf. Then ih inserted it back into the magazine and put it in the box.
  
  
  The other two hydrofoils danced on their mooring lines like billowing ghosts. The boats were unguarded; it was obvious that Ingersoll-or the Intimate Six who were actually in charge of the operation-had security forces at the main gate and around De Doublon itself. So far, that was fine with me, but it would only get worse if she went near the house with a lick.
  
  
  It wasn't difficult to find the entrance to the underground passage; He quickly walked towards the inn, went to the stairs, and carefully climbed up. To my right was a narrow hallway that led to the main room where the Angels and the Others had almost fought over me. On the other side was a second flight of stairs. It was a logical path, so I followed it. When hers reached the top, his, found that he was right, but it was a dead end.
  
  
  A steel door blocked the passage, massive and solid with only one small peephole. Her, hoping I'd stay away from the restricted survey peephole while I crept up on her. There was no point in checking if it was locked; it should have been.
  
  
  Around the jacket pocket, take out a small bundle. The fabric around the bag unfolded easily, turning into a string almost three meters long. Inside the bag was a large piece of explosive; it was carefully pressed by ee to the edge of the box, then a small fuse was inserted. The lanyard was a quick safety catch.
  
  
  Lighting it, he jumped down to the first floor, jumped around the corner and hid. The explosion made a deafening noise in the solid stone building, and the walls and floor shook for several seconds. Glancing up the stairs, hers, he saw that the door was wide open on its hinges.
  
  
  Hers stayed put.
  
  
  They ran toward me, Train leading the way, followed by the two remaining male members of the Intimate Six. I dodged; the smoke was still thick enough to hide me from ih's eyes, but I saw that all three of them were armed with pistols.
  
  
  He let Train and the next man pass her and disappeared under the stairs. Another long-haired man in a dark suit took a different route, out of my reach. Then I could have climbed the stairs, but I didn't go to the hotel to have them in my back. I went down the hall and hurried after Train and the other man.
  
  
  He was quickly overtaken by Comrade Train, who was just turning when we came face to face in the dark corridor. Ego's gun went up, but Hugo was a little faster; the knife went through Ego's throat and out onto his neck. It fell with a surprised gurgling sound.
  
  
  Snatching the gun out of the ego of a limp hand, he ran into the corridor and Stahl to wait. Sooner or later, Train would have to come back, and I hoped he would follow the same path. I wasn't surprised to hear the noise, but then I remembered that the old building was built like a fortress; what I thought was thunder, the guards outside probably didn't even hear it.
  
  
  Time was passing too fast; Her, looked at the clock. It was almost midnight, and when I remembered what Wilf had told me on the hydrofoil boat that it was too late for ih to stop, I had an uneasy feeling that it might be time. Maybe she was sent to the control room, but was that enough? I've come to the conclusion that I can't wait any longer. He silently climbed the stairs to the broken steel door and peered through the opening. I looked out through the thick smoke into a small and completely bare hallway with a candid door across from me. I went there with Wilhelmina ready to shoot.
  
  
  'Who's there? It was Angela's voice over the loudspeaker. This room didn't have a peephole,but I remembered it from the security cameras all over the house. Because of the smoke still hanging in the room, she didn't know me - or the brick explosion of the cell here. Anyway, I got lucky.
  
  
  He lowered his head and croaked: "It's hers, Train. Open up!"'
  
  
  "Password, Train ..."
  
  
  "Damn, it hurts! The bastard escaped. Let me in!"'
  
  
  There was a moment of silence, and I wondered if I'd said too much, and then the door slowly opened.
  
  
  She slammed her shoulder into the door with all her might. For a moment, my entire right side went numb from the impact, and the door opened only a few inches before coming to an abrupt stop. She was pushed through the opening and Stahl searched for Angela with the muzzle of his luger.
  
  
  She was sitting on the floor, legs apart, eyes wide. With her long purple dress and disheveled hair, she looked like a big child who had suddenly fallen.
  
  
  "You!" she said in a whisper.
  
  
  'Yes. Stand up. Hurry up!'
  
  
  She stood up and silently held up her hands. Her father searched her roughly and didn't let us pass a single place to hide a weapon. "I don't need a firearm," she said calmly.
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "Probably not. Okay, Angela, take me to your boss.
  
  
  She shrugged and walked down the wide hall, which was so richly carpeted that it made my hotel room look shabby by comparison. The soft indirect illumination illuminated the velvet-covered walls as if they had an inner glow of their own. Antique chairs and couches were scattered here and there, and even a pair of armors seemed to be sitting guard at the carved double doors at the end of the hall.
  
  
  "Here," Angela said, pointing to the door.
  
  
  'Then you."Hey bowed to her.
  
  
  She pushed open the door. We found ourselves in a huge, high-ceilinged room, partly furnished with even more antiques, partly in an ultra-modern style. A huge skylight above us gave us a view of the stars, and to her right I could see the viewing window that overlooked the " orgy hall." An old man sat in a throne-like chair, mostly shrouded in shadows. He pushed Angelou in front of him and walked over to him.
  
  
  "Mr. Ingersoll," the girl said softly.
  
  
  The old man turned his head slightly to reveal the same face I'd seen from below that evening. He frowned when he saw me, and his big hands gripped the arms of his huge chair.
  
  
  'Who is it? Ego's voice was petulant.
  
  
  "Nick Carter." We told you about nen.
  
  
  Ingersoll hesitated, his fingers moving excitedly along the banister. "He must be killed."
  
  
  "And obviously that didn't happen." He stepped up next to Angela and nudged Luger A in the side. "Your game is over."
  
  
  Another long hesitation before he spoke, and his fingers fluttered. "My game?"
  
  
  The words didn't quite match the way the ego's lips moved, like a misrecorded movie. He walked over to the chair. He smiled faintly, and his lips moved listlessly. "What do you want?"
  
  
  It was my turn to frown, because standing openly in front of him, I could have sworn her ego voice was coming from somewhere in the back of her head.
  
  
  Ingersoll wasn't interested in ego corkscrew's answer. My ego smile suddenly turned into a smile of perfect self-confidence - the moment my arm was grabbed and turned away from Angela so hard that it almost dislocated.
  
  
  Hers was a brief set; a fist slammed into my face. Numb, I backed away, but the paralyzing reach of my arm didn't let up. It was Train, and his dark face was smiling triumphantly at me. Behind him, a second man in a dark suit made a pistol at me to stack a dollar.
  
  
  I let Wilhelmina fall to the floor; the Luger made no more noise on the carpet than Train and the others did when they crept up on me.
  
  
  Immediately, Ingersoll rose from his chair and moved with an energy and precision that he hadn't had before. "Very good, gentlemen," he said. "And now that we have Nick Carter back, we need to make sure he doesn't run away this time."
  
  
  My jaw must have dropped open in disbelief as the man named Ingersoll listened to her; the voice she was hearing now was completely different.
  
  
  Ingersoll grinned. "You look surprised, Carter."
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  'Of course. Who wouldn't be surprised if they found out I wasn't the real Grady Ingersoll?
  
  
  'Then who are you?'
  
  
  The man shrugged. "Yes, you can call me a substitute."
  
  
  "And the real Ingersoll?"
  
  
  "Didn't you guess that?" Aren't all your intelligence agencies behind this? Why else would you be spying here?
  
  
  "Is he dead?"
  
  
  "In a way, yes."
  
  
  'What does this mean?'
  
  
  "Go on, I'll show it to you."
  
  
  He made his way across the room to the alcove, passing rows of electronic devices that constantly flickered and whirred. He stopped in front of two floor-length velvet curtains, looked at me again, and pulled the curtains back.
  
  
  I looked back at Grady Ingersoll, who was identical in every detail to the man standing next to me. But the other Ingersoll was open in a transparent container, its face and body partially obscured by swirling fog. Ego's eyes were closed and he was wearing what looked like a hospital nightgown. "So, Carter?" Ingersoll asked - or hema he would have been. "My Eastern colleagues told me that you are a very smart girl ..."
  
  
  "Is it frozen?"
  
  
  Ingersoll - I might have called it that, because I never thought of another name-nodded. 'Exactly. You certainly know something about cryogenics.
  
  
  "The technique of freezing people alive."
  
  
  "This was designed to offer people like Grady Ingersoll" - he bowed to the transparent vessel - " the hope of immortality. When a multi-billion-dollar individual suffers from an incurable disease, cryogenics can put the ego in suspended animation until medical science can find a cure for the ego. Very simple, isn't it?
  
  
  "So you're an egomaniac?" Until he's cured?
  
  
  'Exactly. Enlisted and scrupulously prepared by this gentleman himself in the strictest secrecy. Even my closest associates did not know, nam about this illness, nam about my role in managing Ingersoll's kingdom until he could manage it again."
  
  
  The pieces of the puzzle were now quickly starting to fall into place. 'Voice. How do you do it?'
  
  
  Ingersoll pointed to the electronic equipment. "My mentor - or her, should I say shepherd? "as you probably know, he was more than just a money-making machine; he was also a scientific genius. I also have a modest background in some applied sciences, and together we developed a computer voice for me. These memory banks contain many thousands of words and phrases that are immediately available, and all of them are recorded by Ingersoll ego, in an unfortunately inimitable voice. With ego, I can talk on the phone or give a speech; I can even talk to people face-to-face with some limitations, as you noticed a few minutes ago.
  
  
  She was impressed, and made sure he noticed it. "It's unbelievable," I said.
  
  
  'Yes. I wish the world would never know - at least not until I'm gone ."
  
  
  'What do you mean?'
  
  
  "Well, well, Carter, do you really think that now that he has reached this position, he will be revived by this living corpse?" He pulled down the curtains with a contemptuous gesture and blocked the view of the real billionaire. "Before I gathered my trusted associates here, I was the only one who knew the truth. The only one in the whole world! »
  
  
  "But ... do you trust these people?"
  
  
  'Of course. They have a much higher goal than just controlling the financial empire, and I'm helping them do that."
  
  
  "What is this goal?"
  
  
  Ingersoll waved a fat finger under my nose. "Now, now, Carter, you want to know too much."
  
  
  "Why don't we get rid of this guy instead of standing here talking?" growled Train. "He's too smart to risk it."
  
  
  "You might want to hear what I've already found out," I said quickly.
  
  
  Ingersoll looked from me to Train to me. "Yes," he said slowly, " tell us what you've learned about us."
  
  
  "Basically that you're building some kind of rocket launcher on Doomsday Island."
  
  
  Ego's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, about that, Carter? When you say "some kind of installation," you're right ."
  
  
  "You mean it's ready for use?"
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  "Mr. Ingersoll," Train growled warningly.
  
  
  "Oh, don't worry. Carter has so beautifully invaded Ingersoll's infamous privacy that the least we can do is tell em a little bit about our operation before we silence ego forever.
  
  
  I guessed it correctly, he was a talker, eager to show off his ingenuity. "I don't think your trusted associates trust you, Ingersoll," I said. "Oh, that's definitely not the case." He made a grand gesture. "We all need each other; we are the perfect team, an unprecedented combination of idealism and technical skill. Not to mention the money, of course.
  
  
  'Idealism? He looked at Train, whose scowl didn't change. "That long-haired scum?"
  
  
  "No way? These young people - and the young lady - are committed to outdoor swimming around the world and prosperity for all, having gone through a purgatory of doubt, rejection and purification ."
  
  
  "I don't understand you."
  
  
  "Well, take the Durable One, for example. A West Point graduate, he went missing in Vietnam more than two years ago. I was told that ego and subsequent experiences in Hanoi and elsewhere to the north were very instructive. And Frank had defected from the army to West Germany - of course, he was guided by the highest principles - and ended up in the Far East. Anton led a group of volunteers who helped export the sugar crop to Cuba, and came to the conclusion that she could do much more for this business than just cutting sugar cane. Arthur... Where's Arthur?
  
  
  "Dead," Train said sincerely. "This guy killed the ego." Ingersoll looked at me with half-closed eyes. "Was it necessary, Carter?"
  
  
  "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
  
  
  "And Kevin?" Wilf?
  
  
  "They were going to give me a one-way ticket to the bottom of the ocean. It was ih who kept her from doing it."
  
  
  'Hmm. You destroyed my remote control tonight, didn't you?
  
  
  I didn't say anything to her.
  
  
  Ingersoll pulled his watch out from around his waistcoat pocket - he was wearing that suit-and frowned at the dial. "I don't think it would be helpful to ask how many of your colleagues' software will meet know what you've learned." He didn't wait for my reply. "But it doesn't matter. Our plans will just need to be changed a little bit."
  
  
  'How so? I could feel Trein's heavy body behind me, and Frank's gun next to me was motionless.
  
  
  'Come on. I'll show it to you. Ingersoll went into the room where the electronic equipment was located. He turned the pointer, and the screen lit up with a detailed aerial view. "Here, as you can see, is Domesday Island. The construction and improvement of my new hotel is very slow, but this is because it is not a hotel. See these verticals inside? He pointed to a few small dots on the skeleton of a building under construction. "Well, eighteen, and in each of the eighteen pipes, which are hollow, there are rockets. I admit that they have a limited range, but I think kuda is targeted forever.
  
  
  She wanted to tell the emu that I knew what they were going for, but held back. 'Oh, right?'
  
  
  'Yes. Palm Adversity. It's hardly the most vulnerable military target, is it?
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "But... think about it. When I give her the signal, the millionaires ' playground will be hit by high-explosive fragmentation missiles. Oh, no nuclear weapons, Carter. We've been bringing parts here one by one over the past year, and thanks to the ingenuity of our yellow-skinned friends - don't forget, they invented gunpowder - we have a whole arsenal on our tiny island."
  
  
  "But what's the point?"
  
  
  Think about it: an unprecedented and therefore unexpected attack on an area where the president of the United States is in the hall on a working vacation-consulting with the main participants of his campaign, some of the richest and most influential people in the world."
  
  
  - What do you think you will achieve by doing this?
  
  
  "Well, we intend to force the U.S. government to accept our terms."
  
  
  'Conditions?'
  
  
  Ingersoll smiled ruefully. "You were at Cape Kennedy, NY, Carter. You know what we want. If my friends in the Far East also have Three-headed guidance systems, they will be the nuclear equivalent of other superpowers."
  
  
  "So you know about the existence of Driekoppen"
  
  
  "As the main shareholder, I am, of course, aware of all new developments. Although even I didn't have access to the details."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "What's so good about it?"
  
  
  "Oh ... the feeling that you've achieved something that money can't buy. Perhaps one day I will be remembered as the greatest peacemaker in history."
  
  
  "What if your first attack doesn't work? If the armed forces of our country decided to come here to wipe you off the face of the earth?
  
  
  "Oh, come on! Bomb an island in the middle of a popular tourist area, in the colonies of your closest ally?
  
  
  Her, understood what he meant. "But what happens when you launch rockets? These people can ask if you have anything else."
  
  
  "Yes, but we have it too. The Carter nuclear missile, which we, of course, called the Vera.
  
  
  "Mr. Ingersoll, I think we've talked long enough." Train pushed me toward Frank. "Let's take this guy out so we can continue the operation."
  
  
  Ingersoll nodded. "Yes, you must be right.
  
  
  Kill the ego quickly, but do it from the outside. I'll call the control center.
  
  
  As Train pushed me across the room, I saw Ingersoll take the field phone off its hook and speak into it. He waited, then said something else.
  
  
  "Tsunganos! Where are you? Ego's round pale face was stunned with rage.
  
  
  Its stopped. "Forget the ego, Ingersoll. He's dead. And your control room is trashed.
  
  
  Ingersoll turned desperately. At the same time, she caught Frank's expression and saw that the gun was shaking in his ego. He stepped back, pressed himself against the back of Train's stomach, grabbed Ego's arm, and pulled him up. It flew over my shoulder as Frank came to and pulled the trigger. Gawking hit the burly Train; her, tried to duck behind the gunslinger, but trying to throw the tall man over my shoulder took me over the counterweights. I stumbled, fell on one of the tribes, and someone lunged at me.
  
  
  It would be nice to think that Angela was deliberately trying to save me, but it's more likely that she was trying to throw herself on my back. When hers fell, she swam past mimmo me and into Frank's line of fire. The gawk punched through hey chest, came out through the backs and flew by a hair's breadth mimmo me.
  
  
  He tripped over Nah and got to Frank before he recovered from the shock of the girl's punches. We got into a gun fight and spun around the room like a pair of drunken dancers before an emu broke her thumb. He screamed, and the gun slid into my hand.
  
  
  Frank fell to his knees with a groan. Her ego hit him with the butt of the gun, then turned to Angela. She was lying on her stomach, her long dress hanging above her knees. He rolled her onto her back. Her eyelids blinked and she looked up at me. "Nick," she muttered, and closed her eyes forever.
  
  
  He got up quickly and looked at Ingersoll. There was no ego to be seen. Despite the size of the room, there was no hiding place for an ego-sized man except behind the velvet curtains where the frozen body was located. He pulled back the curtains. Ingersoll was not there alive, and the half-dead man had no hope of coming back to life. The gawk that broke through Angela also ended up in the transparent container. And through the small hole, icy smoke poured out, taking with it forever Ingersoll's notorious plan for immortality.
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  One of the hydrofoil boats was just leaving the shore when it came out, around the tunnel. I fired it at the boat, around the luger, but it was too dark to aim properly. A moment later, the white hull disappeared into the tunnel.
  
  
  I heard a shout behind me, but I didn't turn around. Apparently, the guards outside finally realized that something was wrong with De Doublon. I ran to the other hydrofoil, untied ego, and brought the engine. When entering the tunnel, I had to press a few buttons on the control panel before I found the right one, and when the indistinct silhouette of the gate saw it, I sped up.
  
  
  Hers was too fast; the gate was only halfway there when he reached it. He dived in, and heard the glass shatter, and the crack of metal as the windshield came off. The boat lost speed, then seemed to shudder and move forward.
  
  
  In the distance, she was spotted by another hydrofoil boat heading towards Doomsday Island on its metal skis. I pushed the throttle as far forward as I could, felt the fuselage lift around the water and the wings slide across. The boat was racing across the surface at a speed that took my breath away-especially without the windshield. Ingersoll's boat entered the channel between the two islands, and hers followed.
  
  
  She expected him to head for the port bar, but instead he headed for a candid k-shaped concrete pier with a steel frame. The ego boat slammed into the dock and bounced back; Ingersoll struggled to maintain control, brought the hydrofoil closer again, jumped frantically to the edge of the pier, pulled himself up - and almost instantly disappeared - right in front of my eyes.
  
  
  During the chase, its slightly caught up to it, but not by much, and when its slowed down to get to the dock, its lost all the advantage it had gained. He climbed to the bow and jumped on the concrete, ducking under curiously constructed metal beams. He rose cautiously, Wilhelmina in his hand. Ingersoll was nowhere in sight.
  
  
  I didn't know what to do, so I leaned against one of the beams. I thought it was slightly shaking from the wind, but then I clearly felt it moving! He took a step back and saw the whole strange mess spinning slowly but unmistakably. "Vote it out!" I said softly, diving into the steel mass.
  
  
  There was a chute-like opening in the center. He hesitated for a moment, then rushed inside. He was able to slow her fall with his hands on either side of the wall, and he could hear the rumble of heavy machinery below. Then, after a long, slow glide, he saw a glimmer that grew stronger as he descended. There was a bare, smooth spot at the bottom of the pipe; I dropped it as quietly as I could and looked around.
  
  
  He found himself in the middle of a tangled assembly of pipes and construction beams, with hydraulic wiring all around. Hers carefully crept up to the source of the light. Grady Ingersoll was standing in front of the panel, turning knobs and looking at the dials, his hair loose in all directions, his face glowing with tension. There was a tunnel behind the panel, and if my sense of direction wasn't completely wrong, I knew it must lead to the control room I'd trashed. This meant that the remote controlled by Ingersoll was a backup installation ...
  
  
  I was about to jump over a wide hole in the concrete floor when I was suddenly lifted into the air. Stunned, he screamed and tried to jump off the huge round object between his legs. But it was relentlessly pushing me up, open to the steel beam, forever.
  
  
  The screeching of cars stopped abruptly. And hers, too, stopped. He jumped up from his seat, fell awkwardly to the ground, and stared at the blatant little carbine in Ingersoll's hands.
  
  
  "So you found this, Carter." He was breathing heavily, and ego's chest was heaving. "You seem to have found all the nooks and crannies of my operation."
  
  
  "It looks like it."
  
  
  "Well, this is your latest discovery. Drop the gun, okay, I don't want to shoot here. I did what he said; I didn't need a gunfight either, because with all that metal and concrete around us, missing gawk can ricochet forever.
  
  
  "Do you have a nuclear missile here?" I looked at the thing that had pushed me up, and saw a long cylindrical rod under the nose cone going into a hole in the ground.
  
  
  "It's a pity you didn't discover this before it was too late for you." He smiled, his face contorted in the dim light. "It's nothing compared to your sophisticated rockets, but it will do its job. A solid-fuel, simple but effective mechanism, focused on your capital."
  
  
  "This is also your capital," her emu denied media reports.
  
  
  'Oh no. My capital is where I ended up, Carter. What do I owe the United States, or for that matter, what is it to any country? All they need is my money with ih dirty taxes...
  
  
  "Oh, that's enough," I said. "You forget who you are."
  
  
  'Oh no. He gave me a sly smile. "Her Grady Ingersoll, the real Grady Ingersoll-and only you can say otherwise."
  
  
  "I think a few guys are still alive."
  
  
  "Then I'll deal with them if I have to, but I don't think it's in your best interest to talk, Carter. Only you are dangerous. He raised the carbine.
  
  
  It bounced off and threw itself to the ground. Like an idiot, Ingersoll fired a burst and the lead went flying in all directions. My heel grazed, and a second gawk passed so close that my hair caught fire.
  
  
  When I looked at Ingersoll, it seemed to me that the emu wasn't so lucky. He was sitting on the concrete floor, his eyes wide with bewilderment and fear. "Carter," he said. "Don't let ay take this away from me now. . He fell on his side and bench press motionless.
  
  
  I knelt beside him and lifted one of his eyelids. He didn't move, and there was no sign of breathing. I put the carbine away and checked her large, soft body for damage, but saw nothing. He stood up with a sigh. "Add up a dollar," he muttered in the silence. "Or something like that." Anyway, I still have my body, and she doesn't want to leave her ego here.
  
  
  It was a long, sharp climb up the chute - which, of course, was the rocket's launch tube - dragging Ingersoll's body with it. Finally, when she reached the pier, she lay on the cold concrete for a few minutes to catch her breath. It was surreal to look at the canal and see the festive lights on the big boats at the port of bar, as if in Dubla Cay, you could only have fun.
  
  
  Finally, he stood up and looked out at Doomsday Island. We were far enough inland that the patrol guards wouldn't notice us. I was curious about how long it would take them to find the four fixtures in the underground control room, but I decided not to worry about it; it was an ih problem.
  
  
  One of the hydrofoils, the Ingersoll, with the windscreen intact, was washed up on the pier by the current of the canal, and the dead man was lifted into the cockpit. When I was in the middle of the canal, I thought about what to do with the cooling mountain of flesh on my feet. It doesn't have to be thrown into the water by the ego; it would be better if the ego were never found.
  
  
  Her last trip was to the desolate site of Doomsday Island. The sand was soft, and with the help of a broken branch, he dug a grave that probably wouldn't be found for years - if ever. She then set off for Resurrection Island, pondering all possible future shaggy moves.
  
  
  When he arrived at the harbor, he accepted her decision. It was too risky to stay in Dubla Cay for even a minute longer than necessary, not only because of the surviving members of the Intimate Six organization-if they wanted to kill me - but also because of the local authorities; they probably wouldn't have shown any mercy to the massacre I'd inflicted on her tonight, no matter how justified it is.
  
  
  He sailed on the boat and considered his next move. I had to go to the Bahamas, which meant Florida. He had no idea if a hydrofoil boat could make it there with the available fuel on board ... I looked up at the hill Herridge was standing on this morning and thought of the Lear Jet parked on the other side of the runway.
  
  
  He stood there, dark and still in the moonlight. He went over and removed the recoil stops from the wheels and loosened the slings. I didn't have time to warm up the car and go through the rest of the ascent procedure properly; I had to warm up the engines to get it up...
  
  
  "Were you planning to go somewhere, Mr. Walton?" I didn't have to turn around to know that Herridge was behind me. "I just admire the device."
  
  
  "And you'd give the ego hotel a try."
  
  
  He turned and grinned, wondering how to disarm the ego. There was no gun in sight, but Ego's hand was in his jacket pocket. "I believe you've got me," I said.
  
  
  'Indeed. Maybe you want to leave so suddenly after all the excitement of Double C?
  
  
  "What's the commotion?" I asked innocently.
  
  
  "Yes, I see a lot of things around my window. A lot of accidents in the walls de Doublon, a lot of shouting. And they are hydrofoils that flew out to sea, only three. Her, saw one run aground behind the hotel, and I see you arrive at the harbor in another boat. Where's the third ship, Mr. Walton?"
  
  
  "How do I know that?"
  
  
  Herridge chuckled softly. "Why are you telling me, too?" Well, maybe Mr. Nick Walton should disappear from Doublecay forever. Get in. He pointed at the plane with his free hand.
  
  
  I put her in the copilot's seat and decided to wait until we were airborne before disabling the ego; then it would be easier. But before we pulled out onto the runway, Herridge pulled out a blunt revolver up to his waistcoat and handed it to me.
  
  
  "If you doubt my motives, Mr. Walton. I work for the British government's counter-narcotics division, which is provided to the Bahamian authorities. My assignment was to find out if Grady Ingersoll was dealing drugs. I have a feeling it doesn't matter anymore. Her driver's license?'
  
  
  'I think you can climb this wall tomorrow and check it out.'
  
  
  'Very nice of you. Thank you.'
  
  
  Her sel and relaxed to enjoy the flight.
  
  
  Hawk was waiting for me in his Spartan office on Dupont Circle when he arrived a little after noon the next day.
  
  
  "Your flight via Miami landed an hour and a half ago," he greeted me. "Where have you been?"
  
  
  "Well, hers, he was swimming in the clothes I was already wearing, and I thought it would be nice to change before hers, I'll come here."
  
  
  He nodded grimly. 'And also?'
  
  
  He elaborated on the story Emu had given him on the phone at three in the morning. He listened without comment until it was finished.
  
  
  He asked. "What do you think will happen to the rest of the organization?"
  
  
  "They clean up the mess and pretend that nothing happened, or the Herridge and ego people will strike before they can do anything effective. In any case, I assume you've already notified the Bahamian authorities about the missile base on Doomsday Island.
  
  
  "It was transmitted to them through indirect channels. Everything will be handled discreetly ."
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  "But there is one thing that really bothers me. The man you buried: Can we be sure it wasn't the real Grady Ingersoll? That this body in the container wasn't just a dummy?
  
  
  "Why would they do that?"
  
  
  "I don't know anything about it. Our task is simply to make sure of this completely."
  
  
  He reached into the side pocket of his jacket and tossed the cloth-wrapped object into the chair. "This is for testing purposes." Slowly, insistently, he turned the object around until his thumb was in front of him. Ego's expression didn't change when he looked at me. 'Well?'
  
  
  'Check your fingerprint; I bet it won't match the real Grady Ingersoll's fingerprint.
  
  
  'Excellent. Hawk stood up. "One last thing. Are you sure that this girl, the dancer who really excited you so much, won't talk?
  
  
  "What can she say? By the way, she was asked by Herridge to go to my hotel room and let her go when he got back to Double C, and he said he would keep an eye on her.
  
  
  - Judging by your story, it seems that the task is completed. I take it you want to go on vacation again?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. 'No, thank you. Every time I go on vacation, you think of something clever to keep me occupied while I'm supposed to be on vacation. But you can do one thing for me."
  
  
  As always, Hawk was way ahead of me. "She also mentioned you several times. I don't think today is the day you'll be able to find Veronica at the shooting range. He shook his head and smiled icily. "I don't understand what a young girl like you sees in an old man like you."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  Somewhere in the Bahamas, an eccentric billionaire arranges wild orgies involving hippies, sex and hashish. But in his spare time, the rich man has fun with a general destruction missile system. Time for "Master Assassin" Nick Carter to hit the road. Dangerous death tour. Because you need to stop the ruthless rich madman. No matter what. Not an easy job, even for Nick Carter. Especially when it turns out that hippies like Anton are more dangerous naked than the toughest gangsters.
  
  
  
  
  Table of contents
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Night of the Avenger
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Night of the Avenger
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original title: Night Of The Avenger
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  He turned and saw a monk in a yellow robe walking mimmo, head bowed and hands clasped in prayer. My fragile body just bumped into me. He came to himself and walked on, not looking up, not seeing us, me, us beggars sitting on the sidewalk.
  
  
  A dark-skinned boy was running ahead of me. He ran with his skinny chest bared and his knobby knees moving vigorously. He looked so pathetic, so hungry, that my hand automatically went to my pocket. But it flew by mimmo's elbow and was gone before the emu could give it the coins.
  
  
  A moment later, a smartly dressed woman stepped gracefully out of a Rolls-Royce. For the price of ee clothing, hundreds of hungry people on the street could be fed for a month.
  
  
  He was just getting used to the mind-blowing contrasts of Calcutta when an explosion sounded seven meters from the building. The windows bulged and popped like inflated balloons.
  
  
  He'd seen shrapnel crash into the half-naked bodies of beggars and tear the Parisian dress of the woman around the Rolls. I heard her screams and moans of pain, then an invisible fist of air sampling pressure hit me in the chest and knocked me off my feet.
  
  
  Smoke billowed behind rocks that flew down the street and smashed into cars parked across the street. Before he lost consciousness, he saw the upper floors of buildings collapse. Slowly, like melting wax, the structure lost its shape as the steel beams buckled and the planks cracked and crumbled. A strong city of rocks and cement blocks fell around me.
  
  
  When a hard object hit the back of my head, the pain was unbearable. Her, I remember thinking very clearly: "I'm going to die." And I haven't even started the task yet.
  
  
  Then everything turned black, and I couldn't feel the pain anymore.
  
  
  For me, it was the only transmission of the sirens, those strange English horns that were more appropriate for small European police cars than for a large Cadillac ambulance that stopped inches from my head on the sidewalk.
  
  
  I felt the splinters being pulled out around my feet, and I heard a familiar voice speaking to me from afar.
  
  
  'Nickname? It's you?'
  
  
  Corkscrew seemed silly to me. But the voice kept repeating corkscrew, and her couldn't answer. My mouth was full of dust and bits of cement.
  
  
  "Are you still alive, Nick?" Do you hear me?'
  
  
  I was picked up by strong men and carefully lifted up on a stretcher. She was flat on her back until I was put in the ambulance, but she was selected when the old Cadillac pulled up on Chowringey Road.
  
  
  The man who had spoken to me on the street was not there; only the thin Indian nurses rode with me, and he did not trust them.
  
  
  Not that I had much money with me. I was more concerned about the weapons sewn into my suit.
  
  
  Through the window, I could see the crowd gathered in the street in front of the smoking ruins of the blown-up building. Several people threw stones at wounded people on the sidewalk, while others threw stones at a police car. Police were already firing tear gas canisters into the crowd, and a small riot seemed inevitable.
  
  
  A minute later, the Cadillacs had left the crowd behind, and except for their heads and the dirt in their mouths, he felt like a tourist on a field trip.
  
  
  An honest guide would have to describe Calcutta as "the dirtiest, dirtiest, sickest, rottenest city in the world."
  
  
  But for a few blocks, Chowringee Road was a Chamber of Commerce paradise. Museums, government offices, small hotels, and spacious private homes lined both sides, but for ihc, there were things that would make a Western math major sick.
  
  
  Calcutta, like most stuffy, crowded cities — is one of the largest in the world. Only the slums are different. One million residents of the city do not have housing at all. They live on the street, on the sidewalk, in parks and public buildings. Not when they're begging and stealing to stay alive. Whole families are born, live, and die without even the most primitive roof over their heads, no better off than the rats they fight over garbage.
  
  
  At night, the rows of sleepers resemble corpses laid out for burning after an epidemic. The more successful ones live in slums or buesti, the roof of which rises one and a half meters above the ground. Web water is the muddy and unspeakably polluted waters of the Hooghly River.
  
  
  I remembered it the last time I was in Calcutta. It was the rainy season, and there was an open sewer system running through the streets.
  
  
  So I wouldn't be particularly interested in this trip. I went there on a mission, I know that the city is a cesspool of diseases and dirt.
  
  
  It was once a hope for better times. In 1947, when the British granted independence to the country, the new Congress Party made crazy promises of a better future and democracy, but with them, Calcutta the ferret only got further bogged down.
  
  
  In 1971, the townspeople voted for the Communists in desperation. But this hope was not fulfilled. The Communists also could not control the city, so the federal government intervened and declared martial law.
  
  
  In real life, Calcutta didn't seem like the right city for an AH agent . But I had to obey orders, and the message that reached me in Nice was very clear.
  
  
  "Go to Calcutta as soon as possible," it said. So she was pushed around the garbage by an attractive French countess and picked up on the first plane heading east. Now, an hour after landing in Calcutta, he was in an ambulance, licking his wounds and congratulating himself on being alive.
  
  
  In front of the hospital, I got out on shaky legs around the car and refused the offer of the nurses to take me to the Ambulance. Instead, he followed a young nurse with soft brown skin and a nice ass down a busy hallway. After we filled out the usual forms, she took me to a private room and told me to wait for the doctor.
  
  
  An hour later, Hawk came in.
  
  
  Hers, looked at him with his mouth open. He thought it was an ego voice that heard her half asleep on the street, but attributed it to delirium. As far as I know, he was in his private office in the United Press and Telegraph Services building on Dupont Circle in Washington.
  
  
  He didn't even say hello. He just frowned, took out one of his cheap cigars, and bit off the end. He lit it with obvious pleasure.
  
  
  For Hawke, lighting a cigar is a ritual, and the way he holds it in his mouth gives away what's on his mind. At this point, he was either worried or assessing the new situation.
  
  
  When he looked up, after putting out the match, he seemed to see me for the first time.
  
  
  'How are you feeling?'
  
  
  Her coughed up some more dust around her throat and said, " Yes, sir. I feel good.'
  
  
  He nodded, clearly pleased.
  
  
  "You didn't say you were going to Calcutta," I said.
  
  
  "Amendments are in the plans," he said. "I was returning from a meeting in Beijing. I didn't go out for long. I'll be heading home in an hour.
  
  
  Hawk looked directly at me and frowned again.
  
  
  "You're getting careless," he said suddenly. "I followed you all the way from the airport. He wasn't even one block behind you when the bomb went off.
  
  
  Her, looked at him. Hawke was an experienced agent, and he hadn't forgotten that, but I should have known someone was watching me. In my line of work, you don't last long if you don't notice that you're being followed.
  
  
  — The bomb was meant for me?"
  
  
  He said no. Probably not. It was a Russian building, the headquarters of a trade mission. And that's part of the problem."
  
  
  My boss opened the small package he brought.
  
  
  What he was holding looked like a rusty can of trash crush. There was no label, and there was a safety catch on one side. It looked no more dangerous than a toy bomb.
  
  
  "That's him, Kostya, why are you in Calcutta," Hawke said. "Homemade bombs".
  
  
  He laughed. It can't be serious. The thing didn't seem like a real threat. "Potassium nitrate," he said. - Bank aspiration and fuse. The price is two rupees.
  
  
  "Two quarters," he calculated aloud.
  
  
  'That's right. Pretty cheap, even in a country like India. But this thing is powerful enough to rip off a leg or blow up a building. Probably more powerful than a hydrogen bomb, if you make ih enough and use it as a political lever.
  
  
  This time it was my turn to frown. He surprised me. Hawk wasn't a man given to exaggeration, but he talked about homemade rigidity as if it were an atomic bomb. "In the last 24 hours, three Russian buildings in Calcutta have been destroyed by these cheap bombs. A sales representative office and two Russian firms.
  
  
  I asked her. "So what. Since when does ferret AH worry that the Russians will get mad at it?
  
  
  "Our red friends are shouting about bloody murders. The police found that the cans were produced by the American company National Can Company.
  
  
  "But they're sold all over the outdoor pool."
  
  
  'It doesn't matter. We are under pressure. It's about retribution. And there are rumors about it.
  
  
  "Rumors?
  
  
  "Talk about a major uprising."
  
  
  — As a result of some cheap changes to the full name?
  
  
  Hawk chewed on a dead cigar. Ego's face was grim. "Yes, if blowing up ih is enough in the right places..." He shrugged.
  
  
  He handed me a thin folder with an apologetic expression on his face. "This is all we have so far. This is a problem of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation, so we solve it through our consulate. I think they have a lead for you. Please contact Randy Mir. He is the controlling agent of the AH . Contact information is available on the dell. He sighed and looked uncertain. It wasn't like him. "We want to nip this in the bud. This case has a smell that we don't like.
  
  
  He paused again, as if regretting what he had said. "Find out who makes the bombs and give it a lead. Act without restrictions.'
  
  
  There were two messages in Della from Randy Alone, but nothing else. I could get more information from the newspapers. I had to follow this information blindly, and I didn't like it.
  
  
  He looked at Hawke, expecting more from him.
  
  
  — You know as much as we do now, Nick. We couldn't find out anything about it," he said. "This can be dealt with quickly. We don't have time for us, for a thorough exploration, or even for a thorough analysis. So be careful. We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into.
  
  
  "Nice business," I said.
  
  
  "I wish we could tell you more. Randy Mir says that he has a dog who is engaged can help. For a year, he trained a German Shepherd to detect explosive active substances. It's almost impossible, but give it a try. In this case, we need everything we can get.
  
  
  He tapped the ash from his cigar and rubbed his ego into the floor with his boot. "We don't know much about Russian movements in the area. They've got at least one person here, maybe more. And the Chinese can also be active."
  
  
  "My camouflage?"
  
  
  Hawk gave me a briefcase, a passport, and half a plane ticket.
  
  
  "You're Howard Matson. Last month you wanted cheap saltpeter in the Far East. You are a firework maker.
  
  
  I took her passport and looked at it to remember where she was supposedly born and lived and where my fictitious company was located.
  
  
  The bag was full of papers related to fireworks, formulas, contracts, bushing, screed sales, pens and notebooks. Enough to pass a cursory inspection. Hawk reached into his pocket and pulled out the hotel key. He gave it to me.
  
  
  "There are Swedes in the room. All the personal items you need. Good luck.'
  
  
  He walked over to the door and left without looking back. She found herself alone again. Stoned and wounded, a stranger in a dirty city, on a mission that almost killed me before he even took action.
  
  
  The doctor who visited me spoke Oxford English and examined me thoroughly.
  
  
  "The bones aren't broken," he said. "No internal injuries."
  
  
  He immediately lost interest in me. He wrote out a prescription for painkillers and disappeared. An hour later, he left her around the hospital, and Stahl looked for a taxi.
  
  
  Once again, I was standing outside in the heat, thinking about the clothes Hawk had prepared for me at the hotel, and hoping he'd chosen a light and cool suit. But it wasn't just Savchenko who made me sweat when she was put in the cab. It was an assignment. Her carapace is on him blindly and without a single proper lead or clue. I didn't like it.
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  Bertrum J. Smith Slocum looked like a typical diplomat. He was over five feet tall, with silver-gray hair and a carefully trimmed mustache. Nen was wearing very shiny ballet slippers, an expensive suit with a good cut, and cufflinks on the sleeves of a striped shirt. When he stretched out his hand, a quick smile appeared on his face, but it quickly disappeared.
  
  
  "Ah, Mr. Carter. I've heard incredible things about you.
  
  
  "Matson," I said. "Let's get used to my camouflage name."
  
  
  "Oh, yes, of course. He motioned for me to sit in the blue velvet chair next to the ego-polished desk. There wasn't even a phone on the table to distract attention from the shiny grainy pattern on the nen.
  
  
  He asked. "Were you informed of this when you left France?"
  
  
  'Not completely.'
  
  
  "Mmmmm. Well, there were four more explosions, including the one you just avoided today. The Russian Consul officially placed the responsibility on the United States. They continue to send estimates of reconstruction costs and a list of dead Russians. So far, the bill is about twenty million dollars.
  
  
  'This is ridiculous. How can they prove that we are...
  
  
  "They can't."
  
  
  "Are we responsible for this?"
  
  
  — No, no, of course not. We're in the dark, just like everyone else. Yesterday, the Russians handed out pistols to all the consulate staff. They have twenty-six people there, and I can guess why. It's one big spy network, voices and all. He paused and pushed an envelope across the chair toward me. "Washington sent you a message. It's encoded. They also instructed us to cooperate fully with you.
  
  
  Slocum got up and went to the window. He ran a hand over his face and returned.
  
  
  "Carter... I mean Matson... we need to put a stop to this bombardment immediately and shake off the Russians. This is the first spot in my career. Twenty-seven years in the foreign service, and now this.
  
  
  — I'll do my best, Mr. Slocum. But I need a few things. Fifty rounds of ammunition for a standard 9mm Luger pistol, a nice small .25 automatic pistol, and two frag grenades.
  
  
  "Mr. Matson! His diplomat, not an arms dealer. He laughed. "You want him to have a diplomatic conversation with a terrorist who throws a bomb at me? I use my own methods, and you use yours. I also need a car and a thousand dollars in rupees, no more than twenty bills.
  
  
  Slocum looked at me for a moment, and I saw the disapproval in his eyes. In ego's personal interpretation, her rank was much lower than ego's. But right now, he needed me. Without saying anything, he picked up the phone and started giving orders. While he was doing this, I opened the envelope he had given me and examined the neatly printed numbers and letters. The message was written in a five-group dialog code AX. I would have preferred to destroy the message immediately, but you can't decipher a message in five groups at once, so I pawned it to ego in a minute.
  
  
  Slocum gave me the car keys and a stack of rupees, most of which were badly battered, and everything that her hotel needed. A three-pointed star in a circle was stamped on the key ring. So the keys must have come from a Mercedes, probably from Slocum's own car. At least he made some sacrifices.
  
  
  "Mr. Matson, Washington has asked me to remind you that this case contains the seeds of a confrontation between the United States and Russia. It seems that the role of the culprit was imposed on us, and we do not have the opportunity to prove our innocence. If the current number of explosions increases or more employees of the Russian consulate are killed... He wiped his earlobe. Slocum was sweating in his cool office.
  
  
  — Well, then, there could be an extensive guerrilla war going on here in Calcutta. Americans and Russians will die in a neutral country — a terrifying prospect."
  
  
  — If that happens, Mr. Slocum, you won't need me. Then you need the Marines.
  
  
  When he returned to his hotel room half an hour later, he bent over the encrypted message he had received over the United States. The instructions were short.
  
  
  "I suggest you contact and keep in touch with Choeni Mehta, the daughter of a well-known industrialist. Known as Indian agent Class M4, ih lower class. Promotion from the courier. It seems to only work part-time. May be useful for grants with special Calcutta problems. It is known that she is sympathetic to the United States, but does not reveal her camouflage unnecessarily." The message wasn't a big deal, but it was support nonetheless. In any case, it gave me a potential ally, and well in Calcutta there was extremely little ferret with them as the US government sided with the Pakistanis in the ih war with India. I flipped through her phone book until I finally found the name of the editor of an English-language newspaper. I pretended to be a freelance writer and got most of the information I needed from her. Choeni Mehta was twenty-two years old, about five feet tall, and an upper-caste Brahmin. She went to school in Switzerland and developed a reputation for partying. Every day, she played tennis at the Racket and Wrestling club near Maidan Park.
  
  
  Meeting her was easier than I thought. I've just been to a club where she beat some English girl. After giving it to the bartender for ten rupees, he told me that Choini's favorite drink was fizzy gin, so he took two glasses with him when he went to the tennis court.
  
  
  She had already beaten her opponent.
  
  
  "Game over," Choeni said, heading for the net.
  
  
  "This punch is worth a drink," I said, handing her the glass.
  
  
  A frown appeared on her forehead, then disappeared again. "Her husband.
  
  
  "Some around friends in Monte Carlo advised me to stop by your place if its ever going to be in Calcutta. And her voice is here.
  
  
  Nah's voice was low and pleasant, with a slight English accent and a hint of snobbery. 'Friends who...?'
  
  
  He smiled at her. "I'm sorry, I never call her names. Just friends.'
  
  
  Now there was a smile playing around the corners of her rta. She was beautiful, with light olive skin. Nah had brown eyes, black and shiny hair that hung in two braids to the middle of her back.
  
  
  "I think you're kidding, but thanks for the drink," she said. She took a sip and handed the glass back to me. 'Do you want to hold me? If you want to wait until the competition is over... we can talk." She laughed. — About those friends of ours in Monte Carlo. She's never been there. She turned around and showed me her arched ass under a short white tennis dress. I was happy that someone on the phone suggested that I establish this contact. She might be able to distract me a bit during this assignment.
  
  
  Choini served well, it was a hard serve with a spin effect. She won the last set, six-one, and came up to me, wiping the sweat from her brow.
  
  
  'Not bad.'
  
  
  She was laughing. "Her or my game?"
  
  
  'Both of them. You're the first wife I've ever seen with her legs exposed.
  
  
  Choini laughed and took her drink from me. "I'm a brawler. In Switzerland or London, this is considered very posh. She handed the drink to the couch and turned to me, the bodice of her tennis dress showing off her beautiful breasts. She knew about the effect. — You're an American, aren't you?"
  
  
  — Actually, and I'm looking for someone to have dinner with." How about this?
  
  
  She looked surprised. 'Why?'
  
  
  "You're beautiful, smart, sexy. I'm tired, I'm bored, and I need to spend the evening with Hema. He paused. "Excuse me, my name is Howard Matson. Its all over New York, and its here to buy fireworks.
  
  
  "And you're interested in bombs?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "What madness." She paused. 'Why not? You'd be surprised how boring this city can be. What if we had dinner at my apartment around eight o'clock?
  
  
  "I don't want to cause you any trouble..."
  
  
  "I'll tell my chef to keep it simple." She laughed as she stood up. 'I'm going to take a shower. See you tonight." She turned and walked towards the club. "Hey, I don't even know where you live. I followed her. She stopped walking.
  
  
  "Mr. Matson, you know I'll be here at the tennis court. You found out I was traveling a bit, and you probably bribed someone to find out what I was drinking. I'm sure you won't have any problems finding the place where I live. If you don't succeed, I'm afraid you'll miss your dinner.
  
  
  She turned around again and headed for the shower. Outside the women's locker room, I saw her stop and speak to a grim old man. A club astrologer, I thought. From where he kept it, Ego could see the library of astronomical calculations in blocks of birch bark, and I wondered if she had asked him for advice about me.
  
  
  Selfishness reminded me of two faces-India... the modern side represented by worldly women like Choeni Mehta, and the ancient past clinging to them with the tentacles of religions and the occult.
  
  
  This ambiguity may complicate my assignment. After leaving the club, he decided to immediately contact the local controlling agent AH . Perhaps he could help me better understand this culture, where some people walked naked in the streets and smeared their bodies with ash, while others used eye shadow and lipstick.
  
  
  He knew very little about Randy Mir, although he had heard his name before. He was fully employed and had to act as a watchdog and observer, providing security for our people working in India or passing through nah.
  
  
  It was almost four o'clock when I got to ego, the store, the bookstore with the usual beggar in front of the door. This time it was a woman. He could tell by the word "rama" tattooed on her face several times in Sanskrit.
  
  
  "Hare Krishna, Hare Rama," she sang from under her sari and scarf.
  
  
  It was quickly passed by mimmo nah. As far as I know, she may also have been an agent, an observer for Randy Peace, or a Communist contractor.
  
  
  I parked my car two blocks from the store and left the Mercedes in front of an Indian soldier standing across the squalid street. He was standing with his rifle at his shoulder, and her nod told Ego that he was going to keep an eye on the car.
  
  
  The sight of the ego rifle belied reports in the media that Wilhelmina was holstered under my left arm. And then I had Hugo, my long stiletto, safely tucked against my right wrist, where ego could reach her in a second.
  
  
  He was ready to act in Calcutta, and remained vigilant. I passed in front of the store by accident, trying to see if there was a back door.
  
  
  Even at four-thirty, it was still stuffy and hot outside. The white stones reflected the sun on me from all directions. At the corner, I left Chowringey Road and headed for the back of a small bookstore.
  
  
  Her carapace walked down the narrow street and felt that something had changed. The rhythm of the street noises was different. The noise element has shifted. I looked around and saw only two ragged boys, no one around them more than eight years old. They had small rocks tied to ropes that they swung in curious ways, starting with pointers and then snapping egos, a game they played while walking.
  
  
  I walked on and looked around the shops like a walking tourist or a businessman spending his free time in a strange city.
  
  
  I don't know why, but I felt uneasy, and didn't dare enter Randy Mir's store. The store was now a block behind me, and I stopped, about to turn back, when I heard a man walking purposefully toward me.
  
  
  Ego's pace quickened, and her instinctively turned around. The knife saw her first, and then the hand that gripped her ego.
  
  
  The Indian swore in Hindu. He held the knife to lowly and ready. A second later, Hugo grabbed it in his right hand and started toward the attacker.
  
  
  The guy was good, but not an expert. He lunged, stopped, turned, and hit him. But I knew what he was going to do. It was as if he had only completed part of his training. He was parried by a blow, and my sword sank deep into the emu's wrist. He dropped the knife and tried to run away, but was knocked down by Ego Nog. Before he could leap at me, her, he pressed his foot to ego's chest and pushed his light body away from the rocks.
  
  
  "Who the hell are you, tailor?" He muttered the name, but it didn't tell me anything. "Who sent you?"
  
  
  He shook his head. Its a corkscrew pattern in English. He still hadn't answered. Ego's wrist was bleeding. I pointed it out to her, but he shrugged. Hema was this guy? He should have known her. Was he just robbing me or trying to kill me on demand?
  
  
  He put the blade to ego's throat and scraped it against ego's skin, drawing a thin stream of blood. 'Who? I asked her again, in Hindu.
  
  
  He opened his eyes in genuine horror. He recoiled. He pressed harder on the blade, and saw that it had cut a fraction of a millimeter deeper. 'Who? I asked her again. "Zakir," he said, squirming painfully. "Zakir sent me."
  
  
  "Zakir, who is this?"
  
  
  He gasped and opened his eyes even wider when he saw blood dripping from ego's wrist. Then the ego target slid to the side and he lost consciousness.
  
  
  "Take the tailor," I muttered.
  
  
  You can learn a lot more from her. Was my camouflage already exposed? Who is Zakir? Maybe just a cheap gangster.
  
  
  He stooped to bring Ego to his senses, but was forced to give up when a group of brightly dressed Indians came out into the street.
  
  
  The man in front was wearing the groom's ochre dress and an ornate headdress. The veiled bride's ego was rooted to it with a symbolic silk cord. They were followed by wedding guests, a dozen or more richly dressed relatives.
  
  
  The group froze at the sight of blood spilling around the man on the sidewalk. They looked at me expectantly.
  
  
  I had no other choice. It might be five minutes before the man with the knife regains enough consciousness to speak. A large crowd should have gathered by then. It wasn't an ideal situation to interrogate this person.
  
  
  He wondered if he was alone. Somewhere in this narrow alley, perhaps, an ego colleague was waiting for me? I walked faster, then ran out through the alleyway and turned onto another street before stopping. He was sweating in his new suit, trying to get his bearings.
  
  
  I knew this man was trying to kill me, but why? Because I was Nick Carter, or maybe because I had a few rupees in my pocket?
  
  
  When her, got to the bookstore, her decided to enter through the back door. He stopped in a dead-end alley and looked him over critically. I didn't see anyone, nothing dangerous. He cautiously walked into the alley.
  
  
  If this was an assassination attempt, how could they have seen through me so quickly? It could have been a taxi driver. Offer ten rupees as a reward and you will be able to buy half of the airport taxi drivers and rickshaw drivers. Finding out the fate of the tall American would not be difficult. There is no place where money speaks so clearly as in Calcutta.
  
  
  He went to the back door and turned the handle. The door wasn't locked. He entered a room that looked like a storeroom and saw a young woman sitting in front of him. He calmly closed the door and smiled at hey so she wouldn't scream. To my surprise, she smiled at rheumatism.
  
  
  She was pretty, with light brown skin, shiny soft hair, and green eyes that contrasted with her Indian face. Her body was beautifully shaped.
  
  
  "You must be an American," she said.
  
  
  "I don't think it should surprise you."..
  
  
  She waved my words away. — My father isn't here, but he'll be back soon. He knows that you have arrived in Calcutta. My name is Lily of the World."
  
  
  At least I was expected. Her, breathed a sigh of relief. This part of the operation seemed to be going according to plan.
  
  
  The girl was wearing a traditional fitted white blouse and sari. Her rainbow-colored skirt was a long, loose fit. She rose gracefully from the sofa.
  
  
  — Can I make you a cup of coffee?"
  
  
  She led me into a neat, bright, and fragrant living room. There was no one else. There was a low sofa set against one wall. Two doors to the left of the moans led to other rooms, while the candid ones in front had a third door leading to a bookstore.
  
  
  Out of habit, he quickly omitted the information about listening devices. The girl looked at me without asking anything. Her saw that her father prepared her for work.
  
  
  I didn't expect to find anything, but a transit ticket sometimes turns out to be a hoax. And in my line of work, a search of the owner's house doesn't violate etiquette.
  
  
  There were no microphones in the usual places where a supposedly random visitor could attach ih by attaching a piece of mortar or glue. There were no microphones on our desk, on us, on the door jambs, or under the seats of our chairs.
  
  
  I just came to the conclusion that Randy's world must be a better place than I imagined it to be when I saw Ego... It was a stationery button that looked a little too big at first. It was pressed into the wall near the front door, almost level with the floor.
  
  
  He carefully pulled it out and examined the lower part. A thin layer of plastic covered the miniature receiver and transmitter. It was a new type, but I estimated that the range does not exceed 200 meters.
  
  
  Lily came over to me and looked at what I was doing. He put a finger to his lips and she frowned. Before she could say anything, the door opened and a man entered the room. Emu was forty years old, short, with a clean-shaven head, large glasses like Gandhi's, and a nose that had been broken several times and never repaired.
  
  
  She was picked up by the transmitter in her hand. He looked at it, but didn't say anything. I showed it to the emu where I found it. The man knocked out the microphone around my arm and threw ego to the floor under his hard leather boot.
  
  
  — I had no idea - " he began.
  
  
  "Where can we talk?"
  
  
  Randy Mira led me out the back door and into the alley, where it was already dark. It only took me a few minutes to hear everything the world knew about the explosions. He didn't know anything I didn't know. Hers was still in the dark.
  
  
  — Do you know a certain Zakir?"
  
  
  Mir nodded. "It's a common name in India. I have four relatives named Zakir. In Calcutta alone, ih should be in the thousands... He shook his head. "This transmitter... it's my fault. I thought they didn't suspect me, but now they know everything. Her stahl is useless to you.
  
  
  "And now they know we found one of the microphones. They may have added ih yet, so don't let them hear anything important.
  
  
  He told Emu about the man with the knife on the street. He held his breath. — I don't believe this man tried to rob you." It could have been the killer. I'll ask her.
  
  
  When he returned to the bookstore a few minutes later, he took a good look around. Now they knew the sound of my voice. So I'll have to be the bait for the ih trap, whatever they are. The bookstore was closed, there were metal railings on the windows, and I was standing by the window, trying to figure out where the ih eavesdropper might be. The transmitter had a limited range. Through the window, I could see a dozen places where someone might have been sitting with a receiver. Balconies across the street would be ideal. But who is it? The Russians? Chinese Communists? India's own intelligence network?
  
  
  He couldn't remember me ever being exposed so early on a mission. He felt like a hunter discovering that ego was being chased by a grizzly bear he hadn't even seen.
  
  
  Before she could gather her thoughts, she saw movement outside. It was a quick, imperceptible movement, like an animal stalking its prey.
  
  
  A second shadow moved down the street toward the bookstore. Then a whole horde appeared, dozens of human figures with stones, sticks and makeshift spears in their hands.
  
  
  The first stone hit the iron railing and bounced back. The next thing to break was a small window in the day. Then the large window behind which it was kept was broken by a third stone. He jumped back to avoid the falling glass.
  
  
  "They need you," Randy Mira called from behind me. "They know you're here.
  
  
  Her father agreed. They tried to finish a job that had previously failed on the street, only this time they did it under the cover of an uprising.
  
  
  He moved away from the window and pulled Lily along with him. Her eyes were wide with fear. When we entered the living room, her father locked the door behind us.
  
  
  "Come on," I said. "you and your daughter... quickly through the back door."
  
  
  He might object. She was gently prodded by ego k day. He looked at me, blinked, then nodded and led me to the storeroom. Mir opened the outer door and half-stepped out. Ego's cry came suddenly, and he collapsed back into the room with a three-foot spear in his chest, his soft, serious eyes already deep pools of death.
  
  
  He slammed the door and smashed the only lamp in the room.
  
  
  We were trapped, besieged both in front and behind. The girl is about to say something, but her solution to research problems is the hum of an incendiary bomb in a bookstore. We were pinned down, the fire ahead and the crowd behind us.
  
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  Before she could move, a trickle of burning gasoline began to run under the door of the bookstore. He leapt over Mira's body and crouched against the wall. When her back door opened an inch or so, Gawk slammed into a tree, and a dozen rocks slammed into the door. He quickly closed the door and slammed the bolt. Looking through the window to the right of the woman, she saw a figure run out of the portico and quickly fired, then the man fell to the ground. A second shower of bullets and rocks hit the door and shattered the window.
  
  
  Lily threw a carpet over the burning gasoline and put out the flames, but soon the fire in the bookstore broke out to this day.
  
  
  She was about to run out the back door when the second incendiary bomb went off. The back door was staggering with burning gasoline. We were trapped.
  
  
  "Lily, is there any other way out?"
  
  
  She was crying almost hysterically and shaking her head. I went to another thread of the room. He was stuck with old folders, cardboard boxes, crates. Ih pulled her down. There must be an escape route. Lily sat down next to her father and took Ego's hand. He hopped up on the crates and looked up. I think there was some kind of ledge.
  
  
  As he climbed over the stacked boxes, he realized that they were on a narrow staircase. He went upstairs. The walkway ran the entire width of the room, and at the end was a door. I ran to it, found the handle, and turned it. The door was locked. My initials flew out and hit the door next to the lock. The door swung open. I shone my flashlight through the darkness and saw another crack, but there was no ladder leading down.
  
  
  "Lily, come here quickly.
  
  
  She looked up in surprise and ran excitedly up the stairs. Carefully we passed the first house, then the second. On the third floor, a door opened into the fragrant evening air. An alley lay below us. He hung from the ledge and fell to the ground. Lily caught her jumping and led her to the car. We drove slowly. Behind us, we could see the blazing flames of a bookstore and hear sirens in the distance. When we were at a safe distance from the horde, the Mercedes stopped and threw its head back.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and fell into the self-hypnosis he had learned in the United States. After a few seconds, she fell into a light trance. I felt like I was waking up from a long refreshing nap and hearing Lily talking softly next to me.
  
  
  "We knew this was going to happen," she said, crying.
  
  
  'Who?'
  
  
  "My father and hers. When he agreed to work for you, he said he would die one day... violent death. This was the price we had to pay to get away from the penniless banner to have homes and an education. Now we've paid the price.
  
  
  She wanted to say something comforting, but couldn't find the words.
  
  
  'Where are you going? Do you have a family?'
  
  
  "Could you take me to my uncle's place? Maybe he can take care of me."
  
  
  I nodded to her, and she gave me the address. It was only a few blocks away. I dropped her off in front of the imposing Old Court House Sturt.
  
  
  "He must be working late," she said. "He always does."
  
  
  When she came out, she was called hey, the name of my hotel. — If you need any help, call me, Lily.
  
  
  She looked at me with her curious green eyes and forced a smile around her. "Mr. Matson, you've already helped me as much as you could scarecrow. You saved my life.'
  
  
  She turned and ran to the door.
  
  
  I checked her room at my hotel in case an uninvited guest came to see me. Everything seemed fine. I turned on the radio, showered, and dressed.
  
  
  While her tie was being tied, Calcutta Radio reported another political explosion. This time, a bomb hit the Russian vice-consul's house, and the Communists were furious.
  
  
  "The Russian Consul Andrey Sokolov today demanded that Indian troops strengthen security around all the homes of Russian officials and at all facilities related to Russia," the presenter said. "Sokolov also demanded that all U.S. consulate personnel be expelled throughout the city unless attacks on Russian personnel and Russian property are stopped immediately."
  
  
  He whistled softly to her. This was something new in diplomatic circles. I've never heard of one side asking the other to expel diplomats from a third Power. The consequences were horrific. Unsurprisingly, Hawke and the US State Department were concerned.
  
  
  But why were the attacks carried out? Her ferret still had no idea why the Russians were being bombed. Why Calcutta?
  
  
  Perhaps a corkscrew was easier. India was the epitome of democracy in Asia. The British left behind a structured system that only worked very well in some places, but was adequate in others. But they failed miserably in Calcutta.
  
  
  Perhaps Choeni Mehta could give me the clue I need to find out who is behind these difficulties.
  
  
  It wasn't hard to find out her address, even though she wasn't listed in the phone book. Then a few phone calls from her was on the way.
  
  
  She lived in one of the oldest" aces " of Chow Ringi Road, a luxurious house set back from the road, on a large plot surrounded by a high metal fence and covered with blue ceramic tiles. A ramp led up to an ornate but sturdy iron gate. The Sikh looked at me sharply, said something on the phone, then gestured and opened the big gate. I pulled in and heard the gate slam behind me.
  
  
  Hers was parked in the driveway between a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud and a battered Land Rover.
  
  
  My young wife was waiting for me, and led me through the front yard, mimmo garden with awning, along the mimmo path by the pool and through a door on the other side of the huge mansion.
  
  
  Choeni lived in an outbuilding of a large house. She met me at the door.
  
  
  "You found me," she said, and smiled. — I really hoped you could do it."
  
  
  She turned around and showed me the beautiful sari she was wearing. Her arm and shoulder were visible under the soft, delicate blue blouse, but most of the ih was hidden by the scarf that hung from her left shoulder and tucked under her right arm. It was a silk handkerchief of hundreds of colors, with an intricate pattern, according to this, and which-mde figures, hand-embroidered on silk. Her sari fluttered on the floor. "Beautiful... both a woman and a sari."
  
  
  She smiled and looked at me with her brown eyes.
  
  
  "And you, sir, are well and expensively dressed, but the pistol is visible from under your left hand. Do all American fireworks manufacturers carry guns?
  
  
  He laughed to hide his surprise. Most experienced eyes can't spot Wilhelmina because she's buried in my jacket. But this jacket was given to me by Hawk, and it didn't cut as well as mine.
  
  
  "In a foreign country, you never know what to expect."
  
  
  Joni didn't elaborate. She waved her hand around the room. — What do you think of my room?"
  
  
  It was an exciting room. A cross between bad modems and pop art with a touch of black humor. He didn't tell her, and she frowned.
  
  
  "Don't be cruel, you should be well-equipped for me."
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "Voice how else to impress a woman".
  
  
  — Why should I impress you?"
  
  
  "Everyone knows that American men try to seduce every woman they meet."
  
  
  She nodded to someone I couldn't see and led me to folding glass doors that opened onto a pleasant balcony. There were flowers, small shrubs, and a tree. Although she had entered on the first floor, we were now on the second floor, overlooking the river. Below her, he saw the yellow flames of small fires.
  
  
  "A funeral," Choeny explained. "It's a cremation ground on a tributary of the Ganges, the Hooghly River.
  
  
  I was wondering if Choeni was currently running errands, if she knew who her real name was, and if she knew anything about the attack on the on store last night. She didn't say anything. "The family takes the body to the river for purification," she said. "Then the son will crush the skull."
  
  
  "They break your skull?" I asked incredulously. "The body?"
  
  
  "For estestvenno; to free the soul forever before the body is burned."
  
  
  "And the ashes?"
  
  
  "The ego is thrown into the river by the Doms, the caste that performs cremation for us. Then sifting through the ashes to find gold rings and the like. This is how they secure their livelihood."
  
  
  Then she turned and took a glass of sherry from a servant who came up with a tray. He took a sip and found it excellent sherry.
  
  
  Soon the maid returned and announced that the eda was served. She was expecting fantastic Indian food, lots of rice and curry, but as Choeni said, we took it upon ourselves as villagers. The Eda was almost scanty, despite the gold-bordered trays and silverware surrounding the expensive circle shape.
  
  
  'Zucchini,' she said when her ale was a green vegetable.
  
  
  "And chapati," she added, as he speared a flat pancake-shaped bun with a fork. There was lentil sauce with rice and a few pieces of goat meat, but it was hardly the sumptuous eda she'd expected in a house like sl.
  
  
  Choeny explained, "This simple rural eda reminds me that I didn't earn anything. Without my father's riches... She paused and looked up. "Do you understand that?" she asked.
  
  
  He nodded to her. The poverty, misery, and death that walked the streets of Calcutta daily punctuated her words. Her, hoped this thoughtful, beautiful woman was on our side.
  
  
  After dinner, we went into the living room and it absorbed the stereo sound. The music was oriental, although I don't think she expected me to appreciate the dissonance of drums, cymbals, and the sound of a hurdy-gurdy.
  
  
  "I'm curious about you," she says, and I stand across from her, my arms folded modestly across my chest. "I'm curious about a man who goes to great lengths to meet a woman he's never met, a man who also carries a gun."
  
  
  "You're not exactly transparent yourself," I said. "Most beautiful women would ignore such a clumsy attempt to interest ih."
  
  
  She laughed and walked past me to the built-in bar across the room.
  
  
  — Have you ever shot anyone, Mr. Matson?" — What is it? " she asked sharply.
  
  
  He took her hand, turned her around, and pulled her forward. "Only in beautiful women who talk too much."
  
  
  She was ready when her, leaned in to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed my face to hers. The kiss began softly, then deepened until our lips parted and my tongue slid into her mouth. She sighed softly, then released her hands and stepped away from me.
  
  
  "I think we should talk," she said. "We just met, and I don't really know you and..."
  
  
  My lips brushed the soft places at the bottom of her neck, and her objections were soft.
  
  
  A few minutes later, we were in her bedroom, the door was locked, and she had just been kissed again by ee. We were lying on the bed. Choeni laughed softly as she sat down and took off a beautiful long scarf from her sari.
  
  
  'Are you serious?'
  
  
  'Yes, of course. Open now. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. — Now you have to tell me that you don't have any swimming trunks with you."
  
  
  "I don't need it."
  
  
  He helped her unbutton her blue blouse and found that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were swollen, full and ripe, and ended in hard, dark nipples. She kissed me again, and her lips moved to mine. She unbuttoned my shirt, and in a moment we were both naked.
  
  
  She took my hand and walked carefully through the house and down the steps to the pool. There were lamps on the deep side. A couple of lounge chairs sat at home, the steps on the shallow side.
  
  
  She ran to the edge and dove smoothly into the water. Her dove in a moment later. He asked her to stay under the water, swam up to her, kissed her on the lips and hugged her tightly. Finally, we hugged, gasping for breath.
  
  
  There was no reason to say anything. We swam to the steps, and he ran his lips down her cheeks to her neck, her shoulders, and her swollen breasts. She gasped as my mouth closed around a sharp nipple. She slid back into the water and pulled my face down to my flat stomach below her navel.
  
  
  A moment later, we were back on the steps, and her body stroked my chest, then stroked my wet cock and slid lower until he moaned in pleasure.
  
  
  He sat her down candid, scooped water into his hands, poured it over her smooth breasts, and watched it flow between and around the towering peaks. She pushed me back into the water, then turned and beckoned, half-swimming, legs spread wide. He slid forward cautiously, running his hands over her high, tanned mounds, stroking her flat nipples until they stood tall, hard, and questioningly aroused. I leaned forward and slid my mouth from one breast to the other until I heard her soft moan and she reached for me.
  
  
  He slid over her like an amphibian, held her tightly to him, then pushed her hard and accurately, she let out a cry of pain and a flag of permission to perform. We dove, hugging each other, under the water. A few moments later, we were out through the waters again. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around my back. We drifted with soft, gentle movements in some fundamental rhythm that sent shockwaves through our bodies.
  
  
  I heard her cry out as we started to sink again. This time we rolled over, but we didn't slow down.
  
  
  I felt her hands reach out to lift us up. When we surfaced, Choeny let out a long, low moan, a sort of primal sigh of satisfaction and release.
  
  
  We drifted slowly back to the steps, our arms still wrapped around each other. We lay there for a while, looking up at the stars, whispering softly to each other.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later we were out across the water, so relaxed and refreshed that I almost forgot for a moment why I was in Calcutta.
  
  
  We wiped down another one and went back to her bedroom on the top floor of the house, which overlooked the billions of lights of Calcutta.
  
  
  She brushed the hair out of my eyes.
  
  
  — You're dealing with other things than fireworks, aren't you?" You arrived here in the city this morning. You went to see the U.S. consul, and then you decided to meet me. Why?'
  
  
  He didn't say anything.
  
  
  Most American businessmen who come to Calcutta do not have access to the American Consul's private car. I've seen this car a hundred times. You have to be something special. And Patsy from Calcutta News is my friend. She called me today at the wrong time, and said that someone had asked for me. Choeni laughed softly. "I had to play an extra set while your mother was waiting for him." She kissed me on the nose. "I'm glad I waited."
  
  
  My initial panic was gone. She might have learned all this from the Indian secret Service, or he might have seen it for himself. She was a bright woman. What she said might have come from a simple observation.
  
  
  He kissed her teasing lips. "Why do beautiful women always ask the most difficult questions?"
  
  
  — I have another one for you." Do you want to stay here with me while you're in Calcutta?
  
  
  We were both still naked. He looked down at her lovely body, kissed her full breasts, and said, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.: "She would like to spend all her time with you, Choeni."
  
  
  "It's beautiful," she said, pressing my lips to her trembling chest again.
  
  
  When I got there at 2 a.m., there was an armed soldier standing at the entrance of the inn. He had a pistol in his holster and a rifle slung over his shoulder. When mimmo passed him, he saluted.
  
  
  The next morning, I got up at nine o'clock because there was a knock on the door. A courier arrived with a package. It was an urgent request to call the consulate. When he was dressed, he turned on his transistor radio and picked up a thread from Calcutta's current Radio.
  
  
  "...and the consul said that the building suffered significant damage. Two other US-related buildings were shelled last night: the US Information Service Library and the American Express office in central Calcutta."
  
  
  Apparently, the situation worsened that night. The Russians in Calcutta were no longer the only target. Now they were also dealing with the Americans. "The US Consul has not commented further," he continued, " and the police refuse to speculate as to whether the latest incidents are related to the recent explosions of Soviet Union property. Foreign novelties...
  
  
  I turned off the radio, dressed quickly, and called the consulate. She got a call from Slocum, as expected, and he wants to talk to me openly now. Hers was in Ego's office in ten minutes.
  
  
  Through the window, he saw a small bomb damage the corner of a large building. Workers were already busy repairing the damage, and the police were rummaging through the rubble.
  
  
  As for Slocum, his ego and self-confidence were shaken. Ego's hands were shaking as he tried to light a cigarette. The chair that had been so neat yesterday was now littered with papers, and Em had to find an ashtray.
  
  
  'Did you hear that?'What is it?' he asked tensely. Ego's white shirt was open at the collar, and he hadn't shaved. I had a feeling that he was more receptive to people like hers now than when we first met.
  
  
  "Three explosions?"
  
  
  "There were seven in total, including two of our cars that exploded. I just spoke on the phone with the Russian consul, who has declared his innocence. We have requested permission from the Ambassador in New Delhi to request the arrival of Indian troops to protect the consulate and other American facilities."
  
  
  Slocum stood up and motioned for me to follow him. We went outside and played a game of Mercedes that he had lent me.
  
  
  "I have to show you something that you find interesting," he said. "I do not claim to know the true purpose of your presence here, but I do understand that I must give you maximum support and assistance in this sensitive matter."
  
  
  He stopped the car half a block away from a large stone building. A red flag with a hammer and sickle fluttered above the building. Three dozen armed Indian soldiers stood guard on both sides of the building. Both entrances were protected by barricades around sandbags. It was like the scenery for a war movie.
  
  
  "Sokolov, the Russian consul here, says that he is ready to act immediately if the buildings' egos come under further bombardment. That was yesterday. Now he laments that he had nothing to do with the attacks on us."
  
  
  "So the escalation has begun," I said.
  
  
  "This whole situation is developing like a snowball, I saw it in Algeria. The ball starts rolling, and suddenly it goes so fast and gets so big that no one can stop the ego. Too many different sides are fighting each other. If this isn't done, we'll end up on a powder keg. And if that barrel explodes, the Indian government could be overthrown. Calcutta may very soon become a city where thousands of rioters will run around with bombs or burning torches and fight each other to see who lights the fuse first. And then we'll be frank in the middle.
  
  
  He looked back at the barricade around the sandbags and knew he was right. She wished she were somewhere else.
  
  
  — You're planning to put sentries around the consulate, aren't you?"
  
  
  Slocum nodded. — We hired fifty men with guns. We will use ih until we get Indian soldiers."
  
  
  'Good. Where can I find the fragments collected by the police after the explosions?
  
  
  "They're with Amartya Raj for the police. He is also a member of the Red Calcutta Committee and an adviser to the Commanding General, who is now commanding West Bengal in a high school situation. He's a great person. Slocum wrote down the address and gave it to me.
  
  
  — What about the things you asked her for?"
  
  
  "I told you to put ih in the rack," he said. He drove slowly past the mimmo of the Russian consulate and headed back to his office. He stopped on the sidewalk, and he slid behind the wheel as he got out.
  
  
  Emu called her back and asked her to wait until I wrote her a telegram with the highest priority, and asked her to send it to Washington for me.
  
  
  They brought her home again, but he put his hand on my shoulder and looked thoughtful.
  
  
  — There's a meeting coming up that might interest you... Special meeting of the Red Calcutta Committee. Sokolov and I are invited. The committee consists of ten or fifteen business, cultural and military figures. This is an attempt to solve the problems that are tearing this city apart."
  
  
  "It looks like a Chamber of Commerce meeting," I said. "I don't think that's my specialty."
  
  
  "Colonel Chang Wu arranged it. An exciting guy. He has major interests in shipping and steel, as well as more than fifty other businesses. He stood next to Chiang Kai-shek when the old generalissimo fought the Communists in mainland China. He went to India after Chan was defeated. Now he's a millionaire, a very rich, neat little man who has a lot to lose when Calcutta goes up in flames. He told me that he would build a bridge of peace for us and the Russians."
  
  
  — How do I interfere?"
  
  
  He frowned, considering his rheumatism.
  
  
  — You must be a businessman, an expert on ammunition. It makes sense to take advantage of your talents now that you're in town. That's the excuse I gave her to the police when I told them you wanted to investigate the bomb fragments. By the way... He hesitated, and I saw that he was looking for a cure for rheumatism. "Well, I mean, under these different circumstances, there is an element of risk in meeting Communists. Finally... set off a bomb at the consulate... Well, she could have killed someone... me, for example. And you have it... How should I put it?.. experience in such things.
  
  
  Her soul smiled. He was scared, and suddenly her Stahl was a valuable friend.
  
  
  "Of course," I said. 'I'll get her.'
  
  
  "House of Peace," he said. "Chinese restaurant on Park Sturt".
  
  
  He breathed a sigh of relief and called the time. He whistled as he passed through the gate, and I wanted to yell at him to tell the truth. Just because I was there for him didn't mean any protection for him.
  
  
  No one was safe in Calcutta while bombs were exploding in every corner of the city.
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  He could sense the growing tension in the city as he drove to the address on Old Court House Street. Crowds filled the streets. Only the tall double-decker buses seemed powerful enough to plow through rivers of people, so he rode one after the other around the bus to clear the path in front of him. For the last few blocks, kids on the sidewalk recognized me as an American and ran alongside the car, jeering and making rude remarks in a Hindu dialect I didn't understand. The adults looked at me curiously and contented themselves with a sour face, indicating a growing hatred for the foreigners who had caused so much violence in ih city. When she got to the police station, she was surprised to see that it was the building where she was dropped off by Lily Rest last night. It was obvious, but it hadn't occurred to me that her father might be related to a police officer. An agent like Randy Mir needed contacts in official circles to be useful and useful.
  
  
  At the front, the building was strictly formal, with traditional columns and wide, worn staircases where beggars waited for handouts. At the back were the officials ' living quarters. As her carapace crossed the wide stone sidewalk, two security personnel approached me. I was politely asked what I wanted. When I told her I wanted to talk to Mr. Rudge, they let me in through a side door. He bumped into the receptionist and a moment later found himself in a large office with a steel desk, filing cabinets, and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.
  
  
  Amartya Raj was an imposing man, over five feet tall, broad and powerfully built, which was unusual for an Indian. He was dressed in a Western suit, but he had two-inch-wide copper bracelets on both wrists. "Ah, Mr. Matson," he began. "Your consulate called... they said you were coming."
  
  
  He held out his hand and motioned me to a chair opposite his own.
  
  
  "I'm here to buy fireworks and gunpowder," I began, " but Mr. Slocum asked me to watch these attacks because explosives are my specialty."
  
  
  A thin smile spread across the Indian cop's face, and he realized that he hadn't trusted us for a second about my cover story, but apparently he wasn't going to attack me about it.
  
  
  "It is clear that the Americans want to involve their own people in this case. We will give you all possible assistance."
  
  
  "Ble-bomb fragments?"
  
  
  "Sure," he said, turning to the cabinet where he unpacked a rusty jar. "It's a whole bomb that almost went off, even though the fuse burned out." It was almost exactly the same as the bomb Hawk had shown me, except that there were holes in both sides of the jar, connected by a long piece of rope.
  
  
  "Forget about fingerprints, Mr. Matson," he said. "We have a few copies, but for the eight million people in Calcutta, we have very few fingerprints in our files."
  
  
  — What's this rope for?"
  
  
  — We don't know that. Maybe to carry this thing. In India, we like to balance things out. Women carry jugs, baskets, and even stones on their heads. Boys and girls tie a rope to small objects to carry ih, such as a book or bottle. Then they can swing the thing on a rope, stop it, play with it while walking." Raj picked up the bomb by the rope and showed me how to swing it. "But I really can't imagine anyone waving this thing around like a toy."
  
  
  "Any footprints?"
  
  
  Raj went to the window. "We are not as effective as your police force in the United States. And we have eight million suspects. They say that in Calcutta you can hire a murderer for ten rupees and a gang for fifty rupees.
  
  
  — Did you find anything this morning, after the attack on the consulate?"
  
  
  He shook his head wearily and led me down the corridor to the police lab. For an hour, he proudly showed me the procedures they followed in scrutinizing each attack.
  
  
  But when the tour ended, her didn't know anything more than before. The bombs were all primitive, homemade. No more than cans filled with potassium nitrate.
  
  
  Raj shrugged helplessly. "A few pieces of rope, I'm trying to save them... this is all that our terrorists left behind. This is very frustrating. They seem to appear all over the place out of nowhere... invisible, inaudible-until the explosion happens." He promised to keep me posted, but he led me around the building so expertly that I shook my head. Its not hit anywhere.
  
  
  Then Lily saw her. She was in the yard of one of the houses behind the police station.
  
  
  I didn't want her to see me, but she called out to me and ran to me. Before she came to me, I saw the dog she was leading, a beautiful German Shepherd, a very strong animal.
  
  
  "This is for you, Mr. Matson," she said, stopping with the dog. She looked at me with green eyes that still reflected the shock of her father's death. She seemed so depressed that it took me a moment to understand her: "It's the Prince," she said. "My father trained the ego... he wants you to have it."
  
  
  The beast sat quietly beside her, and he remembered what Hawk had said to me. Randy Mir trained a dog to sniff out explosives.
  
  
  "He was in our kennel," she said. "Ego picked her up this morning. It's a beautiful animal. He can ...'
  
  
  I put my hand on her shoulders, and she stopped in mid-sentence. "All right," I said. — I'll take it."
  
  
  She looked surprised again, but her gaze followed mine as hers glanced out the window of Amartya Raj's office.
  
  
  "Oh, yes, Uncle Raj. He was very kind to me. But I'm leaving for Madras today. My married sister lives there, and I'm going to live with her. I'll be fine.'
  
  
  Her inwardly groaned. If I ever had a cover for this assignment, my ego would have already lost it.
  
  
  — Have you known your uncle since yesterday?" "Does he know who she is?" She whispered "no" and said that she would only tell em that I was different, that I had come to express my condolences for the death of her father. Then she took the dog on a leash and handed it to me.
  
  
  "Take ego with you," she said. "That's what my father said. She ran back to the house, leaving me alone in the driveway leading to the street. I could see that Amartya Raj was still watching me, but I pretended not to notice him.
  
  
  I walked quickly to the car and tried to get into it before the skinny boys gathered around the car recognized me as an American again. I would have done it if the dog hadn't refused. When I opened the back door of the Mercedes, he jumped back and yanked the seat belt around my arm. He turned and barked, apparently confused. Undeterred, some boys came up to me, shouting at me and teasing the animal with sticks. The dog bared its teeth, but didn't react to the rocks hitting it.
  
  
  I told her to get in the car, but she ignored me. She lowered her head and sniffed, then leaped toward the group of street urchins surrounding me.
  
  
  Suddenly, she lunged at the little boy and hit the frail body at shoulder level. The boy screamed and raised his hands to push back the bared teeth. Blood spurted around the wound before it could leap to the beast and wrap its fingers around the collar.
  
  
  The attack ended as quickly as it had begun. The wounded boy jumped to his feet and ran away. The others also left, and he and the Prince were alone by the car. He wagged his tail and smiled at me, as if expecting a compliment. Ego stroked her face, then pushed her into the backseat of the Mercedes. "Bastard," I said, getting behind the wheel. Like everything else in this dell, it was useless.
  
  
  Since I couldn't get rid of it right away, I kept it to myself until I got back to the hotel. There I hired an Indian to look after him. I still had a few minutes left, so Choeny called her. She was asked to say something about the previous evening, but got no response, so she was satisfied to have the flowers extracted by a sickly-looking doorman who smelled of ganja, a drug that alleviates the suffering of many of India's poor...
  
  
  Over the next half hour, he called every chemical plant he could reach and told them that he was interested in buying five tons of potassium nitrate to use in his fireworks. I only found it from two companies that said they had export licenses and could help me. I wrote down her address for possible subsequent verification. I couldn't afford to miss the slightest chance. At ten-thirty, he returned to the big Mercedes and drove to the Peace House. I didn't see many Chinese people in Calcutta, but the restaurant seemed to be doing well. Slocum was waiting for me at the door. He arrived five minutes early.
  
  
  "Our Russian friends haven't arrived yet," he said as we walked past mimmo tables to a side room with seats for twenty people. "Colonel Wu is coming here as the future chairman. He says he has great confidence in his peacekeeping mission."
  
  
  We heard the Russians even before they came in. A hearty, deep laugh echoed through the thin walls, accompanied by a booming voice.
  
  
  "This is Alexander Sokolov, the chief security officer here," Slocum said. "Ego's main job is espionage." Then the door opened.
  
  
  Sokolov was small and stocky. He was wearing a thick double-breasted suit and wiped the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief. For a split second, I saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes; then he looked at me as if he'd never seen me before. But he recognized me. I met Sokolov, or Wolgint, or Colonel Zero at least twice, and both times our spy game ended in a draw. But both times he fulfilled his mission, and he came out with enough honor to save his head in Moscow as well.
  
  
  Slocum made suggestions in his smooth diplomatic manner. Ego Sokolov's smile seemed genuine, even though his knew that he hated the man and what he stood for. More people entered, including Mr. Raj on Police, who everyone present seemed to respect.
  
  
  More people were introduced, and then Colonel Wu returned. He was the only Chinese among us. He was a small, bespectacled man who nervously fingered his goatee as schell walked over to the main table and motioned for everyone to sit down. He spoke a Hindu language, and considering that he had lived in India for twenty years, ego Hindu was bad.
  
  
  "Gentlemen, this is a very bad time. Bad for business if the bomb goes off. Bad for the Russian, bad for the American, bad for everyone."
  
  
  The colonel talked about his poor Hindu for another five minutes, describing the great progress the committee had made in easing tensions and forging closer ties with military and civilian administrators. He then insisted that all ih's work would be in vain if this confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union continued.
  
  
  He motioned to an Indian waiter, who handed Em a stack of papers.
  
  
  He bowed proudly and smiled, like a self-satisfied man who strives to succeed where others have failed.
  
  
  "I found a good solution," he said. "It's on paper. Please read the application carefully."
  
  
  He watched all of us as we bowed our heads to read the statement he handed us. For a moment, he hoped he'd found a solution. If the little Chinaman could become an intermediary between the great powers, he could avoid his lousy job.
  
  
  Then, without warning, Sokolov sprang to his feet and growled. I didn't understand everything, but he spoke mostly in Russian, but I understood the essence of it. He was furious.
  
  
  "The Russians didn't plant bombs," he shouted. This was done by the Americans to create problems. And now they were trying to convince the ego to admit something they hadn't done.
  
  
  He looked at the agreement Wu had proposed and immediately understood what Sokolov meant. It was a simple application in which each party agreed to refrain from future attacks on other sovereign countries or ih property in the city of Kolkata for at least half a year.
  
  
  The American consul's rheumatism was slower and somewhat more dignified, but she could see Slocum's reddened neck above the collar.
  
  
  "Funny," he said. "This is an insult to my country." He took the papers and tore ih in half. "The United States objects to this brazen suggestion that we ever special operations, consented to, or supported any attack on any Soviet Union property in the city of Calcutta."
  
  
  The hall was in turmoil. The Russian delegates protested loudly, and Raj, who had seemed so calm in his office, jumped to his feet and voiced support for the plan.
  
  
  "This is all we can do to stop this frenzied threat to our city," he shouted.
  
  
  And the only Englishman in the meeting, a plump banker with puffy eyes, leaned far forward over the mahogany desk and muttered, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.: "If you didn't plant the bombs, why don't you support the damn plan?"
  
  
  Slocum came out through himself.
  
  
  — Because that statement says we'll stop throwing bombs, you idiot. It's almost an admission of guilt. Slocum spat out the words. "This whole idea is ridiculous. Why doesn't this committee find out who is throwing these bombs? That would mean real work.
  
  
  A dozen voices rang out. Sokolov got up and walked over to Slocum. They talked for a while, then Sokolov started shouting. A few moments later, Slocum screamed, too. The language was first Russian, then English, then Hindu, and finally a mixture of all three in a sharp diatribe that doesn't join us in anything.
  
  
  Colonel Wu sat in his chair, out of reach of the angry verbiage, and his small round face expressed surprise and amazement. Finally, he got up, bowed slightly, and walked out through the rooms. There was shock and disbelief in Ego's eyes.
  
  
  Sokolov released the Chinaman, then slammed his big fist down on the table until the room was silent.
  
  
  Gentlemen, the Soviet Union will not sign this absurd declaration. This is an insult to us. Our position is that the United States of America owes us $ 20 million for the loss of property and lives. Once this amount is paid, we will be happy to sit down and discuss other unpleasant aspects of this situation. Is the United States ready to compensate for the damage caused by ih bombs?
  
  
  I felt Slocum stiffen in his chair next to me; then he stood up and looked at Sokolov.
  
  
  "Yesterday, a bomb exploded in the US consulate. This may also cost someone their life, and we demand an official apology from the Soviet Union."
  
  
  Sokolov choked on the glass of water she was drinking. Before he could recover, Slocum clapped me on the shoulder and we left. Slocum waited until we were outside before he started shouting. Surprisingly, the ego's anger was directed at Colonel Wu.
  
  
  "You idiot! Wu is a pushy fool. How could he have thought that something so crazy could be successful? Why didn't he leave diplomacy to the diplomats? The situation is now more serious than before. So far, at least, we've only been yelling at each other on the phone. '
  
  
  Her, looked at it and realized how this problem had grown in size. The diplomats now personally yelled at each other. Too often in history, this meant the beginning of a war.
  
  
  Ego tried to calm her down, but he wouldn't listen. He growled something at me and strode away. Alone in the street, he rolled a gold-tipped cigarette over and over between his fingers. I tried to think, dismissing the small facts at my disposal. I wasn't quite sure where to start, and I had a nagging suspicion that time was running out faster than anyone thought.
  
  
  In desperation of her, returned to the hotel. I parked my car in the back and was about to go to the lobby when I saw Prince on the other side of the street playing. The Hindu she'd hired to look after the animal was sleeping in the warm sun, but the four boys were teasing and playing with the dog as if it were a pet. My first reaction was to warn the boys. Then I realized that the strong dog was wagging its tail and frolicking like a puppy.
  
  
  It was hard to believe that the same animal had tried to rip off another boy's arm just a few hours ago.
  
  
  A half-formed thought flashed through my mind, and he looked back at the animal. He was having too much fun with the kids to notice me.
  
  
  I felt a little silly when I pulled Wilhelmina out of her holster and pulled out a 9mm round like a mount. He stared at the ground until he saw a crack in the concrete wide enough to hold a bullet. He tugged at the brass casing until it was free of the bullet.
  
  
  The gunpowder hit the concrete, and he looked in Prince's direction.
  
  
  The big dog stopped playing, sniffed once and grinned, then flew up to me and took huge leaps across the parking lot, leaving the kids baffled. He attacked me in the last jump.
  
  
  I could have sworn that ego's mouth was three inches wide. Ego's teeth glistened in the sun, and he dove for the nearest day. He was right in front of him. I heard ego and a heavy body slam into the door behind me. The ego growl was deep and threatening. I was glad to see us, but it turned out to be two inches of wood.
  
  
  But her something is known. The Prince attacked me just as he attacked the boy in the street in front of the Rajah's house. All I could do was get along with the dog, but I was sure the boy and I had something in common... something that infuriated a well-trained animal was the smell of explosives.
  
  
  This seemed pointless at first, but it was consistent with a few other facts I had, and a pattern began to form. I remembered the boy who'd run into me seconds before the explosion destroyed the building on my first day in the city. And I remembered the rope that someone was carrying a bomb on, which Raj showed me in his office.
  
  
  He suspected that someone was carrying this thing like a toy. Maybe a child.
  
  
  It was a narrow path, but I had to follow it. So as soon as the Prince was distracted, he went to his car and drove back to the police station, where he visited Raj. I sat in the Mercedes for an hour, hoping to see the boy who had been so brutally attacked by the Prince earlier that day. It annoyed me to waste so much time, but I didn't know any other way to find the lead she so desperately needed. There were so many children on the street, it seemed like hundreds.
  
  
  He almost gave up when he saw the boy. He looked like most of the others — dirty and wearing shorts too big for him - and she wouldn't have recognized him if she hadn't seen the dirty bandage around his ego wound.
  
  
  I knew these kids. He was one of the orphaned chauls that can be seen in every city in the Far East, and his bony hands are constantly stretched out to beg. The pathetic, hungry look in ih's eyes is ih's calling card, but they grab your alms with one hand and steal your wallet with the other. Stay Alive-ih web moral.
  
  
  When she called out to him, he flinched. Then, he ran and instantly disappeared into the crowd. Its made ego believe that he ran away from me before it started chasing him. He was quick for such a thin and sickly-looking child, and led me from the main street to a block of stone and clay shacks surrounded by a rubbish-strewn canal. I didn't lose him until he disappeared into a copper shop a few blocks from the police station where I first saw him.
  
  
  He was only gone for a moment. When he returned, he laughed and clutched a few rupee notes in his hand. He started to run, and I let him go, hoping I'd find a better answer by then.
  
  
  When he was out of sight, she crossed the street and went to the shop. The stone house was old, probably built in their time, when the English used to drink afternoon tea and watch the outcasts die in the street in front of the ih iron gate. It was cool and dark inside. I opened it, closed the door, and slid my hand under my jacket to where my Luger rested.
  
  
  Something moved to my left, but I didn't have my gun holstered. I was nervous, even though there was nothing tangible to make me suspicious. The store might have had nothing to do with it.
  
  
  "A sahib? A man's voice said in the darkness in front of me. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, the shopkeeper saw her. He was older than the ego voice had suggested. The target's ego was shaved, and he was dressed in snow-white clothes. An inverted V was painted in white paint on both cheeks. There was a long, thin needle protruding from the ego of the shoulder.
  
  
  "I'm looking for heavy brass candlesticks," Emu told her in Hindu.
  
  
  He shook his head. He didn't want to look at me. Ego's hands fumbled with his robe, then began to shake. "Go away," he said in Hindu. "We don't have any candlesticks, so I'm asking you to leave."
  
  
  Now he could see her better in the twilight. I saw a full-length curtain on the side of me. I went there. Wilhelmina slipped into my hand. He quickly peeked through the curtain. It enclosed only one room, which was then used as a living space. There was no one there. Her, walked to the other side of the room, where there was an obvious massive door in the stone moan. The man stood up, startled. Suddenly, he spoke in perfect English. "No, sahib, her simple merchant!"
  
  
  When ego pushed her away, she heard the all-too-familiar pop of a gunshot. Glass splinters flew against the door, and gawk whizzed between me and the old man. Five cm in each direction, and one around us would be dead.
  
  
  She was shot twice through the door, then again. She heard a high-pitched scream of pain, and stopped shooting. When he knocked the door down, he was ready to shoot her again, but the shooter was no longer a threat. He looked down incredulously. Lily Mir lying on the floor of the small back room.
  
  
  Her eyes blinked. She wrapped her arms around her leg, trying to stop the blood from flowing around the bullet hole in her thigh.
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  Lily looked at me, fighting the pain. Gawk went through her hip and out the other side. Luckily, it didn't hit the bone, but she won't be able to walk for at least a month. Her gun was on the floor. Ego pushed her away and watched her bite her lip to keep from crying. She clenched her fists in anger. "Mr. Matson," she called. — I thought you were Zakir." She closed her eyes and groaned:
  
  
  "Her ego can be shot... not you."
  
  
  The pain overwhelmed her, and she bent over her wound.
  
  
  An elderly wife came out of the back room and looked at the girl curiously. She disappeared for a moment and returned with a clear liquid, which she poured over Lily's wound. Ay helped her and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. Before speaking, the old woman bound the wound with a strip of linen.
  
  
  She asked. "Are you her lover?"
  
  
  When her father shook his head, the old woman looked surprised.
  
  
  I heard the shop door close and knew the old man was gone. No doubt get help.
  
  
  I couldn't wait. He could have come back with the police, and I didn't have time to explain the shooting.
  
  
  He took the girl in his arms and carried her outside, called for a rickshaw and gave the man a handful of rupees. He ran to my Mercedes. Then he drove back to the hotel, carried Lily out the back door, and made his way to his room.
  
  
  He locked the door on her before putting her on the bed and re-examining the gunshot wound.
  
  
  Hey, I needed medical attention. Slocum was the only person he could turn to for help. Emu will have to take care of this secretly since I can't interfere.
  
  
  After calling em and explaining the situation, he returned to the bed and gently patted Lily's cheek. "Wake up, Lily," I said, patting her cheeks. "The dream is over."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Mr. Matson," she said when she woke up.
  
  
  'Nothing bad. I'm just sorry I didn't hurt you.
  
  
  "I thought you were Zakir," she said. "I went there to find an ego."
  
  
  She closed her eyes again, and he knew she didn't want to tell me the whole story. He could guess what was bothering her.
  
  
  — Your father worked for this Zakir guy, didn't he?"
  
  
  She nodded weakly.
  
  
  "Your father betrayed us, didn't he?"
  
  
  "I think so," she said. — He told Zakir you were coming. He said your real name wasn't Matson. He said you'd try to stop the explosions. I don't know anything else about it.
  
  
  — And you blame Zakir for your father's death?"
  
  
  'Yes. That's how it works. I know her ego.'
  
  
  "What about the boy?" I asked her to. — What does this have to do with Zakir?
  
  
  'A boy? I don't know anything about the boy. But the copper pressure medium and small shop belongs to Zakir. He goes there from time to time.
  
  
  — What else do you know about Zakir?"
  
  
  "Just an ego name... Zakir Shastri. He sells children. I don't know her anymore.
  
  
  He frowned, even more confused. "Does he sell children?" Lily's eyes glazed over and he thought she was going to pass out again, but she took a deep breath and spoke softly. "Orphans, street children. He feeds them and then sells them to the rich as servants or to brothels. Sometimes he even sends to some temples." She fell asleep again, half awake and half absorbed in her pain. But I kept pushing for more details. I needed to know where to find Zakir. She looked at me again, her eyes narrowed.
  
  
  She said something in Hindi that I didn't understand, then I heard her mumble the address, and she said: "Factory". My father met ego there once.
  
  
  She closed her eyes. "I should have tried to kill Shastri before I went to Madras. Sorry...
  
  
  Ee target leaned back, and he knew she wouldn't respond for the next few hours.
  
  
  I compared the address she gave me with the addresses I wrote down when I called the local chemical plants. My memory was correct. The address she gave me matched that of West Bengal Chemical Industry, one of the largest potash nitrate companies. Finally, something began to clear up.
  
  
  I thought about waiting for an ambulance, but changed my mind. He had to believe that Slocum would take her to the hospital.
  
  
  The chemical plant was located in the northern part of the city, in a slum where pigs were buried in the muddy street between coconut shells and other garbage. A direct route to a place that wasn't there. She found a good view of the factory entrance across the street and half a block from the gate. He climbed up on a pile of rubble that used to be a house.
  
  
  Her hotel remained inconspicuous, but it was impossible because of my Western clothing. Even the crows that had fluttered out from the wreckage hovered over my head, and seemed to be watching me nervously. The two kids watched me until I crawled through the hole in the old house to where I could watch the entrance, but they didn't see me very well.
  
  
  I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I wrote down a brief description of the three men entering the factory as I watched it. Almost by accident, she saw a small, dark-skinned boy creeping cautiously around the alley toward the factory's back yard. The whole lot was surrounded by a barred fence with barbed wire on top, but the boy hardly hesitated.
  
  
  He looked around, then lifted a few bushes at the base of the fence, and quickly slipped into a small hole in the soft ground. He quickly crawled under several cars on the factory site, made his way close to the building and began to dig through a pile of garbage.
  
  
  After a few seconds, he ran back to the small room under the gate. When he ran a mimmo of me, he saw the sun glint in his ego's gaze. He thought about stopping him, but decided against it.
  
  
  He was sure that the jar he was carrying was filled with potassium nitrate. That explained a lot... why, for example, the police were unable to determine the origin of explosives used by terrorists. The sale of explosives is regulated so tightly that it would be difficult for them to buy what they need, but a person who worked in the factory could easily steal a small amount of explosives and hide them in trash cans behind the factory. And who will look for something in a child who is rummaging in the trash? Nobody... not in Calcutta, where it's a common profession.
  
  
  It was a clever plan. Even if she was caught by one of the children, she would be very little known. They probably only knew their contacts as men handing out edu or a few rupees. My next step was to look inside the factory, but not when there was no time to do so.
  
  
  So I went to my car and drove back to the city. I went openly to the consulate.
  
  
  He slammed on the brakes when he saw the crowd in front of the building. Police and fire trucks were parked there, and the burning body of another Mercedes was being doused with water.
  
  
  Slocum, I thought as I parked my car and ran toward the excited stage.
  
  
  The smoldering remains of a car sat on four burning tires in the street. The interior was burned out, the hood was torn off, the seats fell out like a smoldering pile. Judging by the way the back doors were ripped off their hinges, it looked like someone was putting a bomb in the backseat.
  
  
  He jerked forward, expecting to see Slocum's dead body in the street, but it wasn't Ego, it was a body.
  
  
  It was a boy with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth and eyes wide open from the flag of permission to perform. He was dead, lying in his own blood. He must have taken out the bomb and never got out, I thought.
  
  
  "Matson," I heard someone say on the sidewalk. He looked around and saw Slocum standing in front of the consulate gate.
  
  
  Ego's face was pale with fear.
  
  
  "It could have been me," he said, nodding at the dead boy.
  
  
  I went with him to the ego office, where he sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. His body was shaking.
  
  
  "Pull yourself together," I said. "Things will get even worse before better times come."
  
  
  "We must have protection," he said. "Soldiers. Marines, maybe. I don't want to die. I have a wife and children.
  
  
  Ego tried to calm her down, but he wouldn't listen.
  
  
  "You don't understand," he said. — It's almost the fifteenth, the fifteenth of August.
  
  
  No, I didn't understand her. "What does the fifteenth mean?"
  
  
  'Independence Day. On August 15, 1947, the British officially withdrew.
  
  
  'And what's around it?'
  
  
  — Don't you remember?" Then there was chaos, rioting, as Indians and Muslims gathered and left across the new border with Pakistan. It was hell. It was reported that more than a million people were killed. Now it may happen again.
  
  
  He looked across the chair, moaning. It was August 11.
  
  
  Now more pieces fell into place. The time seemed right. Whoever was behind the bombings planned everything carefully. They were slowly driving the city into chaos. They are pitting two world powers - Russia and the United States-against each other. It is said that on the fifteenth the passions of the Indians reach their climax.
  
  
  He looked at the calendar again. Not even four days. It was slightly smaller.
  
  
  I felt the sweat break out on my forehead and saw the creases of fear around Slocum's rta. He was right. There was every reason to panic.
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  Two hours later, he was back in his hotel room. I tried to call Joeny because I wanted to see her before I got too carried away, but again I didn't get an answer. So I just had to go to work.
  
  
  He changed into a long-sleeved black shirt, black trousers, and sturdy hiking boots. I zipped it up with a luger under my shirt and put on a special belt.
  
  
  I put the spare magazines for Wilhelmina and the hand grenade in my pocket, circled Slocum's ammunition box, and went outside. Tonight, he didn't want to draw attention to the Mercedes, so he left ego in front of the hotel and took a rickshaw.
  
  
  It was already quite dark. It wasn't the main street, but the sidewalks were littered with sleeping people. I saw whole families in groups in the warm, stuffy atmosphere of Calcutta. He walked out into the middle of the street and walked quickly toward the chemical plant. It was only two blocks away.
  
  
  I explored the next street before turning the corner. There were no streetlights, and only the pale moonlight caught her eye.
  
  
  Mir wasn't in the factory either, and the guards didn't see her. He picked his way across the block and came to the gate at the back of the building. He effortlessly cut the wire and stepped out onto the unlit factory floor. I expected that security measures would be taken around the factories, but I didn't see any of this.
  
  
  The entrance to the building didn't seem difficult. The nen didn't have skylights or large air vents, but the back door had a regular lock.
  
  
  Hers slipped silently through the shadows to day. There was an old lock with a spring, there were no problems. Ten seconds later, he unbolted it with the tip of a knife and unlocked the door. He opened it carefully, listening for an alarm, a squeal, or a click, but he didn't hear anything. He opened it, closed the door, and replaced the lock. The room was pitch dark. He waited a moment before continuing.
  
  
  Across the room from her, I heard the door open and close a moment later. Slowly, a figure approached me. There didn't seem to be any threat, the man slowly shell on.
  
  
  Ego was waiting for her, and when he got into the right position, my right hand hit ego hard on the neck. I didn't want to kill her with my ego, I just brought her out of the assembly for a few mines, but I missed her in the right place. The blow slid sideways and landed an old-fashioned left hook that caught the emu in the jaw. The target's ego flew back. Ego's brown eyes glazed over as he slid to the ground.
  
  
  He quickly searched it, but found no identification. The strong nylon cord I had with me bound her ankles and arms with ego. Then he took her ego to the back door and began his tour of the factory. No more guards saw her. My dark lantern soon showed me the whole story. It was a small company. It looks like they only produced potassium nitrate. A small conveyor belt for the production of soft brown screed was installed along one of the walls.
  
  
  The only visible explosive was a semi-finished product in a large diesel fuel tank with a capacity of about forty liters. Everything else was stored behind wire fences with locks, but I immediately understood how thefts were committed. In front of one of the locked booths was a long stick with a metal cup at the end. Someone was patiently scooping up a small amount of the entire length of open barrels in the closed booths, taking each barrel so little that it went unnoticed.
  
  
  Only someone who had enough time in the factory, such as a night watchman, could commit such thefts.
  
  
  He considered his options for a moment before making a decision. The factory was supposed to disappear. If this was the only source of explosives for the terrorists, he would have completed his mission in less than a minute. If not, it could at least dramatically reduce the iht.
  
  
  So she asked for a roll of wick and cut a piece in odin D. He cut through the wire, inserted a single strand of wick into the nearest barrel, and set it on fire.
  
  
  I thought I had three minutes, but when I put the lighter to the wick, it flared up and started burning twice as fast as she expected. He jumped away and ran to the night watchman to get the ego out before the building went up in the air. Suddenly, my ego's legs lifted up and slammed into my life. He growled and backed away. Her, saw the fuse already half burned out in the dark. Despite the pain in his lower body, he straightened up, bumped into the little man on the floor, and tried to throw ego over his shoulder. He was kicking and writhing as if he was fighting for his life. He didn't know what ego thought his hotel should do. I wrote to him in English and then in Hindi.
  
  
  He even pointed at the wick and made a sound like an explosion, but he couldn't convince ego. He continued to struggle as best he could, with his hands and feet bound, until an emu struck him on the neck, which could have been fatal.
  
  
  When ego slung it over his shoulder, the wick wasn't even a foot away. He came to and slammed his fists into my neck. In the doorway, he stretched out his arms and legs and thwarted my attempts to leave.
  
  
  He growled and swore with conviction. I could still hear the hiss of the wick behind us. Ego was urging her, almost begging her to give up the fight.
  
  
  Then he slammed his ego's head hard against the doorjamb in a desperate burst of energy, calming the ego long enough to jump out.
  
  
  A second later, a barrel of saltpeter flew into the air. A bright flash of light lit up the evening sky; then there was a thunderous thud as the explosion tore the small building apart, sending planks, barrels, and chunks of metal flying into the Indian sky.
  
  
  The pressure of air sampling knocked us off our feet, throwing us back half a dozen steps. The Indian took the brunt of the blow and fell on top of me, serving as a shield as the debris fell on us.
  
  
  When I rolled her out from under him, he was still muttering curses at me, so I dragged Ego through the gate and out into the alley before the people who lived nearby poured out of their ramshackle homes.
  
  
  There was no fire, and I calculated that I had a few minutes before the police arrived to search the area. The night watchman turned her over and leaned over him so that he could hear emu whispering to her over the noise of people in the street.
  
  
  "One cry, one more, and you enter an endless cycle of reincarnation. Understood?'
  
  
  He nodded, and carried her ego further down the alley and then into a small courtyard where an old truck was parked. He held the ego up against the truck's wheel.
  
  
  "All right, tell me now, or you'll be swimming in the Hooghly River until morning."
  
  
  He glared at me.
  
  
  "Who does he pay to steal from meet your bosses?"
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  "Who pays you to hide explosives under trash?"
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  I reached in a minute and pulled out a box that I don't often use. There are injects with three capsules of chemicals. I showed the night watchman what I was doing.
  
  
  He carefully opened the syringe cylinder and removed the ego, then pushed the needle through the capsule's rubber seal and sucked in the liquid.
  
  
  — Have you seen anything like this before?" I asked the man leaning against the truck. Ego's face was tense, his eyes wide with fear.
  
  
  "This is a new drug called novocaine. Basically, it's a truth serum that works really well. But this inevitably means the death of the victim. I don't have any choice; I need to know who is paying you for helping me produce this full title.
  
  
  My ego was shaking right now. He tested the needle with his finger, then pressed it against his ego's arm. He stiffened and fell to his side. "One more time, one more time. Who pays you to leave explosives to your children?
  
  
  — This.".. I don't know. He was sweating now, and his eyes followed my every move of the needle.
  
  
  "You won't feel it at first. Then the anesthesia begins. It gets more and more intense, and after a while you don't feel any pain at all. The thread comes shortly after that.
  
  
  I tried the needle again. "Don't worry. I know what loyalty is. You'll be dead in half an hour, and then your boss will be free... for a while. But by then, I'll know everything about nen.
  
  
  He shook his head. He inserted the needle into a muscle in his arm and quickly injected the fluid. The needle was already out and thrown away before the Indian realized it. He looked down at his hand, felt the cold of the liquid. After a few moments, the drug took effect, and he turned around. "Zakir Shastri... he pays us."
  
  
  — Any other names?" Who does Zakir Shastri work for?
  
  
  The man shook his head.
  
  
  "Were you the only source, or are there others who supply Zakir?"
  
  
  — I only know one. South Calcutta Potash Plant Cashmere-sturt.
  
  
  — Are you sure that's all?"
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  "Feel your hand." I cut the ropes around ego's wrists so that he could feel the place where the emu shot her. — Do you feel anything there?" That part of you is already dead.
  
  
  Ego's eyes flashed in panic.
  
  
  — Do you know any other names?" What other chemical plants produce bombs?
  
  
  He shook his head, looking at the numb spot on his arm. Hugo grabbed her and cut the ropes around her ankles.
  
  
  — There's only one way to neutralize the liquid he injected you with. You will have to run five kilometers. If you go outside and run three miles, the resentment in your veins will burn out and novocaine will be defused."
  
  
  He stood up, flexed his leg muscles, and felt his hand again from the execution permit flag.
  
  
  "Hurry up, let's see if you can expel the grievances around your body; you have a chance to stay alive tomorrow."
  
  
  The little Indian took the first few steps in the alley and then began to run madly. He shouted something to the crowd in front of the ruined building, and Stahl didn't wait to see if he was saying something to me. He ducked down another street and headed back to the hotel.
  
  
  He was going to have a warm bath and a good meal before exploring the other chemical plant that the night watchman had mentioned.
  
  
  But when he entered his room, it wasn't empty.
  
  
  As soon as she entered, Choeni Meta pointed a small pistol at my chest.
  
  
  "Sit down and calm down," she said.
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  Choeny held the pistol in both hands, like some trained professional marksmen.
  
  
  — What kind of joke is this?" I asked her, but there was no humor in her cold gaze.
  
  
  "I'm not joking," she said. "I believed you."
  
  
  A smile crossed my lips. He'd already used it on angry women. It usually worked.
  
  
  — You're not Howard Matson. You are an agent of the US government.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. 'So what? You guessed that when we met.
  
  
  — You are Nicholas Huntington Carter, Nick Carter, Master Assassin AH. You didn't even disguise yourself. You made a fool of me.
  
  
  'How?'
  
  
  "He should have told me," she snapped, " Raj."
  
  
  "I suppose. 'Your boss?'
  
  
  She didn't answer, but it had to be the right thing to do. I knew her to be the Indian Secret Service. And he could tell she was a newbie.
  
  
  "We're on the same side, so why are you pointing a gun at me?"
  
  
  "Explosions," she said. "Raj thinks you're in on it, and maybe you're running it. We have a lot of questions for you.
  
  
  When she stopped, I could hear her voice trembling. She wasn't a professional yet, Nam, an experienced agent who could kill without remorse.
  
  
  "You thought you could stop the explosions by shooting me?" "I presented it as a joke, a fantastic childish idea.
  
  
  "I can kill you if I have to," she said. "If you don't give me the answers I want."
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. — You've never shot anyone, have you?" You've never pulled the trigger or seen someone die. Do you think you could start with me? I kept my eyes on her face and tried to read her ego. My life depended on it. Is she really going to kill me? He doubted it, but he couldn't afford to be wrong. I wasn't going to risk my life here.
  
  
  I've had a gun pointed at me many times, and I'm always adept at spotting the moment when my opponent's attention is distracted for a split second. An unexpected sound, a flash of light; any distraction is worth it if you are sure that the man with the gun is ready to kill you anyway. But S Choeni preferred to wait for her.
  
  
  "I came to Calcutta to help," I said. "I have orders to stop the terrorists before the problem spreads further."
  
  
  — Then why did you come here under a pseudonym?" — Why didn't you come openly, honestly?"
  
  
  I didn't have an answer on the dell itself. "That's how we do it," her father said. "Privacy policy".
  
  
  "I can't trust you," she said. "I should kill you now, when I have the chance."
  
  
  I was confused by her tone. She seemed almost convinced. Maybe he underestimated her.
  
  
  I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the hot gawk to shoot through my lungs. I wasn't breathing for almost a minute when the phone on the table next to me rang.
  
  
  He called three times before she waved the gun. "Pick it up," she said.
  
  
  He half turned away from nah and picked up the phone with his left hand. This movement allowed me to place Hugo in my right palm. Hers was no longer helpless.
  
  
  "Yes," I said into the phone.
  
  
  The voice on the other end sounded surprised, as if the caller hadn't expected me to pick up the phone.
  
  
  "Ah, Mr. Carter, it's you.
  
  
  The constellations of my real name didn't shock me much today, but the caller's name did.
  
  
  "You're talking to Colonel Wu," the businessman's voice continued from the East.
  
  
  "You called me Carter," I said.
  
  
  He looked across the room at Choeni and mouthed the Colonel's name. She understood and whispered the app while the microphone covered her for a moment.
  
  
  "...another Rajah, " she said.
  
  
  He cursed under his breath. Obviously, Raj was very generous with information about my identity. I wondered why. "Are you alone, Mr. Carter?" Wu asked.
  
  
  He thought of Choeni and the gun in her hand. "No," I told her colonel. "Miss Mehta is with me. Do you know her?"
  
  
  Choeni lowered the gun and shoved ego into her purse, just as I'd expected. She wouldn't shoot me now that someone knew we were together.
  
  
  "Ah, of course. A very distinguished lady. Her father often visits me.
  
  
  "You haven't answered my corkscrew question, Colonel Wu," I said flatly. — Why did you call me Carter?"
  
  
  Ego's melodic voice is absurdly fun. "It's an honor to know a well-known agent," he said. — I'm very sorry about the meeting today, not when. Colonel Wu failed. Caused great anger in the circles of diplomats, around major countries. I tell myself that I owe them an apology. Then the venerable policeman informs me that the ego of the guests in the hall is a well-known American agent, who is also a lawyer... Liberate Kolkata from the terrorists. I'm worried about our city, Mr. Carter. You have to help put the thread to the bombardments. Very important for my adopted homeland. Very important for business.
  
  
  "Thank you, Colonel. I am convinced that the countries concerned appreciate your concern, but this is a job for professionals. Time is running out.'
  
  
  "Actually, Mr. Carter. But maybe a simple businessman can serve big countries. I know her well in India. I don't help the police. I would like to take this opportunity to help a very famous American."
  
  
  Hers hesitated for just a moment. Maybe the old Chinaman was right — maybe he could help me.
  
  
  "Would you like to come visit me at my house tomorrow," he said. "You and Miss Mehta. We'll talk. Maybe it will help save our city.
  
  
  She agreed, and he called the time for lunch. Then he hung up and turned to Choeny. She was still sitting in the big chair across from him. Her western skirt was pulled up over her hips, showing off the perfect shape of her leg. Hugo went cold in my hand. He thought about how recently he had considered killing her. What a sin that would be. But that wasn't necessary. The Indian government is not yet so deeply involved in international espionage that it needs hired assassins. And even if they did, they wouldn't have sent a rich, sophisticated girl to do it.
  
  
  But nah had questions she wanted answered, and she thought the gun had the power of persuasion. Having failed with one weapon, perhaps she will try another, a weapon that she would have found much more enjoyable.
  
  
  Hugo shoved it back into its scabbard, reached out, and picked it up from the chair. She averted her gaze as he held her to his chest.
  
  
  "Baby," I whispered.
  
  
  My lips brushed her ear, then her wand. She was tall and her body perfectly matched mine, her gentle curves and curves complementing my strength and firmness. In another time and place her would have said hey I love her. But that wouldn't be fair. For us, there can only be physical passion. The only promises we could make to each other would be night after night.
  
  
  When he wrapped his fingers around her curved thighs, her long, slender fingers slid down my back. Together our bodies moved in silent mutual sacrifice; then we stepped back and walked hand in hand to the bed.
  
  
  "Lie down," she said. 'Wait for me.'
  
  
  She stood in front of me to undress. When her soft, brown breasts were released, she instinctively reached for them, but she pushed me away until she was naked.
  
  
  She knelt on the floor and helped me with my clothes.
  
  
  She wouldn't have come to me anyway. She stayed on her knees, kissed me on the mouth, then slid lower and lower until my body was begging to be joined to hers.
  
  
  Her hands moved over my body, feeling, groping, flattering. Finally, she sat down on the bed. She slowly walked forward, pressing her firm chest against my chest, then swaying her long, lithe legs until they covered my body from head to toe.
  
  
  She kissed me gently, and then even more passionately. "Come on, let me do it my way."
  
  
  The movement of her hips against mine convinced me. It was nice to feel her on top of me when her hands were busy, bringing me to the fiery savchenko before he even moved.
  
  
  Later, we lay in each other's arms and stared out the open window at the lights of the city below.
  
  
  "Now tell me the truth," she said.
  
  
  'You tell me first. Do you work for Raj?" Seriously?'
  
  
  "Yes, I work for him because I believe I can help my country."
  
  
  'How?'
  
  
  "Saving the state of Bengal for India".
  
  
  "The area around Calcutta?"
  
  
  She nodded. 'Yes. There are people who want to separate Bengal from the rest of the country. Oni could create a new country or join Bangladesh. Even before the Bengalis broke away from Pakistan, there were insurgents in Calcutta who wanted to tear the country apart. The chaos caused by the explosions may give them the opportunity they need."
  
  
  "And what does the Rajah think I can participate in?"
  
  
  "He doesn't know, but he doesn't trust the Americans."
  
  
  'And you?'
  
  
  — I don't know that either.
  
  
  He kissed her soft lips.
  
  
  "We are both on the same side, whether Raj understands it or not. Just trust me for a while. A day or two, maybe even less.
  
  
  She frowned septically. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I can do it now."
  
  
  'Good. OK, can you tell me more that might be helpful? Does Raj have any information about the supply of potassium nitrate? Any hints about the organization behind this? Someone in the middle of a conspiracy that I can catch her with?
  
  
  Jongi's handsome face frowned.
  
  
  'I do not know. Its just doing what it tells me. You can ask the ego.
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  Hey tried to explain it to her. He didn't trust anyone, not even Raj. To be honest, I didn't trust her either, but I couldn't say that. Until I openly admitted that I was an American agent working in an ego country, Raj was hampered by protocol. He couldn't have arrested me or sent me all over the country without evidence. And ego is the only proof so far of the ferret lying naked in my arms.
  
  
  She asked. "What should I tell em?"
  
  
  — Did he ask you to kill me?"
  
  
  "No, she was just asked to question you. The gun was my idea.
  
  
  -"Tell Em what I know," I said.
  
  
  He quickly explained this to her, but made sure to give her only the information he wanted to share. I told him about the factory and the theft of saltpeter, but I didn't say that I had anything to do with the explosion of the factories. Raj was allowed to guess for himself.
  
  
  "There's a certain Zakir Shastri involved," I said. "Let Raj direct his staff to find the ego. The police have ways to track people down when they know a name."
  
  
  Her hotel, to tell her about his suspicions about children planting bombs, but changed his mind. Hey had already told her enough to gain her trust. I didn't need any more.
  
  
  I asked her. "Do you believe me now?"
  
  
  "Yes," she said, but there was still doubt in her eyes, and he tried to soothe her with a kiss.
  
  
  She held back for a moment, then ran her hand over my body. Naked, we snuggled together and let our passion control our bodies. Later, she propped herself up on one elbow and said: "Darling, I trust you, but please don't make a fool of me again. Don't lie to me anymore.
  
  
  "Never again," I said, wondering if she believed me. I didn't feel guilty — lying is part of my job. — When this is over, maybe we can go somewhere together, my love." I have money, a lot. I know her well. You don't have to work in your life. What she said surprised me. She sounded sincere. Perhaps it was more than a sideshow for Nah. He sank down on nah, ready for love again. She moaned with pleasure, and for a while we forgot that there was a world outside the room.
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  The next morning we had breakfast at the hotel. The little wife who served us all seemed completely unaware that a naked woman was lying with me. When she was gone, Choeni rolled over, leaned over me, and kissed my chest. I had to push her out from under the covers.
  
  
  While Choeni was getting dressed, he called Slocum's office and asked for a phone number where he could reach Lily Mira. Lily seemed to be in a good mood when her father spoke to her. She said that she will be released from the hospital soon and will go to Madras as planned. Her suggested hey, take the Prince with her when she leaves around Calcutta. She enthusiastically agreed and said that someone would immediately ask through relatives to pick up the dog.
  
  
  He was glad that Ay had called. So far, my ferret assignments have only caused Lily higher pain. Perhaps the dog will help you get through the difficulties that await you. She was told hey, all the best and hung up.
  
  
  Then he turned to Choeni.
  
  
  We were supposed to stop by her house before we went to Colonel Wu's. When I got behind the wheel, I realized that my mind was still too busy with Choeni — I even forgot to look in the backseat. When hers turned around, a hard thumb was pointed candid between my eyes.
  
  
  "Bang, bang, Nick Carter, you're dead."
  
  
  Choeni turned around and pulled out a pistol around her bag. I should have stopped her before she started shooting. The man in the back seat quickly fumbled for his gun.
  
  
  "Calm down, Sokolov," I shouted.
  
  
  The fat Russian hesitated, one hand under his jacket.
  
  
  'Who is this? Choini asked. "What does he want?"
  
  
  Sokolov introduced himself. "Comrade Alexander Sokolov," he said. "Consul in Calcutta from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."
  
  
  "We were lucky," I said. "Hey, tell me the truth, Sokolov. You are a KGB spy, like most Russian diplomats around the outdoor pool."
  
  
  The Russian raised his hands in surrender. "You Americans... you're always so pragmatic. Okay, her spy. You might know. Isn't that right, Carter?" And you, Miss Mehta?" You also belong to our humble profession. Is that right?'
  
  
  Choeni frowned and refused to answer. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We are not enemies today." He raised his hands again, and bowed his head thoughtfully. "Tomorrow... who can say? Tomorrow we can kill each other, but today... today we must work together.
  
  
  'Who says that? I asked coldly.
  
  
  "I am, Comrade Carter. We have a problem.
  
  
  'Us?'
  
  
  'All of us. At you. I have. At Miss Mehta's. I have orders to kill you.
  
  
  Choeni flinched, and he saw her hand tighten on the small pistol she still held. I wasn't afraid of her. Not yet. He knew how Sokolov worked. If he was going to kill me, there would have been no warning.
  
  
  "I have orders to kill all agents who may be responsible for terrorist attacks at our diplomatic mission in Calcutta," he said. "Tomorrow you can get the same order... to kill me and all the Chinese agents in the city, then the Indians like Miss Mehta... anyone who might be responsible for this."
  
  
  I asked her — " Then why are you waiting? You've never been shy about killing people before."
  
  
  — Because I don't think it's going to help." I suspect that the explosions will continue. I suspect that no one is to blame for us. Her suspect is that someone... whatever you call it... someone wants to pit us against another friend.
  
  
  I watched the Russian for a while and almost trusted emu with it. He could tell the truth... this time.
  
  
  "Someone's playing a game,"I agreed," and we're both being laughed at."
  
  
  "Yes, yes," he said, nodding. 'It's true. Someone is creating problems between us.
  
  
  I asked her. "How do we get around this?
  
  
  Sokolov shook his head sadly. 'I do not know. But I have another concern. We hear strange things. We hear about threats. There are people who say that our consulate will be blown up on the fifteenth... independence day.
  
  
  "The streets will be full of people," Choeni added. "This would be the perfect day for acts of violence."
  
  
  "There is talk of retribution — direct retribution — if the consulate is damaged, "he said.
  
  
  I could feel the sweat under my collar. I couldn't imagine what would happen if the threat came true.
  
  
  I asked her. — Why are you telling me all this?" "Since when are ferrets helping Americans?"
  
  
  The Russian sighed. "Because I was ordered to stop you. But everything I can find indicates that you are not responsible... we need you, our other Americans. The people who planted the bombs, not through the CIA, or AH . Existence ...'
  
  
  He said nothing, and her finished the sentence for him. "They're kids," I said.
  
  
  Sokolov nodded in agreement. - Yes, it's important, these are children.
  
  
  "I don't think so," Choeni said. 'It's impossible.'
  
  
  She objected, but I sensed that she was thinking about the few facts she must have told the police. "A boy was killed outside the American consulate yesterday," I said.
  
  
  "An innocent child," Choeni said. 'Passerby.'
  
  
  "A terrorist," Sokolov guessed. "Constellations of children today... it's not for you, " he said with a smile.
  
  
  "And not for you," I said. "I even the Maoists haven't sunk this deep yet."
  
  
  He slid across the car seat and opened the door. "That's all I have to tell you," he said.
  
  
  When he got out, he put the key in the ignition, started the engine, and drove to Choeny's house. While she changed her clothes, he stood on the balcony and watched the strange city wake up in the new morning from the endless struggle for survival. I was curious about the monster that terrified this tormented city. Who chose Calcutta as the battlefield of two great powers? What did he hope to get out of it? I had no idea. Time was running out, and there were no results. It's only been three days, and my hints have become discouragingly sparse. Whoever used children as terrorists was smart. The trail was almost impossible to follow.
  
  
  All I had was Zakir Shastri. I could only hope that Colonel Wu's broad influence in the city would help me find the person behind that name.
  
  
  From Choeni, we rode south to the Bay of Bengal, following Colonel Wu's instructions, through a flat delta region where the mighty Ganges and ego's various tributaries created a fertile headland for thousands of years. The Wu Mansion overlooked the Hooghly River. It was a sprawling complex that looked like it, too, had been under construction for a long period of time. The estate stretched for miles on a single sloping terrain and included shrubbery, deciduous trees, and large pastures for horses. The large house, built around pure white stone, shone like a temple in the sun.
  
  
  When we pulled up in the paved parking lot in front of the huge house, two uniformed servants ran out to open the car doors and escort us through the large double doors to the lobby. For a moment, I felt as if we had stepped into the past and found ourselves in the palace of one of the five hundred princes who had ruled the small states around which India and Pakistan had grown up.
  
  
  The hall was incredibly luxurious-the floor was made of the finest marble and ceramic braid, the columns were surrounded by pure marble, the walls were hung with magnificent ancient tapestries, the furniture dates from all the ancient periods of India.
  
  
  It was more of a museum than a home, more of a temple than a residence. Our guides stop while we look at all this splendor, and then silently lead us to the door leading around the great hall to another hall. It was poorly lit, and built around rough stones that may have been raised from the banner of a Chinese village.
  
  
  In the middle of the room was a hut, the roof of which was five feet above the ground. It was made from cardboard, old boards, packing crates, empty cans, and the bottom of a rowing boat.
  
  
  Colonel Wu was sitting in the doorway of the hut, a dirty white dhoti wrapped around his loins. He was squatting in a basic yoga pose. When he saw us, he moved a little, but didn't get up.
  
  
  "Ah, you've come. Simple, silly memories. I was born in a hut like this, " he said, stretching. "It's good for people to remember and say that I will always be different."
  
  
  He rose to his feet and bowed humbly. "I am honored to have you visit my home, Miss Mehta," he said. "And you, Mr. Carter. Your presence glorifies my humble position.
  
  
  Choeni answered quickly, but I had to find the words. I got confused.
  
  
  The neat little man seemed embarrassed to be seen wearing peasant clothes. He apologized and said that he would return soon when he was "more appropriately dressed for such distinguished guests."
  
  
  He spoke quickly in Chinese, and two young girls in Oriental clothing came out of the other room. They bowed and stumbled in front of us, ih tight ankle-length skirt limiting ih shaggy to a few inches. They passed in front of us through another door into a pleasant Western-style room with soft music playing and a TV, carpets on the floor, modern furniture, and a groan hanging that looked like a real Pollock. "The teacher says do whatever you like here; he'll be here in a minute," said one of the girls. Then they both disappeared through the door.
  
  
  Above the huge fireplace hung a painting of Chiang Kai-shek as a young man, when he ruled mainland China. An equally large painting hung on the opposite wall. It was
  
  
  Sun-Yat-sen.
  
  
  "Woo wasn't a real colonel," Choeny commented as he looked around the ornate room. "This is an honorary title that he received for his personal struggle against Mao and the Communists. He was only a boy when he served under Chiang Kai-shek.
  
  
  I was about to ask her something, but an Indian boy in a white jacket showed up and led us to a teak bar with tiger skin trim. Like everything else in this house, I was also struck by the supply of alcohol. There was good whisky, fine brandies, and an excellent collection of vintage rum. The boy suggested ih with more knowledge than the bartender pouring camp.
  
  
  We selected a Jamaican rum, and were just taking a sip when the Colonel came in, dressed in breeches and boots.
  
  
  He was standing next to me, staring at me intently.
  
  
  — Do you want to ride your horses before dinner?"
  
  
  She was asked to tell me that I didn't have time for this, but Choeni agreed too quickly. He sent her and one of the other maids to change, then led me down a short corridor lined with statues. In the corridor, we skirted a circular indoor pool with clear blue water, and passed through a door, then crossed a stone bridge that divided the inside of the huge pool area from the outside.
  
  
  Three horses were rushing to the other side of a small bridge where there was a fenced path, but he ignored ih and waved his hand towards the park, on the terrace below.
  
  
  He asked. "Would you like to shoot skeet?
  
  
  To pass the time until the beautiful lady comes again.
  
  
  A shadow of suspicion shot through me, and I looked at the little man's hands. They were unexpectedly strong and wiry. Despite the manicured nails, his hands were rough, like a farmer's.
  
  
  "Skeet," I said. "I'm pretty good at it."
  
  
  He smiled. "Continental," he apologized, and he suddenly realized that ego's manner of speaking had changed. When he relaxed, he let go of the rough-English language he used to disarm his guests. "This is a challenge... just like in real life. You never know which direction the goal of opportunity will go."
  
  
  I didn't understand him, but I followed him to where the throwing machine was sitting and saw two young servants walking towards us with their chosen rifles in their hands.
  
  
  "One thousand rupees a plate," he said, and picked up the Browning and strode to the twenty-seven-meter mark. 'Good?'
  
  
  Before he could say anything, he gave a signal, and a bright yellow disk flew into the air. The Browning fired, and the saucer exploded twenty feet away from the small metal throwing machine. It was a good shot, open forward, around them that turned clay plates into rain around the shards.
  
  
  The little man smiled proudly and waited. Her, went to the line, inserted a cartridge into one of the chambers of my chosen rifle and gave a signal to the boy in the house throwing a submachine gun. I shot her. The clay plate shattered like powder, and he felt a fierce satisfaction from the direct hit.
  
  
  Colonel Wu didn't give me much time to gloat. He immediately summoned another dish, fired, and hit the disc. Hers was immediately followed by a light kick. We were shooting fast, so fast that I began to worry about the boy in the machine gun, who had to put the plate on the powerful throwing handle and take his hand away before the heavy spring threw the target into space. There was no rule saying that you must release the plate and shoot as soon as the other person destroys their own target, but without saying a word to us, we set our own conditions.
  
  
  When Choeny joined us, we were shooting at a wild, exhausting pace and covered in sweat. My arms ached from the constant lifting of four pounds of steel and mahogany, and my shoulder burned from the recoil of the stock, even as I dropped to my knees and leaned hard on the stock. Wu surprised me. Although he was small, he didn't seem to have any more problems than I did. Hers saw the drive to win in the corners of the rta ego as hers faltered and the trays began to burst, rather than being sprayed to smithereens. "Over and over," the boy behind us announced. "Both seventy-five in a row."
  
  
  "Ten thousand rupees," Colonel Wu shouted, raising his rifle for another shot.
  
  
  He hit it in the plate. My hands barely shook as I raised my rifle for the seventy-sixth shot in a row. She was hit on the disk by a tray and ten more before I felt a breeze on my neck.
  
  
  Wu felt the faint wind too late. The plate he was asking for suddenly ducked as he pulled the trigger. The yellow disk swam triumphantly and unharmed across the shrapnel-strewn field in front of the throwing machine. Only this plate escaped the weapon's ego.
  
  
  Colonel Wu held the rifle to his shoulder for a moment, forcing himself to accept defeat. For a moment, he saw the demonic rage in those slanted eyes. He wasn't a loser, but when he looked at me, he smiled again, bowed, played the role of a humble peasant.
  
  
  "Ten thousand rupees to a famous American."
  
  
  He waved his hand, and the boy came running with a checkbook. Wu scribbled the amount and handed me the check.
  
  
  He took it, held it between his fingers, intending to tear it apart.
  
  
  "The pleasure was mine," I said.
  
  
  "Wait," Choeni called from the end of the firing lines where she had been watching. She ran over to us and took the check from me. "To meet your children. Yes? ' she said emphatically to nami. "For ten thousand rupees ih ble to feed for many days."
  
  
  "Of course," Wu agreed. 'For children.'
  
  
  I asked her. - 'Will they meet your children?'
  
  
  The little man laughed and pointed down the hill to a walled compound about four hundred yards away.
  
  
  "An orphanage," Joni explained. "He saved hundreds of children from the street. He gives them education, clothing, and homes until they are old enough to fend for themselves."
  
  
  "But so many people need help," Wu said sadly. "Even a rich man like me can't help them all."
  
  
  Wu pointed, and her voice saw the children in the field below us. Hundreds, mostly boys, played in the shelter's fenced playground. They reminded me of the boy I'd seen at the chemical plant, and the little dead boy lying in the street next to the wrecked Mercedes in front of the American consulate.
  
  
  Her cursed her suspicious thoughts. Wu was probably a generous patron of the arts, but hers was still suspicious of him. I didn't want to believe that he had anything to do with the bombings, but the thought wouldn't go away.
  
  
  "Maybe you know the man I'm looking for," I said sharply. — With your interest in children, you may know a certain Zakir Shastri. As far as I understand it, he also takes children from the banner."
  
  
  Colonel Wu hissed through his teeth. "This son of a snake," he said in Chinese. 'I know her ego. He kidnaps children and uses ih for his own purposes. She was saved by several ego claws, but ih always turns out to be bigger.
  
  
  Choeni frowned, probably wondering why Shastri had mentioned her. It was a calculated risk to see how Wu would react, but the effort was futile. He reacted the way most people would, and I still had to look for a lead.
  
  
  — Why do you want to talk to him?" Wu asked. — Was he involved in the bombings?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. — I'm not sure.".. maybe.
  
  
  "Maybe we can help," Wu suggested. "Kids on the street might know where this person is from."
  
  
  He snapped his fingers, and a servant came to stand beside him. Wu spoke to him for a long time in a dialect I didn't understand. He smiled triumphantly as the boy trotted back to the house.
  
  
  "The kids will ask," he said. "Few people should know about this Zakir. who were affected by it.
  
  
  They'll take you to him.
  
  
  He nodded his thanks.
  
  
  "Now we're going to play," Wu announced, leading us to the horses.
  
  
  We saddled the nervous animals and headed for the place where the estate bordered the river. He showed us around his private harbor and four elegant speedboats, then led us to the thick-surfaced plexiglass handball courts and down the path to a nine-hole golf course on a beautiful lawn.
  
  
  "You have everything," Choeni remarked, and the little Chinese man looked at me, waiting for me to say something.
  
  
  Then her ego understood her. He was a small man with a huge ego. Tennis courts, golf courses, beautiful gardens... but all this was practically not used, they were just trophies that testify to the ego's financial success. And we were here as the audience's egos, invited to pat the ego on the shoulder and tell him how cool he was. Although her ego needed her help, hers gave in to a premonition. "Almost done," I said perversely as I pulled up beside Choeni and leaned in to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. Wu's reaction stunned me. He laughed, a hard, husky sound for such a small man.
  
  
  "Maybe," he said, and rode ahead of us toward the house.
  
  
  Inside the house, he led Choeny and me to different apartments on the ground floor. Fresh Swedes were laid out for me, and I showered and changed before going back downstairs.
  
  
  Wu was waiting for me in Ego's office, a two-story room paneled all over precious woods and equipped with cabinets of first-time publications. He was sitting behind a huge desk, which made him look even smaller and more insignificant than he actually was.
  
  
  Around him, girls were sitting on the table and on the floor in front of him. Ih was ten, some Indian, some Oriental, some so light-skinned that I suspected they were pure-blooded whites.
  
  
  "Like I said," Wu said with a smile. — I have everything.
  
  
  He waved his hand gracefully over the heads of the serious girls.
  
  
  "Pick one," he said. "Or two. You're my guest.
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  "I discovered early on, Mr. Carter," Colonel Wu said proudly, " that there are signs on a person's path to success. Ble to whom, where in the hall a person is on this road, by what they want most. First, full of life. Then things... materialism, as you call it in your country. Then, at the first sign of great wealth, status. Even later — a lot of sexual satisfaction. For a successful Arab, this is a harem. For Japanese geisha. For a rich American mistress.
  
  
  "And for the Chinese?"
  
  
  He waved his hand again. "Concubines, of course. Just like these beautiful creatures. Very carefully selected type for every taste and desire.
  
  
  "Why, Colonel Wu?"
  
  
  'Why what?'
  
  
  "Yes, why are you offering me your concubines? We're not exactly old friends, through them that share mistresses. Wu grinned smugly. He bowed and pretended to be humble again, but ego's lips snorted. "Because Wu wants to give a gift to a major American agent."
  
  
  'Wants to be liked?'
  
  
  "Stop this bombing," he said. "Save our city from further suffering."
  
  
  — I'm already working on it. This is my job. You want something different.
  
  
  'Yes. Over time, the fault will be established. You can do this. You can provide proof.
  
  
  "Who can I blame? The Russians?
  
  
  "The Maoists," he said. "The Chinese Communists. Let them bear the blame for this outdoor pool threat around the world. Do it for me, and they're yours... one or all of them.
  
  
  I couldn't take my eyes off the uneven row of girls, their nearly naked bodies glistening in the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows on the other side of the room. It would have been easy enough to blame the Chinese Communists once she was tracked down by the terrorist leadership, and she certainly didn't owe her red colleagues loyalty.
  
  
  "A small favor," he said, " for such a delightful reward. What kind of man would turn him down, Mr. Carter?
  
  
  Hers hesitated, and just as hers was looking from one girl to the other, the door opened. The servant behind me said a few words in Chinese, and Colonel Wu stood up in exasperation.
  
  
  "Miss Mehta is back," he said. — We'll see her in the dining room.
  
  
  He walked around the chair and smiled again.
  
  
  "Think about it," he said. "For a night of fun that you can experience."
  
  
  Its stopped for a day. An idea occurred to me. She put her hand on Wu's sleeve, and he stopped too.
  
  
  — There must be something more that a very rich man wants, Colonel Wu. Full of life, everything he's ever seen, status, all the women his ego body can handle... but what else? Surely there must be something else that a person like you wants. What is it, Colonel?"
  
  
  "Of course, Mr. Carter." He was laughing. "And then all that a person can only want is confidence... the ultimate and most elusive desire." He led me into the hall. Taking her hand, he led her into a huge dining room with a long table and giant chandeliers. He sat at the head of the chair like a reigning sultan.
  
  
  The ego of rheumatism did not satisfy me. Somehow I didn't think he was looking for certainty. I had a feeling that he wanted something else. But why?
  
  
  I didn't have time to insist. A few minutes later, a long chair was filled with wines and viands, and a cornucopia was showered on us. For the little man, Wu had eaten a huge amount, and was still ale when the servants brought the skinny child over to the shelter at the bottom of the hill.
  
  
  He leaned forward and asked the boy questions in a measured tone that sometimes makes him talk. But the skinny boy shied away from me. Surprisingly, Choeni came to my rescue.
  
  
  She spoke softly to the boy in a dialect she hadn't heard before, and seemed to gain his trust quickly.
  
  
  "A man named Shastri scared him a lot," she told me. "The man offered emu an education and then tried to lure ego into the car. He ran away and came here to Colonel Wu's shelter.
  
  
  "Ask him where he saw this man."
  
  
  Colonel Wu intervened. He held out a pheasant leg dripping with sauce around the red wine and told the boy to take the corkscrew.
  
  
  It caught a few words that were enough to understand what the boy was talking about.
  
  
  "In a temple with a shiny red tower," I heard her say.
  
  
  He said more, but the meaning eluded me until Choeni translated it for me.
  
  
  "He's not sure," she said."He only remembers the temple and the guru."
  
  
  "And the shining red tower," Colonel Wu added. "It must be a landmark."
  
  
  Wu smiled and leaned back in his chair proudly. He seemed to think he'd solved the whole corkscrew problem for me. "I'm very happy to help the American agent," he said, getting up from his chair.
  
  
  He almost sent us away. He called his servants, and they led Choeni and me through the house to a parked Mercedes.
  
  
  When we were returning to the city, I tried to get more information from nah. I need to know as much as I can, I thought — before her report to Raju puts an end to all the work.
  
  
  "Many of our temples have towers," she said. "And many around them are red. Is this important?'
  
  
  "Damn important," I said. "This is the next link in breaking up. Maybe this Shastri is hanging around there, maybe it's some kind of headquarters ego.
  
  
  She shook her head, trying to think. "It could be anywhere. Even the old temple, the ruins... the whole countryside is littered with them."
  
  
  Ee of rheumatism made me angry. We spent hours with the little colonel, and he was getting impatient. We arrived in the city center, and he stopped in front of the consulate, realizing how quickly time had passed.
  
  
  The tension in the city was like static electricity on a dry day. I could feel it in the air. Dozens of armed Indian soldiers stood in front of the consulate, rifles slung over their shoulders. Other soldiers were standing at the side of the building.
  
  
  "Think of that temple with the red tower," Choeni told her. 'I'll be right back.'
  
  
  A nervous Indian soldier stopped me on the sidewalk. "The second soldier questioned me at the metal gate, then led me to the sergeant who was stationed for the day. The sergeant asks me a few questions, then dials a phone number.
  
  
  Slocum was waiting for me in the doorway of his office. Nen wasn't wearing a tie, her hair was disheveled, and there was sweat on her forehead, even though it was chilly in the office.
  
  
  "We're strengthening the building," he said excitedly. "We expect an attack at any moment."
  
  
  He sank into the chair behind his own. He wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow with a linen handkerchief.
  
  
  "I have asked Washington to send 300 Marines to protect American lives and property," he said.
  
  
  "Marines," I said.
  
  
  "God bless us, we cannot remain unarmed in front of the Russians. They are already leading their people here with the blessing of New Delhi.
  
  
  "Would you like to start World War III here?"
  
  
  "If that bastard wants it..."
  
  
  "Brilliant."
  
  
  He looked at me sharply.
  
  
  — Haven't you heard of the Red Fleet?" "They have a squadron that is already heading to the Bay of Bengal for training maneuvers. Twelve ships under the command of a missile cruiser.
  
  
  "You could do that, you know," I said. "You guys can talk about this here and now until a real nuclear war starts. Why don't you stop to think about it? He got up and walked over to the ego table. Slocum drew back.
  
  
  — Have you heard anything else about the fifteenth?"
  
  
  'Independence Day? Not yet.'
  
  
  — You said something might be brewing, remember?" And her, I heard that the Russian consulate will be blown up. Your consulate must be hit at the same time.
  
  
  Slocum was alert. It hit him directly.
  
  
  — Are you sure something's going to happen today?"
  
  
  'No. But I have a feeling that they are the same people who used to plant bombs on August 15, planning something big. You can easily evacuate people from the consulate on the evening of the fourteenth.
  
  
  "My God," he said. — Then there's nothing we can do?"
  
  
  "Of course," I said. "Tell your sentries not to let children go outside to the consulate."
  
  
  'Children?'
  
  
  'Yes. And help me find the temple with the red tower. I must have the largest map of the city that you already have.
  
  
  Slocum pressed the intercom button. A few minutes later, his secretary spread the map out on his desk.
  
  
  Based on Colonel Wu's estate, he drew a circle with a radius that a boy could walk in just a few hours. He was then summoned by several Indians around Slocum's headquarters and asked by ih to point out the temples within that circle.
  
  
  They are known for two temples with a red tower.
  
  
  "The one around them is a replica of the famous Victory Tower," an Indian secretary in her fifties told me. "This is called Qutb Minar. It is built around red sandstone and has a height of more than thirty meters, a spiral staircase leads to the top.
  
  
  It was built before the division. Now there is little left of the temple.
  
  
  'And others?'
  
  
  — This must be the temple of Ossian in the east of the city. It is partly a ruin; few people go there.
  
  
  He thanked her and went outside to where Choeni was waiting in the car. When I told her what I knew, she showed me the way to the first temple the woman mentioned.
  
  
  When we arrived fifteen minutes later, I saw that Qutb Minar, as a temple, was not very suitable... it was nothing more than a tall red tower. Her, wanted something else, though I wasn't sure what. A sort of general staff with a room for a large number of people - something secluded, hidden, where the authorities will not look.
  
  
  Ossian's temple looked much more promising. Square columns supported the stone vaults, the facades of collapsed buildings, the courtyard was a pile of fallen stones. In one corner was a two-story red tower. The ruins turned into dense vegetation around shrubs and trees. Smoke rose in a gentle spiral through the trees.
  
  
  "I'll go take a look."
  
  
  "I'm coming with you," Choeni said.
  
  
  We passed through the ruins. Some areas were cleared so that the faithful could come and invoke the blessing of their water sources.
  
  
  Between the ruins, we found a well-used trail that usually led along the end of the temple to the undergrowth. We were almost at the trees when I saw a large dark green tent.
  
  
  We left the trail in silence and went into the undergrowth to rest. At first we saw only trees and a large linen tent. Then I noticed a small fire pit and a fresh one. A man came out from under the tent, stretched, looked around, coughed, spat on the ground, and went back inside. We didn't see anyone else. A few puffs of smoke curled from the fire. There was a sound behind us — half sob, half scream, anger tinged with hysteria. I turned and saw a figure approaching the path we had just taken.
  
  
  It was a man who walked quickly, but limped slightly. As he approached, I saw that he was broad-shouldered and strong, a man who could easily frighten a child. I was curious if it would be Zakir.
  
  
  We ducked into the bushes as he passed mimmo. He didn't look in our direction. Ego's breathing was hectic, and I suspected he was running fast. Her, turned to Choeni as soon as he passed mimmo us.
  
  
  "Go back to the car and wait for me," I said. "I'm going to follow him."
  
  
  The path led to the other side of the ruins, and through a grove of trees. Soon we were at the back of the old temple. Only one wall survived. It was built around a large stone block and mistletoe ten meters high and thirty meters long. The man leaned against this moan to catch his breath. Then he looked around, saw no one, and squeezed through the dense undergrowth that seemed to hide the opening. He disappeared there.
  
  
  I gave the man two minutes, then ran over there and found a loophole.
  
  
  It was dark inside. He listened to his own breathing pounding around his lungs. Other than that, there was no sound. He switched on the flashlight and made a narrow beam. Hers was in an earthen passageway, about a dozen steps leading down.
  
  
  He found candles and American matches at the bottom of the stairs. After the wax from the candle on the floor led to the right. The corridor here was higher, more than a hundred feet, and was carved out of hard clay, possibly sandstone. Twenty paces away, a dim saint saw her, dancing and shimmering. The tunnel smelled incredibly old and musty.
  
  
  It slowly crawled towards the light. I didn't hear her. The corridor made a steep signpost. I paused to let my eyes adjust to the new light. Ahead of me was a seven-foot-square room with a ceiling higher than the tunnel. Two dishes were visible around the room. At first, he did not see her, which caused Brylev. Then he saw torches filled with what looked like oil, burning in vessels set in four walls. The room was empty.
  
  
  He quickly crossed the room to the nearest opening and started down the hall. He stopped and looked around. I don't think anyone's seen me yet. This tunnel was short and opened into a longer passageway that stretched for more than seventy meters before describing a slight bend. At regular intervals, there were rooms in the main tunnel. They looked like cells where transcendental monks meditated in an outdoor pool.
  
  
  At the end of the tunnel, another signpost made Stahl wider and lighter.
  
  
  Torches lit up the road behind me, but in front of me it seemed that another was holy. Then I saw the first lamp hanging from an electric wire. Here the tunnel bifurcated: I took a straight turn, where electric lights hung at seven-meter intervals. A little further on, the tunnel opened into a large hall. The tunnel narrowed and led to a small balcony at the back of the moan hall.
  
  
  Below me, there was a lot of activity. Fifteen boys, most of them in their early twenties, were sitting around a chair, busily decorating the walls in black. Others cut out pieces of wicks. Other boys packed up empty cans and carried ih through an archway to another room.
  
  
  Outdoor delight overwhelmed me. It was found by a factory producing the full name, or at least one around the places where the terrorists made their two-quarter bombs. But I also felt a chill when I realized that the boys here were older than the guy I'd seen collecting potassium nitrate in the chemical plant. They looked like soldiers. They seemed to know what they were doing, as if ih was being trained.
  
  
  No one saw me, but I couldn't pass through the balcony's eaves without being seen. Then I went back and tried the left tunnel. He made a small signpost, then continued to move, for example, in the same direction as the other fork. Soon, he also passed a number of cells. These were in use. Inside were straw bags and dirty backpacks that might have contained the earthly possessions of teenage boys.
  
  
  These tunnels can extend for many kilometers under Kolkata. I needed to find a quick exit or return to the route I'd just taken. There was another empty space in front of me. Inside was a desk, an armchair, and a couple of chairs, and behind them was a framed wooden door.
  
  
  The room was empty. His next day passed quickly. It wasn't locked.
  
  
  Opening it, he saw another corridor leading to the surface. He got out and went back to the Mercedes.
  
  
  Choeni wasn't there.
  
  
  His heard her call around the darkness across the road.
  
  
  - Nick, well done=).
  
  
  I turned around, and a sixth sense clicked in my brain. Perhaps it was the sound or glint of a metal object in the sun. I don't know, but I cringed and grabbed my Luger.
  
  
  Then ego saw her... the burly Indian he'd followed her to the temple. He approached me from the front of the car. He waved the knife awkwardly over his head. Immediately, the luger was in my hand.
  
  
  He hated the gun, of course, but he kept coming at me. He backed away and shouted a warning. Her ego doesn't want to kill her. I was sure it was Zakir Shastri, and I definitely needed him alive. He cut through the air in front of my face and waved again as I pulled away.
  
  
  In her desperation, she fired once inches from his face, as a warning, and launched a second time into his arm. The impact of the bullet made him spin and fall; but he sprang to his feet and came toward me, his arm hanging limply.
  
  
  He shot him again, this time in the leg. He fell forward as if his ego had been knocked over.
  
  
  Instinctively, I stepped back and held my gun ready for the second attacker, but the only movements I could see were the Choeni running toward me from the other side.
  
  
  She threw herself into my arms, but I pushed her away. I heard the sound of footsteps behind her. The boys around the temple ran out and climbed into an old truck behind the ruins.
  
  
  They ran away, but I had to hold the man down before we could follow them. Ego turned her over on her back with his foot.
  
  
  He was dead. A hole the size of my fist was where my ego's navel was. Choeni sat next to me, clearly unmoved by the sight of blood. 'Who is this?'.
  
  
  He fished out the man's wallet around his pocket and spread it out on the ground. The name on the papers was clearly legible.
  
  
  "Zakir Shastri". Her finally found it.
  
  
  He knelt down beside the body. He immediately saw the bloody holes on her arm and leg. Hers didn't miss. Someone else shot the emu in the back. Gawk stepped out from the front and parted her navel in front of her like a blooming flower.
  
  
  Someone tried to kill Shastri before he could speak, someone who was standing across the road when the burly Indian made a suicide attack with a knife.
  
  
  But who?
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  'Look! Choeni exclaimed.
  
  
  He stood up and looked back at the truck. Loaded with boys, he sped down the street, picking up speed. He swerved to avoid a sacred cow lying in a ditch, then charged openly at the small crowd of people who were rushing out of the house at the sound of gunfire. People scrambled to the side, and the truck rumbled around the corner.
  
  
  "Come on," Choeni called. "We're following him."
  
  
  The rear window cracked as we jumped into the Mercedes. Gawking eyes covered the entire window with cobwebs. The second gawk slammed into the door and landed somewhere on the seat below me.
  
  
  Obviously, Shastri wasn't the only target, but I didn't have time to return fire right now.
  
  
  Hers accelerated, and the Mercedes shot forward like an arrow through a trapdoor. We nearly toppled over in the corner, and Choeni screamed as she tried to pull herself together.
  
  
  We jumped on the curb, followed the curb for thirty yards, and finally pulled back onto the street. A truck moving ahead of us saw her and slowed down to allow another car to pass in front of us as cover.
  
  
  "Were you amazed?" Choeni asked her.
  
  
  She looked at me and shook her head. She kept looking out the back window, but no one was following us. She was scared.
  
  
  "Watch the truck," I said. "If we lose it, we can start over." Half a block behind the truck, we followed it further into the city. Half an hour later, the truck stopped at the side entrance of Doom Dom Airport, and teenage boys jumped out around the box. The driver, a thin Indian man in a Western suit, drove ih into the station building.
  
  
  We got out of the Mercedes and followed them to the platform. Ih was waiting for an old DC-3 that looked like it had flown into Burma at the start of World War II.
  
  
  When they entered, he cursed under his breath. There was no need to follow the plane.
  
  
  — Can you get an ih flight plan? Choeni asked her. "Maybe Raj can help you."
  
  
  She thought for a moment before walking towards the stairs of the control tower. When she returned, the DC-3 was already at the end of the runway.
  
  
  She looked happy and handed me a bunch of keys.
  
  
  "They fly to Raxol," she said. "It's on the slopes of the Himalayas, not far from Nepal. It's more than seven hundred kilometers away.
  
  
  I asked her. "Do we have a plane too?"
  
  
  "Piper Comanche," she said. — Have you ever flown on nen?
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  'Her too.'She took my hand and led me outside. "It'll be dark soon," I said. "Are you sure this is a lighted airport?"
  
  
  She was laughing. "Don't worry. We throw matches to light up the runway.
  
  
  I hesitated, but she ran ahead of me toward the hangar. When I got there, she was already talking to a uniformed police officer and giving orders to the mechanics. They rolled out the Comanche ,and we played that game on board. Ten minutes later, we took off and headed north.
  
  
  It was a long flight, and it was already dark before we saw the lights of the village. She was talking on the radio, and the field below was lit up by car headlights. Choeni made one lap before she confidently lowered the car into the packed dirt of the airfield. There were only two other planes on the ground, and the one around them was the DC-3 that we saw taking off in Calcutta. Choeni pulled into the parking lot, and we attached the car to the wing and tail before checking out the DC-3. It was abandoned. There was no sign of the crew or the boys we had seen in Calcutta.
  
  
  In a small station building, a government official sat behind a counter. He looked bored until Choeni showed em the card in his wallet. Then he brightened up and came out with the teapot. While we were drinking a weak drink, he told us that an hour before we arrived, a car full of boys landed, and ih took the truck.
  
  
  He didn't know any more than that. He took us to a back room where we could rest until morning.
  
  
  At dawn, we took the dirt road to the village.
  
  
  I didn't like the view of the village. A few stone houses, deserted windswept hills, a street with a few thin trees in the barren soil, and dust everywhere. The dirt road was paved, and there were recent truck tracks on it.
  
  
  Only one other car had seen her in the area, an old Rambler that looked strange and out of place so high up in the foothills of the Himalayas.
  
  
  Choeni talked to the Rambler owner. "We need your car to explore the area," she said. "There's so much we can't see from air sampling. We are well for returning you for this.
  
  
  The man wasn't interested. He said the car couldn't move, and turned to the stone he was chopping.
  
  
  In another house, we asked if the residents had seen a truck with boys passing mimmo. At first, the woman listened patiently. Then she got angry at something Choeny said. Her eyes flashed and she slammed the door.
  
  
  Choeni was upset. "They don't do that in India," she said. "We listen, we disagree, and we laugh all the time. The young woman was startled. I don't like it.
  
  
  In the neighboring house, we experienced the same rejection, although more moderate. The old man who lived there seemed immune to fear. He was already too close to the grave. "No one says anything about the truck," he said. "We've seen egos before with the egos of a bunch of youngsters. But those who ask too many questions don't live long. Head back to Calcutta. Only death reigns here. Even talking to you makes my family suspicious. Go home.'
  
  
  He stepped back and closed the door.
  
  
  Choeni frowned in confusion. "Maybe we should go back," she said. "We're giving these people trouble. It's enough for them without us.
  
  
  — You mean we should just forget about the problems brewing in Calcutta?"
  
  
  "No, but we can tell Raj. He can send us an army if necessary.
  
  
  Her, he said no, and continued to follow the truck's tracks. She hesitated only a moment before catching up with me. She stopped arguing as we walked through the village, following the winding track of truck tires to the high slopes. Behind us, the village was coming to life. The peasants came out of their huts and looked at us curiously. Apparently, foreigners, at least Westerners, were rare in this area. I wondered if news of our presence would spread around the area.
  
  
  We walked two miles up the hill and stopped at the first few bushes we saw. We were in a small ravine. Her, standing and looking at the mountains with a cap of eternal snow.
  
  
  "It's hopeless," he said, more to himself than to Choeni.
  
  
  She asked. 'Why?'
  
  
  — We don't even know what we're looking for. The mountains stretch for hundreds of kilometers. This truck could have gone either way. We have no chance of keeping up with him."
  
  
  "Back then?" — What is it? " she asked hopefully.
  
  
  I didn't answer. Time was my opponent now. If we went back, we'd lose a whole day. The fifteenth day was too close.
  
  
  He explored the horizon again, step by step, focusing carefully, then letting his gaze move to the next section of the landscape. Finally he saw it... faint movement in the bushes, about three hundred meters ahead.
  
  
  We were being watched. That was a good sign. But those we wanted could easily hide in the low brush that grew everywhere in the foothills, and an entire army could hide in the ravines and gorges that led into the mountains.
  
  
  We had no chance of finding the truck or the boys if they tried to stay out of sight. The people we would like should come to us. This was our web hope.
  
  
  So I took the Luger out of its holster and aimed it more or less in the direction of the traffic I saw on the horizon.
  
  
  Choeny swallowed. 'What are you doing? Are you crazy?'
  
  
  — I'll try to get captured,"I said.'
  
  
  "People around the truck." He pulled the trigger, and the gun barked once more. "Get back on the plane," I said. "Fly to Calcutta and get help."
  
  
  He pulled the trigger again.
  
  
  "No, — she protested. She lowered my hand and stopped me from firing again. "It'll kill you."
  
  
  "Come back," he urged her, but she didn't move.
  
  
  The Luger holstered her and picked her up. Her body trembled next to mine.
  
  
  "Maybe I can help you," she said. I got her education, you know.
  
  
  She tried to push her away, but it was too late.
  
  
  Before we could hear the sound of the engine,a small truck sped down the mountain road.
  
  
  Four men with army backpacks and rifles at the ready jumped out of it. Four guns were pointed at me.
  
  
  "Hey, what's this?" I asked indignantly. "What do these rifles mean?"
  
  
  A tall, lean Indian man in a turban came out of the truck and looked at us.
  
  
  "You fired," he said in Hindu, and repeated it in perfect English.
  
  
  "A dragon," I lied. "Cobra". She scared my wife.
  
  
  He ignored the lie and examined Chunyi carefully.
  
  
  — You came to the village in that little red plane?" - he asked.
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  'Why did you land here? We are far away from the tourist routes here.
  
  
  "We are sightseeing. Its a first in India." The man in the turban looked doubtfully at Choeni, and she quickly realized.
  
  
  "I met my wife at the United Nations in New York," I explained.
  
  
  He didn't trust me, but he kept playing for a while.
  
  
  "Do you want to ride with us?" — What is it? " he asked politely.
  
  
  "Yes," Choeni agreed. "I'm very tired."
  
  
  The man kindly walked in front of us and helped Choini into the front seat. He scrambled up beside her and saw the gunmen climb into the back of the truck.
  
  
  The engine revved up, and for a split second she saw the butt of a rifle in her rearview mirror. He hit me hard on the skull. He just managed to dive a little to the left. It was a rough punch, but the heavy wooden box still hit me hard enough to make my brain shake wildly. I had that painful feeling that comes over you just before the unconscious covers the mind with its soft velvet cloak.
  
  
  Later, when I woke up sitting up and moaning, I found my hands and ankles bound. My hands were in front of my body, and the two armed men who guarded me each made the weapon of my life.
  
  
  I didn't know how far we'd driven, but I couldn't have been unconscious for more than twenty minutes. Before he could think of anything else, the truck braked and drove through the gate. There were coils of barbed wire on both sides and a double fence around the steel wire.
  
  
  The tall man walked to the back of the truck.
  
  
  "Cut the ropes around ego's ankles and take ego to my desk," he said.
  
  
  Her voice was fiercely indignant. "What do you mean, stun me and tie me up?"
  
  
  One of the soldiers around me slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. The others laughed.
  
  
  They pushed me forward, and Choeni heard her from behind us. She was talking to two gunmen who were more or less carrying her, heading in a different direction.
  
  
  It was a gang of some sort, despite the uniform. The soldiers in the truck pushed and pushed me as her shell passed between them toward a low building with a door but no windows on the left. One lamp Brylev added to his own to the light that flowed through the day. I was pushed inside, and the door quickly closed behind me.
  
  
  The room looked like an office with filing cabinets, a desk, and a typewriter.
  
  
  "Your identification says your name is Matson, Howard Matson," the man in the turban said. — I want to know the truth." Who are you and why are you snooping around here?
  
  
  "I'm a businessman, that's all."
  
  
  "With these things?" He was holding Wilhelmina and Hugo. Apparently, they took ih from me in the truck. He pulled ih aside and turned to me with a creepy grin. "Come on, Mr. Matson, you underestimate us."
  
  
  I decided to play the brash American role for a while longer, even though I suspected that my guards knew more about me than they were willing to admit.
  
  
  "Look," I snapped, " you may be a fanatic of those stupid Indian peasants, but as far as I know, you're just a bandit chasing people. You and your mercenaries look like shit. I saw her, no longer in a pack of wolves. Don't try to get close to me, or I'll hit her so hard that you'll start moaning. Now untie my hands!"
  
  
  It was an old outrage trick, and it served its purpose. This ego caused confusion and anger. He got up and hit me hard; her hard, turned away, and spun around, kicking his ego hard. Then I was hit in the back of the kidneys. The pain was terrible.
  
  
  I didn't resist any longer and let the two men drag me over to the table. They cut the ropes and pointed their guns at my target.
  
  
  "Get undressed," the captain ordered ih. 'Completely.'
  
  
  I didn't mind. When my clothes were removed, they roughly dragged me to a chair and tied my arms and legs apart.
  
  
  The captain hobbled over to the table and looked me over.
  
  
  "Now, Mr. Matson," he said, " perhaps you could tell us a little more about yourself. Who are you? What are you doing here?"'
  
  
  "I'm an American," he told her, moving steadily toward his goal. — You don't need to know any more. If the US Consul finds out
  
  
  He laughed. So were the men around him.
  
  
  "The consul?" In Calcutta? You're joking, Mr. Matson, or whatever your name is. In two days, Calcutta will no longer have an American consulate. Maybe not even in Calcutta anymore. But you already know all this, don't you?
  
  
  I said I didn't know what he was talking about. He nodded too patiently.
  
  
  "Of course, of course," he said, turning away. When he turned back to me, he saw a long razor in ego's hand. Suddenly her, convinced that it wasn't such a wouldnt be a good idea after all, to let me be captured.
  
  
  — Have you ever felt pain, Matson?" the man asked. "A terrifying, unbearable pain that just rips through your guts and makes you beg for a quick death?"
  
  
  The razor flashed across my face; it was six inches long and so sharp that it glinted softly in the morning light. When the blade first touched my skin, I didn't think it hit the target — the cut was so controlled, so smooth. He turned his head to look at his left hand. The blade, starting at the tip of my index finger, crossed the palm of my hand, passed mimmo of the wrist and rose to my shoulder, then curved and caught just above the collarbone.
  
  
  The first pain came when I saw the blade cut into my wrist. Her, closed my eyes, but it started. She wanted to scream.
  
  
  — Have you ever heard of death by a thousand cuts, Mr. Matson?" This is an ancient Oriental torture, usually used when someone wants to get information, and the life of the person concerned is of no value. Oh, I won't say that all the victims of a thousand cuts die. Some survived. Ih's entire body is covered in scars. Note how the incisions only go through the first layer of skin, so that only a few drops of blood form along the incision line. As we move forward, we find new paths and dive deeper and deeper. When the cuts go from the head and chest to the genitals, even the strongest man screams. Few people can tolerate pain."
  
  
  The next cut was the same as the first, but on my right hand and in my arm. This time the razor went deeper... a searing, searing pain that engages involuntarily caused the snort of a flag of permission to perform through his nostrils. My teeth and lips were clenched. I thought of her: "If I refuse to open her mouth, it will be easier for me to hold back the screams of pain."
  
  
  The tall man understood his job. He saw the gleam of pleasure in ego's eyes, the tension in the muscles around ego and nose and twisted lips, as the speedboat moved back to my body — this time to my chin — tracing a third incision line across my chest and stomach.
  
  
  The Indian spoke again. Her eyes opened, I don't know when I closed them.
  
  
  "The pain threshold is interesting. Some Westerners completely break down at this point. They tell you everything they know the first time. At the second cut, they cry and beg for mercy. On the third incision, they become hysterical or lose consciousness. Your pain threshold is much higher, or your training is better than I thought. He finished the incision. 'Now for the questions. Who sent you to spy on us?"
  
  
  I didn't say anything. He had to find a way out, a way to escape. So far, it looked hopeless. The knots on the ropes were skillful; when I stretched nu, hers, I realized that my arms and legs were not sagging. The chair was narrow and tilted easily, but even if it were to tip over, there was little it could do.
  
  
  "Who sent you to spy on us, Matson?"
  
  
  The knife landed half an inch away from another cut on my arm. This time it cut deeper and made me sigh more than it hurt.
  
  
  The door opened. The soldier stuck his head in. 'Fire! he exclaimed. Ego's face was agitated, and he repeated the alarm. "Fire, Captain! Outside.'
  
  
  The captain made an angry face. He seemed disappointed that his ego was interrupted when he had to shave. "Don't run away, Matson," he said.
  
  
  He and the guards ran out the door, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea what was going on outside, but he was glad for the break.
  
  
  It made me want to close my eyes again, or call for help, but both ideas were futile. I didn't have a second to lose.
  
  
  He looked across the room. At first I couldn't see a way out, no way to get free of the ropes that were biting into my skin. Then he thought of the oil lamp burning on the next table.
  
  
  The longer she looked at the lamp, the faster the idea took shape. It was a challenge, but the odds were higher than waiting for the master to return with his deadly razor. If I could just knock over the lamp and tie the ropes around my wrists over the flames, I'd have a chance.
  
  
  But it wasn't too far away. Its barely able to move. Bouncing and twisting, he could only tilt the chair slightly. It took all my strength to roll over and throw him so that he staggered. But in the end, the chair tipped over and fell on its side. The fall stunned me and increased the pain.
  
  
  He calculated the distance to the chair and slowly pushed the chair to the right. Then I flipped it to life, so that the chair was on my back, and my ego used it like a battering ram against the chair. The lamp flickered, then dropped. It crashed to the ground and exploded in a pool of fire.
  
  
  Fortunately, the lamp wasn't very full, but I needed to get to work quickly before the oil soaked the dirt floor.
  
  
  It took all my strength to roll onto my side far enough to keep my hands above the flames, so that the fire could slowly gnaw through the strong ropes that bound me.
  
  
  Soon, the flames started to burn, and so did my wrists. He yanked hard with his right hand to ward it off. The rope continued to burn.
  
  
  Pain shot through my brain. The rope was burning, and I could see it singeing the hair on my wrist and turning my skin red. I yanked it again with my right hand, and the rope bit painfully into my wrist. Another tug and my wrist was released.
  
  
  He yanked the rest of the rope from her arm, then untied the knots around her left arm. They were well laid out. My entire right arm and wrist were burning, which hurt. But it was my only chance to leave. Finally the knots came undone; she tore the ropes from his leg, and grabbed his clothes. My gun and knife were on the table. He put on his shoes and was about to leave when a tall Indian came through the door. He didn't look very happy when he saw me and the gun pointed at the emu in life.
  
  
  He was looking at it, waiting for me to shoot him. In fact, he was so focused on the gun that he could barely see the knife in my other hand. It entered the ego body just above the groin.
  
  
  A gurgling sound escaped his ego's lips as he stepped back from the blade and covered the wound with his hands. Then he slid to the ground.
  
  
  He wasn't dead when I turned him over.
  
  
  I asked her. "Where's the girl?"
  
  
  "Gone," he said. Blood spurted all over the corner of rta's ego, and he coughed. "She started a fire in her room. Please identify me. her...'
  
  
  Then suddenly he was still, lying dead at my feet.
  
  
  I was sorry. I'd prefer to keep my ego alive, but a knife isn't an accurate weapon.
  
  
  He looked around. There was a submachine gun in the corner, and two hand grenades on a shelf. He put the grenades in his pockets and, holding the submachine gun at the ready, went to the door. It was up to her to find out what had happened here, what had to do with Calcutta, and it was up to Choeny to find her. He opened the door and went outside.
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  He stepped out cautiously. I found her a quilted jacket in her room to make her feel more like a part of the environment. With his head down, he could briefly pass for one of the sentries around.
  
  
  He breathed in the smoke from the fire and heard the screams of men fighting the flames coming from the grass-covered hut.
  
  
  He entered a courtyard lined with single-story buildings that gave the impression of a fortress of the old American West. There were a dozen buildings, three that looked like barracks around them, and one that appeared to be a cafeteria. Three trucks were parked in front of one of the buildings.
  
  
  It was only because of the fire fighting that a dozen uniformed men didn't notice me as I hurried to the trucks. I was almost there when a man appeared from behind a nearby car. He came straight up to me, holding up a warning hand. He looked at me curiously, then backed away and seemed about to call for help when ego called for it. He came up to me, looking surprised and suspicious.
  
  
  "One click and you're done," I said. "Turn around and stand next to me. She had a gun pointed at you. I spoke quickly in Hindi, hoping he understood.
  
  
  He turned, and the fear, the ego, the man was so great that I could almost smell it. We walked two hundred yards until we reached the top of the slope and descended on the other side. When we were out of sight of the camp, ego pushed her to the ground.
  
  
  "Did you see the girl?" "Where did she go?"
  
  
  He pointed to the slope we were on. "Who's in charge here?"
  
  
  — I don't know, " he said, his voice shaking with fear. — I'm just a Naga, cook. I don't know.'
  
  
  'Good. Her gesture ordered emu to stand up. "Show me where the girl went."
  
  
  He led me quickly up the slope in a westerly direction. We came out on a rocky plateau that bordered a small valley. Below her, he saw a dozen houses, some half-burned, others completely destroyed. We watched for five minutes without noticing any movement. He pointed mimmo of the undergrowth to a spot about four hundred yards toward the plateau.
  
  
  "Voice command post. If the lady had come this far, she must have hidden below to wait for dark.
  
  
  We slid from rock to bush, from rock to tree. When we were two hundred meters away, Naga raised his hand. We heard someone talking. We cautiously walked about fifty meters and saw ih. The command post was seven meters below the end of the rocky plateau.
  
  
  We scanned the area, but there didn't seem to be any sentries. Silently, we crept up on the licks until we were on the plateau directly above them. He pulled the pin on the first hand grenade, then looked back at the target. The six men were sitting in a bunker dug deep into the slope. Two of them seemed to have automatic weapons. The third was installing a small radio. Another was looking at the village through binoculars.
  
  
  The grenade flew into the command post. Then I had a submachine gun slung over my shoulder, and it bounced and rattled as my bullets rained down on people. Explosion of the Stahl denouement. Two men had already been killed. The grenade turned the others into a writhing, bleeding mass. We didn't wait to see if anyone survived. We ran down the hill, skirted the command post, and ran for the houses four hundred yards below. Then she was seen by Choeni, who was already hiding among the rocks. The four men below reached for her as they searched the grounds, but at the sound of grenades and gunfire, they panicked and retreated.
  
  
  She saw that we were going and ran to me.
  
  
  He caught her in his arms and carried her on. Some of her hair was singed, and her face was blackened with soot.
  
  
  "Don't send me back to the village," she said, trembling. Its stopped. "But that's where we'll find shelter."
  
  
  'No. This... it's too awful. No one was buried. Ih was simply shot and left there. Women, children and the elderly...
  
  
  He turned and looked at Naga. He nodded. 'That's right. They allow their people to practice on real people. "Stay here with her," Nagy told him. "I have to go annually."
  
  
  He sprinted forward, smelling rotting, swollen flesh before he ran twenty yards. When I got to the first house, a dozen buzzards flew up. The partial remains of an old man and a boy lay in the street.
  
  
  The walls of the houses were riddled with holes from grenades and bullets. Most of the houses were built around boulders and mortar and had hundreds of bullet holes. In the next house, I saw three women. One had his chest cut off around the bodies; the other had no head. In the latter case, a man was nailed upside down to a wall and then shot at close range.
  
  
  He ran back down the broken street without looking back. If these guerrillas ever enter Calcutta, there will be a massacre.
  
  
  When he returned to the place where he had left Choeni, he found her lying on the ground in nothing but a shriveled-up Naga. Her emu couldn't help her. He was killed; his entrails were torn out and his throat was cut. There was no sign of the girl.
  
  
  If they had one, they should be close by...
  
  
  Suddenly there was the crack of a machine gun, and a row of bullets spattered the rocks two meters to the right. I turned around, but didn't see anyone. Another burst, and bullets slammed into the rocks to the left. He rolled up to a tree and fired at random to make ih lower their heads, but still didn't see anyone. Hers lay entirely in the open...
  
  
  "Really, Mr. Carter, it's useless to resist," a voice said to me with the letter. "You are completely surrounded, it is hopeless to resist nam. You're too smart to try to break through this. Why don't you drop your gun and come here quietly?
  
  
  A strong, persuasive voice came from around a megaphone that seemed to echo through the small valley.
  
  
  He dropped the gun and stood with his hands in the air. Four "boulders" on the hill jumped to their feet, threw off their camouflage and ran towards me, aiming their submachine guns at my chest.
  
  
  The Indian guerrillas crowded around me and robbed me of Hugo and Wilhelmina. Then they pushed me roughly in front of them.
  
  
  We didn't go back to camp. The guards instruct me to mimmo the camp where we found a second road. About half a mile down the hill, we came to a small valley, three sides of which were perpendicular, as if there were a quarry here. There was a large cave at the back. In front of the cave entrance, a thick barrier was erected around the barbed wire.
  
  
  The guards led me to the fence. They opened a small area, pushed me in, and immediately closed the barbed wire again. She was seen by about thirty people - some were sick, some were crying, all were poorly dressed and obviously not fed. He turned to the barbed-wire fence and saw a well-dressed man in a bright green uniform with shoulder straps. He looked out at the camp.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter. Come here, please."
  
  
  Her, went to the barbed wire.
  
  
  -"We have received a notice from Calcutta," he said, looking at me curiously through his glasses, " we have just learned the name of our distinguished guest. I've heard a lot about you. A man who can't be killed. Maybe we'll get a place in the history books.
  
  
  Her ego ignored the taunts.
  
  
  I asked her. - "What will happen on August 15?" "It's a big day, isn't it?'
  
  
  He responded threateningly. — You won't see it.
  
  
  He turned, then realized what he was thinking. "Don't worry about the girl," he said. "She will come to your village." When he was gone, she tried to collect her thoughts.
  
  
  From the looks of it, he wasn't the leader. The man I needed would be safe in the city, making final preparations.
  
  
  This man had to find her. But first I had to try to stay alive, and at the time it seemed quite difficult.
  
  
  Her, looked at the cave. The gate at the entrance was connected to electricity, probably strong enough to kill me, and the walls were fifty feet thick. You can spend your whole life hammering ih. Escape seemed impossible.
  
  
  She had more than one, but the people who shared my fate were of little help. Most of the people around them were old and infirm, probably farmers who were making their living on the hard ground of the hills. They prepared for death with the equanimity that only Hindus possess. They were sitting cross-legged, their heads bowed on the dirt floor, and they were constantly chanting their prayers to the gods: "Hare Krsna, Hare Rama."
  
  
  They were ready for the next step in the long cycle of reincarnation. But I wasn't ready.
  
  
  I walked among them, trying to bring ih out of a fatalistic daze, but no one around them seemed to see me. Only when she got to the young man leaning against the moan did she get rheumatism.
  
  
  He laughed when he saw me. "So they outsmarted the big fish. Are you English?"
  
  
  "American," I said.
  
  
  'Make yourself at home. We'll all be dead by noon.
  
  
  He knelt beside him and held out a cigarette. He took the ego and choked on the smoke.
  
  
  I asked her. 'You too?'Why do they want to kill you?' The rest are old. Why don't they want to see you?
  
  
  "I was one of them," he said. "I was recruited in Calcutta. They fed me and took care of my sister.
  
  
  Then I saw the village here. I couldn't kill people like that, so they put me here with the outcasts, lepers, and widows who pray for their husbands ' souls." He stopped and glared at the guard. — They will come soon, take four or five men and go to the village. If we are not fast enough, we will be killed by bayonets or gunfire. Her, I've seen them do it before.
  
  
  The young man was trembling with fear and anger.
  
  
  I asked her. — Do you know what they're up to?" "What do they want to do on Independence Day? Have you heard about it?
  
  
  Ego's brown eyes flashed at me like a cobra's tongue. "Sure, but how do you know that?" We were told, but you're an outsider. He shrugged and stared at the ground, crouching down. "The Great Revolution. If we could, we would occupy Calcutta and all of West Bengal. They said the ih police were on the side; the Americans and Russians would shoot each other. All we had to do was blow up the bridge, the people, and the train station, then raid Chowringy Road, and set all the houses on fire. Calcutta would be in such a panic that we could march out with a hundred men and occupy the entire state."
  
  
  I asked her. "Will it work?"
  
  
  The young man shook his head. 'I do not know. They trained people for months. They call it the Calcutta Liberation Army. A sign will be served when the consulates explode. Small groups will raid key positions. This might work. He lifted his shoulders.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter to us," he continued. War games are held in the village every morning. They always take the strongest to serve as an example for new recruits. Also, they got rid of the villagers below to silence ih."
  
  
  He got up and walked along the wall, peering into the dark corners of the cave. — Is there a way out of here?"
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  I searched my pockets, but I had nothing but my belt. The strangling threads couldn't help me anymore. I also had matches in my belt, but nothing burned in the damp cave.
  
  
  I'd have to do it in the country. There we would have had some freedom of movement, a chance. He looked at the hunched figure that had once been a young man.
  
  
  "What will happen in the village when we get there?"
  
  
  He laughed, a hollow, mocking sound.
  
  
  "There is no point in resisting the inevitable. You just need to relax and pray for a better place in the afterlife."
  
  
  He reached down, grabbed Ego, and pulled her to her feet, pressing her hard against the damp moan of the cave.
  
  
  — You have to tell me exactly what's going on in the village." Tell me what men do with guns, where the victims go.
  
  
  Her grip on his arm loosened. Now the ego's eyes were looking at me; wary, frightened, angry.
  
  
  "They take five or six people to the top of a rocky plateau, then release them, shoot them, and drive them into a village. There are seventeen houses, huts and sheds. They will have to try to hide. If they are professional soldiers, they work well, give people rides, maybe shoot them in the legs so they don't hide in another house. When the last house is searched, everyone will be shot or bayoneted. Young recruits are the worst. They conclude money, how much each victim will live.
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. — What kind of weapons do they have?"
  
  
  "Shotguns, automatic rifles, hand grenades, and long knives."
  
  
  She was about to lean back against the damp moan when she saw movement at the fence around the barbed wire in front of the entrance.
  
  
  "They're coming," the young man said.
  
  
  I asked her. 'What's your name?'
  
  
  "Call me Joe is a good American name."
  
  
  He took her hand, moved away from him, and leaned against the wall, waiting. Two guards entered, followed by four young men in plain clothes. All six of them had automatic weapons. The tallest guard looked at me and gestured.
  
  
  "Out!" he exclaimed. 'You're the first!'
  
  
  Its carapace is slow; the bayonet blade is painfully embedded in my buttocks. The second guard pulled Joe to his feet and shoved him toward the exit. The holy Lord blinded me as he passed through the opening in the gate.
  
  
  Squinting, he saw her standing next to five people. Joe was the only one around them. There were three women and an old man, long but emaciated. The old man went out, circled the cave, then turned to the sun and sat down on the ground.
  
  
  'Get up! the guards roared. He ignored ih.
  
  
  Ego's arm was pierced with a bayonet, but he didn't move. The blade sliced through the muscles of his shoulder. Only then did he scream. The guard nodded, and four teenagers with submachine guns drew knives and charged at the old man.
  
  
  The blades rose and sank deep into my flesh until I was careful not to tip over and fall on my back. The knives continued to sparkle in the soft sunlight, and the blades were now a sticky red. The man didn't make a sound anymore, just a soft gurgle as the last breath left ego's bloodied lips.
  
  
  "Enough," the guard said. He spoke to the five remaining members of our group. 'Go quickly. And don't go out all over the assembly, or you'll be dead on the spot. Keep up with the guards.
  
  
  The young men wiped their knives on the old man's trousers and then lined us up. Two teenagers walked in front, and two closed the procession.
  
  
  The march to the village went too fast; she was never able to come up with a plan to get out around this. It went exactly as Joe said. At the top of a rocky plateau, we were told to run to our homes. Looking down, he saw her lone figure on the slope below. It was Choeni.
  
  
  I ran as fast as I could down the slope, hoping I wouldn't get shot in the back.
  
  
  "Run," he called to her, coming up to her.
  
  
  We ducked into the stone wall, and for a moment I felt safer. Joe slid in beside us. He took off her belt, pulled one out around the thin choke cords, and handed it to her.
  
  
  "If you have a chance, use it."
  
  
  She frowned, then smiled, and I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
  
  
  Before he could think of anything else, two brown figures darted around the corner of the house. They were boys, no older than thirteen. Everyone around them had a gun. First one shot, then another, and I heard hot lead whizzing over my head as we ran.
  
  
  He found the door and ducked inside, pulling at Choeni. It was the largest house in the village, with a rough attic on one side. The attic was about ten feet wide, enough to hide you for a while. We climbed a wooden staircase and stepped on thick pine planks. There was a small wooden box on the floor. Choeny pushed her to the far side of the room and motioned for her to lie down.
  
  
  I was curious if the young fighters had hand grenades. After a moment, he realized it. A small grenade flew through the window below us, ricocheted once, and exploded three feet above the ground. I didn't have time to duck. Part of my body was caught in the shrapnel rain, but I didn't feel the hot metal. When the smoke cleared, one of the boys cautiously entered the room. With a short automatic pistol in his hand, he quickly searched the room, then ego, attention sharpened. As soon as he looked at the attic, a wooden crate dropped her.
  
  
  He didn't have time to avoid ego. The crate knocked out the weapon on ego hands and hit his ego in life. He half-turned, clutched his hands, and fell to the ground, out of breath. Her, looked at the machine. This may be our salvation. But just as ego was about to grab her, another boy ran in. He saw his comrade lying on the floor, looked suspiciously into the attic and showered the floor from below with a hail of bullets around the machine gun. Our ego was saved by poor aiming and two inches of solid wood.
  
  
  After a few moments, he pulled out the boy lying on the ground and took the submachine gun.
  
  
  I left her and went down the stairs, and Choeni followed me. A fist-sized rock lay on the floor. It just had to be used by the ego. It was thrown out by a rock in one swift motion, then pressed against moan, and Stahl waited. The stone hit a piece of metal from a nearby house and immediately there was a queue. Shaggy came our way. I tried to calculate the exact time. At the last moment, he ducked through the door and grabbed the young soldier at a full trot. Her ego clamped one hand over her mouth and pulled the ego inside.
  
  
  Emu bound her hands and feet with strips of shirt, and Choeni put a gag in Emu's mouth. The rifle he was carrying appeared to be working properly, but when a cartridge tried to push it through the prison, it was found to be jammed. Blindly, we ran out the door and headed in the direction the boy had come from.
  
  
  A noise behind me made me turn, gun at the ready, but my thumb loosened on the trigger as Joe fell to the ground, gun in hand, and crawled beside us.
  
  
  Ego's face was angry. "One of them killed her with a death grip; at least he got her a gun.
  
  
  — Are you ready to go uphill?"
  
  
  Joe nodded.
  
  
  As we passed the first wall, Choeni tugged at my sleeve, her face pale. One of the women who came with us was lying on her back; her life was torn apart, her chest was reeling with blood; she was folding a dollar in one by her open hands.
  
  
  She was dragged by the woman's Choeni mimmo and ran to the next house. We heard more gunfire and shouting behind us.
  
  
  We jumped over a swollen corpse. Her face was eaten by vultures. We stopped behind the wall, now covered in front and back, and tried to catch our breath. Choeny looked exhausted.
  
  
  She took the rifle from me, worked the trigger and mechanism for a moment, and he heard the cartridge slide back into place in the magazine. She handed it back to me with a sigh.
  
  
  Lying on the floor, I cautiously peeked around the corner of the wall. There was no one ahead of us. The slope of the hill from which we had left a few minutes ago rose to the top of three hundred meters. It was a long shot with no cover. I wasn't sure if Choeni could handle it, but she said she was ready.
  
  
  We jumped up and ran along the wall, ready to storm the slope ahead. We didn't have time. Choeni bumped into a small boy with a long gun. Her hand instinctively reached out in a karate kick to the neck, and the boy collapsed unconscious on the blood-soaked ground. Choeni raised her ego weapon.
  
  
  Behind him was one of the guards who brought us in. The ego machine gun was pointed at us.
  
  
  "Turn around," he said.
  
  
  He shot him so fast that he didn't even notice the movement of the gun. Gawk hit the emu in the chest and sent it flying two meters into the red dust.
  
  
  We ran.
  
  
  We were only halfway up the hill when they started shooting at us... We kept ducking and running, ducking and turning the other way, but we kept going uphill.
  
  
  Ten yards from the top, a figure with a submachine gun rose and fired at us. Joe fired at him, but missed. My rifle went up again and fired, and the man spun around and fell down the hill in our direction. We ran a mimmo of it and dived up.
  
  
  The man in the Jeep was more surprised than we were. The camp leader, a man in a bright green uniform, had just lowered a brown bottle and wiped his lips. Her shot knocked out the bottle around Ego's hands.
  
  
  He raised his hands above his head, and all the bravado left his ego now that he was armed.
  
  
  He ran forward, searched the ego, and found what was missing most recently... Hugo and Wilhelmina. It was nice to have ih back. He turned to the commander.
  
  
  "Come out!" I ordered.
  
  
  He looked confused.
  
  
  "Get out around that Jeep," emu called to her. He jumped out and stood trembling in front of me. "Take off your jacket and shirt." He frowned, but did as I told him.
  
  
  I took it off and threw it in circles of rocks.
  
  
  Go down, Commander. To the village.'
  
  
  — No, you can't do that! he screamed. "They won't recognize me without my uniform..."
  
  
  She was knocked down by ego Nog's fist. My beginnings hit the ego before a white-hot outdoor activity of hate engulfed me. Choeni handed her the rifle, hauled the man to his feet, and hurled ego over the edge of the plateau. He rolled a little, and then Joe and I started shooting next to him and behind him, until he panicked and ran into the hell he'd created. When he reached the first houses, we heard the clank of rifles and submachine guns.
  
  
  She needed Choeni in the Jeep. Joe sat in the back and changed his rifle to the commander's sub-machine gun. We rode along a bumpy path to the campsite. He suspected that only a few men would be on duty, as most of the soldiers would be in Calcutta waiting for the signal to attack.
  
  
  Choeni picked up her rifle as we approached the first building. He shifted into second gear, accelerated, and slid into the first corner. The four men standing there flew away as we sped past mimmo of them. There were two trucks ahead. His is one of them, and Joe punctured two tires on each car as we sped past him, then we turned the corner and screeched over the fence around the barbed wire.
  
  
  "You think the plane's still there?" Choeni nodded.
  
  
  "I heard the commander tell someone that he would fly to Calcutta after dark." I growled. The small plane will then be refueled and ready to take off. But will they have sentries at the airport? I didn't think so.
  
  
  We went straight to the airport, and Choeny went to the manager to tell him that we would leave immediately. He frowned as we played this game on the plane and taxied to the end of the runway. I should have known what was going on as soon as I saw the Jeep start moving. It came toward us at a sharp angle, and stopped two hundred yards away from our car.
  
  
  Choeni nodded when she saw the Jeep. She accelerated, warmed up the engines, and headed down the runway toward the jeep. We sped across the field, and the man in the Jeep jumped out and took cover. Her task is to grab the tiller to avoid a collision with the jeep. Choini bit her lower lip hard as she steered the ailerons and kept the nose of the plane pointing straight at the center of the runway and the Jeep. At the very last moment, she pulled the tiller sharply back. The little machine seemed genuinely surprised by the request, but did its best.
  
  
  He jumped at the sudden rush of air sampling... Then I could almost hear the plane gasp; we didn't have enough speed yet for this maneuver. The car landed on the runway again. But we had jumped over the Jeep and were now screeching down the track on our way to a normal start. I thought I heard a gunshot, but it didn't do any harm.
  
  
  I leaned back in my seat as we finally took off, feeling the pain and burns of the last few hours. My wrist throbbed where it had been burned by the flames. The cuts on his arms and chest were soaked in salty sweat, and he was so tired that he could sleep for a year.
  
  
  "We'll never get to Calcutta," Choeni said, pointing to the fuel gauge.
  
  
  "Put ego in the nearest airport," I said. "We'll get some sleep today, and tomorrow we'll refuel and fly to Calcutta."
  
  
  She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to study the maps.
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  The next day we flew lower over the Ganges, the great river of the Hindu faith. The Ganges has many tributaries; one around them is the Hooghly River, which flows through Calcutta. We headed south to follow the great river all the way to the city.
  
  
  Suddenly we saw what looked like a black dot on the horizon. At first, I thought it was a seagull, and after a tenth of a second, I realized that it was a jet fighter flying through the air at twice the speed of sound, right next to the Comanche. The Comanche skidded hard, half-overturned, and Choeni pulled her nose up with difficulty with the tiller. It felt like we were in the middle of a massive thunderstorm when the slipstream of a roaring fighter jet swept over us.
  
  
  Joe crouched beside me, his nostrils flaring in fear as the car threatened to be torn apart.
  
  
  Two more black dots appeared on the horizon. Choeni lowered the Comanche into a dive and flew as low as possible over the trees. As the fighters flew over us, I saw big red stars and the curved wings of a MiG-23. These were the best planes that the Russians had.
  
  
  Choeni pointed up and down at the Russian bomber. The bomber was flanked by six more slender fighters.
  
  
  "It looks like the Russians have brought in a big force," I said.
  
  
  Choeni switched to the airport frequency and listened. Almost immediately, the airwaves were filled with Russian and English conversations. Both groups requested landing instructions.
  
  
  "Are there any American planes?" Choeni asked. We looked around. As we approached Dum-Dum Airport, we saw two groups of triangular-winged fighter jets mimicking us, four in each group. These were twin-engine attack aircraft of the US Navy.
  
  
  Choeni picked up a hand-held microphone, and during a brief break in radio communication, intervened and asked for a landing order.
  
  
  A strong signal from the airport station boomed through the loudspeaker, giving Ey immediate instructions.
  
  
  Another voice chimed in in English. "American aircraft from the aircraft carrier Lexington, we inform you that you have priority permission to land on the seventh line of the eighth lane. Please allow no more than two planes at a time.
  
  
  The signal was cut off and the Russian planes were ordered to land on runway eight zero in about seven minutes.
  
  
  Choeny and I exchanged glances. We didn't need to say anything to express the fear that was building up inside us. The two superpowers were gathering their forces in the city.
  
  
  These were called friendly visits. Or they would have used a different diplomatic expression to justify the invasion of Indian territory, which was now on a small scale. But the results would be tragic if the two powers clashed on neutral territory.
  
  
  Choeni controlled the instruments and gracefully lowered the small Comanche, then we landed at the beginning of the runway and taxied out onto the apron of private jet hangars.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed in concentration. Choeny's questioning look made me put my thoughts into words.
  
  
  "This is the fourteenth of August. Tomorrow will be a big day. We're so close to war, I'm sick of it.
  
  
  Joe told me during the flight that although he didn't know much about the terrorists, he could take us to the ih ammunition depot outside of town, where they hid their weapons in anticipation of a big attack on the 15th.
  
  
  If we could destroy ih ammunition, we could prevent attacks on consulates and thus the impending clash between Russia and the United States.
  
  
  He took the Mercedes to another street and drove around the big building that the Russians used for their diplomatic work in Calcutta. The blinds were closed. In front of the building was a solid line of Russian Marines. They had rifles slung over their shoulders and bandoliers with cartridges around their bodies. The Russians were ready for battle.
  
  
  I didn't understand how anyone could get close enough to drop a bomb, but I had a feeling that the person we wanted had already completed his plans. Somehow, he got through it. But how?
  
  
  A roadblock was set up on both sides of the US Consulate building. US Marines in green combat suits were turning all the vehicles around.
  
  
  Joe and Choni took her with them, and we began to fight our way through the defenses around the consulate. By the time we were through the big gate and up the sidewalk to the front door, Slocum came out to greet us.
  
  
  "You have a good army here," I said. "Isn't the government of India going to protect the country?"
  
  
  "The Marines?" Slocum said. - They form an honorary watchtower. We also brought planes here... to help Indians celebrate Independence Day."
  
  
  He grinned at the excuse he gave and wondered how New Delhi would react.
  
  
  Then Amartya Raj went down the curb.
  
  
  "The presence of Russian and American troops is my blessing," the Indian policeman said hoarsely. "Many governments send delegates to celebrate our independence." He stopped and looked at me pointedly. "But Calcutta has no place for bombers, Mr. Carter .
  
  
  He emphasized my name and pressed his lips together in a hard, determined line. Slocum swallowed and looked guilty. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "Mr. Raj ... he knows who you are. He wants to arrest you.
  
  
  He looked at the burly Indian policeman and grinned. He pointedly held out his hands, ready for the handcuffs.
  
  
  "Go ahead," I said. "Arrest me."
  
  
  "There won't be any more problems," Slocum said with feigned confidence. "Colonel Wu and the people of New Delhi are working on reconciliation between us and the Russians. So we called the United States. A commission of inquiry will be dispatched during Sundays.
  
  
  'Sundays?'
  
  
  Slocum was still trying to sound confident, but he couldn't. He let his voice die away.
  
  
  Raj ignored him. He looked at me skeptically, then at Choeny.
  
  
  He asked. "Do you have a lead? We need to know all the information you have."
  
  
  "Trust emu," Choeni told the burly Indian policeman.
  
  
  Raj frowned, but walked ahead of us in Slocum's office. I was surprised to see Alexander Sokolov sitting there. Ego's angular face was serious.
  
  
  He asked. "Are you still alive, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  "Absolutely," I said.
  
  
  "And the boy... who is it?
  
  
  'Different. He said no more, and Sokolov glanced at Joe. Russian Liza sensed the importance of the young Indian, but went no further.
  
  
  "Mr. Sokolov came here to issue an ultimatum," Slocum said. - Ego bosses don't believe that we are sincere. They still think we are behind the attacks on ih peace representatives in Kolkata. They think it's part of a larger plan to embarrass ih all over the outdoor pool."
  
  
  "It won't happen again," Sokolov said softly. "No more attacks, otherwise we will repel a retaliatory strike. I have my orders.
  
  
  He growled, but the men didn't nod rudely and left through the rooms. When he was gone, Raj stepped forward. He frowned, not trying to hide his displeasure.
  
  
  — I can't allow you to continue your independent actions, Mr. Carter. You are insulting our national pride. Either you tell me everything you know, or you go to the consulate until this case is solved.
  
  
  Choeny stood between us. She spoke openly to me.
  
  
  "Take Raj with you," she suggested. — He can help you get out alive."
  
  
  Where should he take me? Raj asked critically. Her hotel is only located in an ammunition depot, but the Indian policeman seems to have been able to make it difficult for me. I had less than twenty-four hours to spare, and I didn't have time to object.
  
  
  "All right," said his Raju. "But no questions asked. And you go alone. No one else. I don't have time to warn your office.
  
  
  "That's ridiculous," Raj said. "This may be a ploy to lead me around headquarters while you continue to harass the Russians. It's all right."Listen," I snapped irritably. "As far as I understand it, tomorrow is not when the Third World War may break out in Calcutta. And we may only have a small chance of preventing it. If you want to help, great. Otherwise, I'll go alone.
  
  
  Joe and I were already out the door when a burly Indian followed us. He followed us to the car and drove back to my hotel in silence. I found her in my room, dived into the suitcase Hawk had given me, and took Wilhelmina's new store. Piera, the gas bomb, took it, taped it to his leg, and put the gas fountain pen in his breast pocket.
  
  
  I put on a clean shirt and picked up a clean handkerchief, one of those big, smart linen handkerchiefs that Hawke always has when they pack my suitcase at headquarters.
  
  
  He offered Raj a special weapon, but he shook his head. The heavily chrome-plated .45-caliber pistol on his hip was fine with Ego.
  
  
  The sun was setting in the west behind the houses when we got into the Mercedes, and he began to follow Joe's directions.
  
  
  An hour later, we were still traveling around the outskirts of Calcutta while Joe tried to remember where he had spoken to Zakir. Finally, he pointed me to the shoulder of the road and jumped out around the car as soon as we stopped.
  
  
  Yes, he told himself confidently. "Here somewhere. He waved his hand, pointing at the rice paddies stretching out to the outskirts of the city.
  
  
  We entered the paddy fields, but Amartya Raj hesitated, quietly earning his living, calling himself an idiot for coming with us. Only when I started walking faster did he follow me. Together we walked south until we came to the stone moan.
  
  
  "It's a voice," Joe said.
  
  
  Raj stepped forward and examined the wall critically. He said he didn't see anything sinister in the ancient stones. She was stopped by Ego ruku, who was only inches away from the warning wire running along the top of the wall. The wire passed through screw lugs two inches above the wall. It was set up to respond to both upward and downward pressure. Raj didn't say anything, but the wire caught ego off guard. It's not something you'd find on the moans of a farmhouse; it was the alarm system you'd expect.
  
  
  Joe went first, after her ego nudged her. He carefully stepped over the wire and gently jumped down to the ground. Then her Raju helped her over the wall and followed him. Joe was gesturing from some distance away. Her, went up to him. The entire area of the hotel, and inside the walls turned into meadows, and the dams of rice fields collapsed long ago. In the soft moonlight, all I could see was grass and small rows of trees.
  
  
  We walked along the wall, using the trees as cover. Every two hundred yards we stopped and listened.
  
  
  However, we almost missed the first sentry. He was leaning against a tree and wasn't looking in our direction. He was listening to a transistor radio. We moved around it.
  
  
  The moon disappeared behind clouds as we walked in silence across the open pasture and scanned a strip about four hundred yards wide, I don't know exactly what we were looking for.
  
  
  A faint smell of smoke caught my attention.
  
  
  The unmistakable smell of cheap cigarettes wafted on the second breeze. We saw a blazing bonfire on our left, about three hundred meters away.
  
  
  Soon we saw a sentry in a makeshift uniform. The ego's presence was enough to convince us that we were on the right track. Even Raj leaned in deeper and moved more cautiously as we circled the man.
  
  
  In the mile beyond the trees, we saw an auspicious sign — a road that usually passed mimmo a row of trees.
  
  
  "Yeah, but we're playing this truck game," Joe said, and Ego's eyes glittered with excitement.
  
  
  A long, low bridge spied her a hundred yards away. The roof was completely covered with turf and brush, and the ends were tilted so that the structure could not be seen from air sampling.
  
  
  We carefully walked around the building. Then there were more trees. The road came to a dead end, but when we were among the trees, we saw a path cut through the undergrowth. We followed him and soon found ourselves in a covered parking lot. There were several Indian army Jeeps parked below, which were astonished and new. How did they end up here, in a camp that she thought belonged to them, belonged to the terrorists?
  
  
  'What is it? Raj asked sharply. "Why are we waiting?"
  
  
  "These Jeeps... stolen from the army, I think."
  
  
  Raj replied, " Yes. Or sold to terrorists. There is corruption everywhere."
  
  
  Joe tugged at my sleeve and pointed ahead. "Over there," he said tensely. "Ammunition depot".
  
  
  I looked at the area he pointed out and saw lights twinkling in front of the trees.
  
  
  Halfway through the main streetlights, we came to a low stone building. It was in an open area, with no camouflage, and I could see that it had been there for a long time. There was a road leading directly to the building, which also ended in a large door.
  
  
  Joe and I started to move on, but Raj whispered back.
  
  
  "We'd better get back," he said.
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "To get reinforcements." It can be assembled by a hundred people... a thousand, if necessary. We are surrounding the buildings and arresting everyone in them in the hall."
  
  
  He stood up, but was pulled by ego.
  
  
  "They'll be gone before we get back," I said.
  
  
  "But we can't go in there alone," he snapped. "We wouldn't have had a chance."
  
  
  — Do you have a better idea?"
  
  
  "It's illegal," said the burly policeman. It made her laugh. Instead, Joe beckoned to her, and we crept lick up to the building.
  
  
  Almost sincerely, a sentry with a submachine gun approached us. He would have seen us a second later, but Joe reacted on instinct. He boldly stood up and gave a warm greeting in Hindu, which distracted the sentry.
  
  
  The man moved the rifle, but it was too late. Hers was already leaping at him. And this time I had exactly what I needed... Pierre, the little gas bomb that was always between my legs.
  
  
  He activated it in front of the man's face and saw a stunned expression as he took a deep breath before realizing what was happening.
  
  
  He was dead when his emu let him slide to the ground. It only took half a minute to open the lock for the day, and we were already inside to vote. A dozen crates of grenades sat against a wall with the Indian Army logo on it. Against the other wall were crates of weapons, some open, some still boarded up. There were even a few mortars and bazookas on the back wall, enough to equip a small partisan army. But the building was mostly filled with improvised bombs — two-quarters shrapnel fragments that had been used to turn Americans and Russians against each other over the past few days. She was still checking the warehouse when a sentry appeared in a doorway on the other side of the long, narrow barracks.
  
  
  We weren't warned — her ego didn't see or hear her. It was as if he'd just jumped out of the shadows, the automatic propped up on his hip.
  
  
  He was thin and young, barely in his twenties, and he was wearing the makeshift uniform she'd seen on some of the soldiers in the village. He didn't hesitate; he aimed and fired.
  
  
  He chose Joe first, and the boy didn't stand a chance. The bullets hit him just short of his life and knocked him back. He was dead before collapsing to the dirt floor of the building.
  
  
  The next two seconds seemed like an eternity. My hand wanted Wilhelmina, my legs bent, and he fell to the ground; and my eyes were on the sentry's chest. Her has already chosen the point where her will hit him if I live long enough. In the chest, between the trachea and the heart.
  
  
  I didn't think I could do it. The submachine gun quickly swerved away from Joe's bloodied body and aimed at Amartya Raj. A few bullets for the big cop, the rest for me; that was all the sentry had to do.
  
  
  As he rolled over, he caught a glimpse of Raj's face. It was crowded, but there was no sign of fear. It seemed like he was waiting to be killed. He kept his hands at his sides.
  
  
  He was on the ground and rolled for cover as the sentry's weapon swung toward Raj's stomach.
  
  
  But the sentry didn't fire. While aiming, the rifle was pointed openly at the tall policeman.
  
  
  When Raj didn't move, the sentry turned and continued pointing with his weapon. But the ego rhythm was disrupted, and this gave me the opportunity to roll on a pile of boxes. The sentry hesitated, afraid to shoot the explosives around me.
  
  
  He trusted his weapons. he fired twice, and both bullets hit the emu in the chest. He screamed once before falling to the ground.
  
  
  When it was all over, he carefully got out from behind the crates. Raj was still standing in the middle of the aisle between the stacks of ammunition.
  
  
  We stared at each other without moving. Then the gun did it on him. He didn't look surprised.
  
  
  "Put the gun on the floor," emu told her.
  
  
  He grinned.
  
  
  — Are you giving orders now, Mr. Carter?" — Stop it! " he snarled.
  
  
  "You're the only one around them," ego accused.
  
  
  He could only guess, but he couldn't forget the moment when the sentry seemed to recognize the burly policeman and let ego live.
  
  
  "You forget that I am a senior police officer," Raj said. — Do you think anyone will believe you?" He smiled confidently when he didn't answer her.
  
  
  He tilted his head and listened to a sound in the distance.
  
  
  I could hear it, too — the truck was shifting gears as it came up the hill.
  
  
  "My people," he explained. "They came for weapons."
  
  
  "For tomorrow?"
  
  
  Yes.'
  
  
  — But what do you think you'll achieve?"
  
  
  "We are overthrowing the state government. We could create enough trouble for the central government in New Delhi to declare martial law. They've done this before. Only this time we will make sure that there are no officials left alive who could take matters into their own hands."
  
  
  "Except for you.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "You're out of luck," I said. He pointed his gun at the weapons around us. "You don't have enough supplies or men to take over the city, let alone the entire state."
  
  
  He lifted his shoulders. "We're willing to take the risk."
  
  
  I asked her. 'We?'
  
  
  "I've said enough," he said.
  
  
  He glanced over his shoulder at the door we'd entered. Outside, we heard a truck stop and the sounds of men jumping out. They were in a cheerful mood, talking and laughing like men do before a fight. When the first one walked through the door and saw Raj, he smiled in recognition. But his expression changed when he saw the gun in my hand. Raj spoke sharply to emu in Hindu, and the man backed away. There were shouts and noises outside; then suddenly it was quiet.
  
  
  Amartya Raj growled at me again. "Well, Mr. Carter, what are you going to do now? You are surrounded. And you are in the middle of several tons of explosives.
  
  
  "If I die, you'll die too," I said quietly.
  
  
  He lifted his shoulders. "I am a Hindu. I doubt that death is as bad for me as it is for you. So, I repeat, Mr. Carter, what exactly do you want to do? Will you give me your weapons, or will you wait until my men blow us both into a million pieces?"
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  In poker, if your last dollar is on the table, you can bluff.
  
  
  So, standing in a warehouse with a truckload of people outside and tons of explosives inside, her decided to take a chance. There was only one way out, and I needed Raj as my escort. Emu had to hold off her soldiers if she was able to get out of there alive. But even with a little luger attached to the ego, it didn't seem like it would stop him. Raj was a professional, an expert in weapons and explosives, just like her. But I had one advantage, my reputation. So I tossed my cards on the chair, and Stahl waited hopefully.
  
  
  "Give me your gun and watch," I said.
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  He hesitated, and she hit his ego with a luger to the temple. He sank to the floor and was taken from him by his ego, his watch, and a .45-caliber pistol.
  
  
  When he came to, he had just finished his work. It was an urgent job, but it seemed like it would work.
  
  
  At the heart of it all was a grenade. The striker pulled it out, then pushed Ego back just enough to hold the safety catch in place. Raj then broke the glass on his watch and removed the second hand before applying a pencil to the dial.
  
  
  I tried to make it so that the small hand of the clock pushed the pencil away. And the falling pencil will throw off the dangerous pin of the grenade. When that happened, we had four seconds to escape.
  
  
  When I showed it to Raj, he laughed. 'You're kidding. This will never work.
  
  
  He looked surprised. 'O? Why not? It worked in Hong Kong. You may have heard of it. He used it as a trap for an old Chinese smuggler. Goal from the torso, exactly according to plan.
  
  
  "Yeah, good," Raj admitted. "One day, maybe. While the pen is barely in the hall in garnet... if the pencil is heavy enough... if the clock is wound up tight... if...
  
  
  I wanted to laugh. Despite himself, he recoiled. I followed him. Three meters, six meters; we retreated, keeping our eyes on the ridiculous handmade item. He was standing on top of an open crate of mortar shells. If the grenade explodes, mortar rounds and all other explosives in the building will also explode. It would be a massive explosion. "Of course we can run fast," I said.
  
  
  'How? Ego's gaze was fixed on the grenade.
  
  
  "Together," I said. "We could run to the truck. Its open to you. You must call your men while we run. You have to tell them not to shoot.
  
  
  "Go to hell," he said.
  
  
  We ran as far away from the grenade as possible. We've been around all day. Her, heard ego, people shouting at us outside. They were waiting for the ego's order.
  
  
  "Take your time," he told her calmly. — I mean, you have ninety seconds.
  
  
  He stared at me for a moment, then looked back at the grenade.
  
  
  "Seventy seconds," I said. there was plenty of time. Of course you don't care... as a Hindu, and all that. He looked at his watch. "Sixty seconds."
  
  
  He began to sweat. Hers, too.
  
  
  "It might work," he muttered. "Maybe this will just work."
  
  
  "Forty-five seconds."
  
  
  Now I've looked at it, it's a big deal anyway. I swear to God I heard the clock ticking.
  
  
  "You don't believe this is going to work, do you?" he asked himself. 'You don't believe...'
  
  
  She didn't even finish the sentence in her mind. Suddenly there was no time for fun.
  
  
  "Thirty-two seconds... thirty-one."
  
  
  He no longer counted on Raj. I counted it for myself. "Take the tailor, Carter," the burly policeman shouted. "Turn this thing off. Kostya Boga. Reluctantly, he stepped toward the grenade. He grabbed my arm and stopped me. "No, not forever," he shouted. "You can make it vibrate. You would...
  
  
  He looked at his watch. "Oh my God, ten seconds... nine... eight."
  
  
  'Run!'Stop it!' he roared. 'Quickly!'
  
  
  We didn't think twice. We ran. Sincerely out the door.
  
  
  Her, heard him shouting in Hindu, and he was sincerely behind him, holding a gun to ego's back. I didn't understand what he was shouting. He could only hope that he had ordered his men to hold their fire.
  
  
  the ego of the soldiers saw it; some of them made weapons on us. He must have shouted something else, because all of a sudden people were running in all directions. They immediately ran after us.
  
  
  We were at the truck when Raj turned and hit me with his muscular arm. He slapped me on the chin, making me stagger.
  
  
  Her shot hit the Luger and missed.
  
  
  Someone behind me also fired, and he jumped into the truck. I fired two more quick shots at Raj, but didn't see if I'd hit him.
  
  
  Then an ammunition dump flew into the air. Either my skill helped, or it was a crazy gawk. I'll never know, but the low building exploded like a giant firecracker. The first flash was a blinding beam of light that left white spots on my retinas. Then there was a pop, and the sound hit my eardrums. Then came the zest that hit me in the face, and the pressure of air sampling that threw me back against the truck.
  
  
  Bullets and grenades thrown into the air by the initial explosion exploded as they hit the ground. Rifle bullets crackled in a deadly staccato as debris fell around me.
  
  
  I saw a man thrown into the air, and his body was broken and dismembered before he fell again. Others died instantly or stumbled in circles under a hail of bullets until a shell exploded next to them, ripping the ih in half.
  
  
  I took the truck and drove straight through the dry rice paddies to the Mercedes. The explosions were still lighting up the evening sky behind me when she got into the Mercedes.
  
  
  I didn't know if anyone else was still alive in the rebel ammunition depot, but I was too tired to worry about it.
  
  
  I drove more than a kilometer before I realized that my left arm was weak. My shoulder hurt, and when he raised his hand to look at nah, he felt shrapnel pierce the fabric of my doublet.
  
  
  I was afraid that I wouldn't have much time before I lost consciousness, and I had such a terrible suspicion that the problem wasn't solved yet. I destroyed the terrorists ' supplies and maybe even killed most of the important people, but I wasn't satisfied. There was another small aspect that she had to check out.
  
  
  So I needed help, someone to support me until the crisis was over.
  
  
  There was only one place he could go. And hers, hoping I'd be there before I passed out.
  
  
  Choeni's cool hands carefully taped the Band-Aid to the hole in my shoulder. Then she leaned forward and kissed my sore spot.
  
  
  Instinctively, he rolled over and tried to pick her up, but the pain was still too much.
  
  
  "Poor kid," she said. "You're lucky they didn't kill you."
  
  
  I picked it up and tried to orient myself. Hers was in her apartment on the bed where we had sex so recently.
  
  
  "You ran into a Mercedes," she said. "You passed out when you pulled into the driveway."
  
  
  She left the bed and went to the window. When she opened the curtains, sunny brylev burst into the room.
  
  
  'Oh my God!"Its suffocated. "It's already morning."
  
  
  — You slept through the night. You needed it.
  
  
  She was asked to get her clothes, and she ran up to me and tried to push me away.
  
  
  "You don't understand," I said. "This is the fifteenth... a major attack... which can also take place today. We have to stop this.
  
  
  She smiles softly and puts her hand on my earlobe. — Don't you remember?" You gave it a thread.
  
  
  'How?'
  
  
  "A terrorist ammunition depot... you destroyed the ego last night. Along with Raj.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed curiously. "Did you hear that?"
  
  
  - For estestvenno. The whole town knows. I heard the explosions here.
  
  
  My brain felt sleepy. I didn't really understand what she said until she mentioned Raj again.
  
  
  "Amartya told me everything."
  
  
  "Raj? So he's alive?
  
  
  "Yes, wounded, but alive. He wants you to attend the ceremony at government House today.
  
  
  He cursed under his breath. The bastard was still alive.
  
  
  "He'll pick you up in the car," she said. "Escort". Suddenly he understood her. He knew her too much. Raj sent an escort for me, yes, a couple of executioners, no doubt, who would make sure that it was never discovered by the RTA again.
  
  
  'When?'
  
  
  'Now. At any time.'
  
  
  He pushed her away and went to the window. In the square below, he saw a car turning into the driveway. Choeni objected, but she quickly got dressed, trying to explain the situation to Hey.
  
  
  We left the apartment just before two men arrived around the car in the driveway. Choeny's maid brought ih to the bedroom, and we escaped through the back door.
  
  
  "Funny," Choeni muttered as we climbed into her cream-colored Bentley. "Raj can have nothing to do with terrorists. He wouldn't send his men to kill you. I know her ego.'
  
  
  But the moment she said that, a .45-caliber bullet hole appeared on the hood of the car. The beginning of the second one appeared in the bumper as the Bentley pulled her up the driveway to the gate.
  
  
  As we turned into the street, she saw the men in her bedroom window, where they would like us to be. The guns in ih's hands kept firing at us.
  
  
  "It's true," she said. "Then Raj is the terrorist leader... the person behind the explosions?"
  
  
  "No," I said. My rheumatism also surprised me. All of a sudden, I sensed that Raj wasn't the leader of the terrorists, the mastermind of the whole plot, although I really had no reason to doubt it — I was just concerned about certain things he said, or maybe what was still being felt around me.
  
  
  "Who is it then?" Choeni asked.
  
  
  I didn't know that. Even though we were far enough away from home to be afraid of the people Raj had sent to kill me, I hit the gas pedal hard. I kept my eyes on the sentry. I had a terrible suspicion that half the city might go up in the air at any moment.
  
  
  Choeni tried to calm me down. "Go a little slower," she said. — We're not in a hurry right now. Raj can't carry out his plans, " she said. — You have destroyed ih supplies. You killed most of the ih people. He can't implement the ih plan.
  
  
  What she said didn't make much sense, but I couldn't calm down. I still had too many questions. And suddenly her, I thought I knew where to find the answers. Choeni said nothing to her as he pulled the Bentley out onto main Street and sped south toward the consulate. The street was already filled with a festive atmosphere with flags on all the streetlights. The sidewalks began to fill with people in bright clothes heading towards the government building in central Calcutta.
  
  
  "They go for the holidays," Choeni said.
  
  
  "When do they start?" I asked her tensely.
  
  
  'At twelve o'clock.'
  
  
  He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty.
  
  
  The further we entered the city, the bigger the crowd became, until we could only move at a snail's pace. People were colorful in their national clothes. They called out to us in a good mood, but the sight of ihk startled me. I saw her, not with people, but with grains of gunpowder, which, vote-vote, will ignite from a lighted match.
  
  
  The situation in front of the American consulate also did not lessen my anxiety. The US Marines were still there. They had guns with them and were heavily loaded with ammunition, but they were in full dress uniforms and people were crowding around them.
  
  
  They completely let their guard down.
  
  
  "They know that the terrorists have been destroyed," Choeni explained as we drove through the gates to the consulate courtyard. "Russian children".
  
  
  I groaned at her, but she laughed and called me an alarmist. "It's over," she said confidently. — No problem at all. We'll arrest Amartya soon. There's nothing he can do.
  
  
  Her hey, didn't contradict. Her jumped around the car and ran to the consulate.
  
  
  Slocum was just coming down the stairs when hers burst in. The fear was gone, around the ego's eyes, as was the sweat on his brow. He was that calm, cool professional diplomat again. He frowned when he saw me, and I knew it was because I had refuted emu's media reports that he had been nearly knocked out the last few days when he thought the world of votum votum would explode in ego domain. "Oh, Mr. Carter," he said without a smile. — Are you going to the party?"
  
  
  Ego called her. "Marines... they don't keep people in fear."
  
  
  He gave a condescending snort. "That's behind us. Mr. Raj's men killed the terrorists last night. Hers, I assume you helped them with that.
  
  
  "There may still be an attack," I said urgently. "One bomb can be thrown at the Russian consulate and they will start shooting."
  
  
  "Calm down, Mr. Carter," Slocum said. "The case is now in the hands of professionals... diplomats. And we are keeping the situation under control."
  
  
  He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "To be honest, this morning we are just friends extending a hand to the Russians." He looked at his watch. "Ten minutes, to be exact." Ih Mr. Sokolov is hosting our small delegation. I don't have to hurry there.
  
  
  I asked her. 'A delegation?'
  
  
  It passed mimmo to me. The ego driver, a Marine in full uniform, held the door open and Slocum walked over to the car in front of the building.
  
  
  "Colonel Wu's idea," he shouted.
  
  
  He was at the car when Ego grabbed her by the shoulder. "Wait," I snapped at him. "What about Colonel Wu?"
  
  
  Angry, he pushed my hand away. "Look, Carter, your job is done here. You have completed your task, I would say a bloody task. So get out of Calcutta while you still can.
  
  
  He turned back to the car, but ego grabbed it again and held it hard against his chest. The driver took a step in my direction, then stopped. "Take the tailor, Slocum," I growled. 'Answer me. What did Colonel Wu come up with?
  
  
  "None of your business," he said, " but we have a great idea. Peace gesture. Children will take flowers to the Russian Consulate. This will be broadcast on television around the world via satellite."
  
  
  He took his hand off Ego's shoulder. I couldn't believe what he was saying. "Kids," I said.
  
  
  "Yes, through Colonel Wu's orphanage. Hundreds of children.
  
  
  With flowers from us, for Russians. Brilliant, don't you think?
  
  
  I stepped back, realizing that he had never understood how terrorists did their work.
  
  
  Slocum turned and got into the car, closing the door behind him. At that moment, Choeni came over and stood next to me.
  
  
  — He said there would be children, didn't he?" she whispered. "Then it'll go..." She paused to consider the thought that wasn't yet fully formed. "I mean, it's not a stream yet. Not yet. And Colonel Wu...
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "It must be Colonel Wu. But they will blame the Americans. Slocum... this madman... he's been playing into Colonel Wu's hands all the way. I ran back to the Bentley, and Choeni followed me.
  
  
  'What do you plan to do?'Oh, my God!' she exclaimed.
  
  
  "Stop this case if I can."Her slid behind the wheel as she approached the other day.
  
  
  "No, I'll go alone," I said. "It can get dangerous."
  
  
  She ignored my comment and sat down.
  
  
  "If it's Colonel Wu, why did he give us information about Zakir and the temple?" "Zakir has already been compromised. We knew that ego was a name, so ego had to be removed. Wu must have hoped that we would be killed at the same time. Em almost succeeded.
  
  
  He hit the horn and ran out of the consulate gate. The Marine jumped out of the way and cursed me in a voice that could have been heard halfway down the block.
  
  
  Ahead of us, people were hurrying along the sidewalks. A policeman called out to us and waved furiously, but he didn't slow down until we were in front of the Russian consulate.
  
  
  For a moment, I thought I shouldn't have panicked.
  
  
  Like the Americans, the Russians have lowered their guard. Ih the soldiers, also in full dress uniforms, looked more ceremonial than military. But I had a bad feeling when she was spotted by a squad of US Marines standing at attention across the street from the consulate. Slocum made the situation even more dangerous by bringing in a platoon of Marines.
  
  
  The ego car was driving candid in front of ours, and when it pulled up to the curb, the ego driver just drove through the consulate gate. For example, I saw Andrey Sokolov go out on the front door of the building to meet his guests.
  
  
  'Look! Choini exclaimed. She pointed wildly down the street.
  
  
  They were climbing a small slope, well, there must have been a hundred of them. Children, most of whom were under the age of ten. A small army with singing... she was en masse heading for the Russian consulate. And they all carried small bouquets of flowers in brightly colored jars.
  
  
  Slocum walked around the car and looked at the children with pride and beaming eyes, as if this was an ego-driven diplomatic triumph. Even old fox Sokolov seemed to be in a good mood.
  
  
  Her voice roared:
  
  
  "Stop ih!"
  
  
  Her, felt like an idiot. I ran outside, shouting, and Choeny followed me.
  
  
  I heard Slocum calling my name. People on the street were looking at me like I was crazy. An officer stepped forward to stop me; ego pushed her away and ran to the children. Then Colonel Wu saw her. He stood off to the side, watching, leaving the teenagers around his hideout in charge.
  
  
  It all happened very quickly. The children were stunned by the sight of a tall white man rushing between them. They stopped singing and recoiled.
  
  
  The officer was still trying to get to me, and so were some people on the street. Her wildly stahl snatches bouquets around children's hands. I looked at one bouquet, found nothing, and threw the jar away. Then another one watched it, and another...
  
  
  The children screamed. Some ran back in the same direction they had come from. I didn't find anything for her until Choeni called me and gave me a jar of flowers. Her discarded flowers and picked up the bomb that was already under them.
  
  
  Just what I imagined.
  
  
  Colonel Wu might even have been able to pin the blame on the American consulate staff, because as far as the Russians knew, it was Slocum who organized the children's march to the consulate. If the bombs had gone off, Russia's reaction would have been explosive. But I didn't have time to explain it all. The police started approaching me. And also a group of people on the street. I even saw a platoon of Marines moving.
  
  
  I made a wild guess. He pulled out a lighter and lit the short fuse sticking out through the cans.
  
  
  A shout went through the crowd. People staggered back and trampled on another person in their haste to escape. I turned around, looking for a place to drop the bomb, but there were people almost everywhere. Colonel Wu finally saw her. He was standing alone at the glass entrance to a modern office building. In any case, it was a long way from the Russian consulate. I was hoping that Sokolov would understand that I was trying to prevent an attack on the staff ego. Her threw a small bomb like a grenade. It landed on the ground in front of Wu and rolled on. He ducked into the building before the bomb went off, but the large windows shattered and rained down on him. her, saw him fall; then her ego lost sight of him.
  
  
  The crowd was running around me. The children dropped their bouquets and cried.
  
  
  He ran to the building where he had seen Wu. Inside the building, glass crunched under my feet, and I saw a trail of blood coming from where Colonel Wu had fallen.
  
  
  Her, I saw the elevator doors close. He darted through the narrowing gap between the sliding doors. I did it, but it almost cost me my life.
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  The moment I stumbled into the elevator, the Colonel jumped on top of me. He was fast. Ego hands groped me all over the place in a demanded gun. I raised my hands to cover Wilhelmina and the knife, but I felt him pull something out around the pocket of my doublet.
  
  
  "Don't move," he shouted.
  
  
  He jumped off me and hovered over me forever. "Turn around slowly," he ordered.
  
  
  Very carefully, he opened it and looked over his shoulder. He leaned against the closed door, preparing with one hand to push the button that would immediately take us to the roof of the building. Ego's face was covered in glass. There were still shards of glass around some of the wounds. Blood was pouring down ego's chest, and there was a long gash on his stomach that shouldn't have meant ego and death, but even now, nen still had a certain dignity. In the few minutes before his death, he maintained a precise, cheerful demeanor that had already impressed me at Ego manor.
  
  
  In his hand was my fountain pen, filled with deadly gas. He had the cap off and his thumb was on the clip, ready to fire. Obviously, he knew how it worked.
  
  
  He was aiming at me, and I wondered if he was aware of the power of the thing.
  
  
  "If you use this here in the elevator," I warned her,"you'll be dead, too."
  
  
  "One breath is all you need," he said. "I know this little device well, Carter.
  
  
  I thought I saw ego's thumb move, and he almost growled at it.
  
  
  "Wait," I said. "There's no hurry.
  
  
  He laughed and motioned for me to get up. He carefully stood up and pressed himself against the other side of the elevator.
  
  
  "Just tell me why," I said. — What do you want to achieve?
  
  
  "You asked me recently what more a man like me could possibly want. Her, said that the one who has everything just wants to be sure."
  
  
  "And that was a lie?"
  
  
  "No, but I didn't ask her to explain it any further. Only strength gives security. Only the person upstairs is safe.
  
  
  "Her ferret still doesn't understand. What were you going to do with these bombs?
  
  
  "Chaos," he said. "The Russians would blame the Americans. There would have been shots fired. Riots on the street. A little war here in Calcutta. New Delhi is said to have declared martial law, just like before. Raj would have taken over. Later, we would have declared the independence of the state of Bengal."
  
  
  — But he would have worked for you?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "A figurehead because you're Chinese?"
  
  
  He nodded again and almost doubled over, which hurt.
  
  
  "You're going to die," ego warned her. "Without you, it will take over."
  
  
  He shook his head weakly. "There are documents. They must be opened after my death.
  
  
  "Documents about Raj's involvement in the plot?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  He straightened up and raised the gas pistol slightly. "But you failed," I said. "You will die in vain."
  
  
  He pressed the elevator button behind him. The elevator rose slowly.
  
  
  Then he took a deep breath and pressed down on the pen clip. Her air sampling took a deep breath, just before a cloud of gas formed between us.
  
  
  The small elevator was filled with it, and it snaked around us like a tiger, ready to pounce as soon as we opened our mouths to breathe. We stood and stared at each other in a deadly, silent battle, holding our breath. No one moved around us. There was no escape. The elevator was slowly moving up to the top floor. Her couldn't get mimmo through it to stop the elevator in the middle. I needed to breathe before he could open the door.
  
  
  He grinned smugly. Now it will be easier for the emu to die. He will go to his grave thinking that he has won the last battle. It was better than competing with me on the plate stand. If he could have held his breath for even a second longer than hers, he would have won his final triumph. Her reached in a minute and pulled out her handkerchief, the special handkerchief that Hawke tells me to always carry with me when her beru gas pistol is with me on a mission.
  
  
  It was pressed by ego to his mouth and nose, then rivnensky inhaled through special filter fibers.
  
  
  Wu's face was first confused, then understanding, then horrified. He blushed; he even covered his mouth with his hands. But in the end, emu had to sigh. He sighed and leapt toward me, his small hands gripping my throat. I didn't resist.
  
  
  When his fingers closed around my throat, he exhaled. "I curse you! "What is it?" he exclaimed. We stared at each other for a moment.
  
  
  Then the ego's fingers slowly relaxed and slid to the side. He was dead when he hit the floor.
  
  
  He allowed the gas on the top floor to dissipate, then began the slow journey down. When the elevator door on the first floor of the building opened, Choeni ran up to me.
  
  
  In the lobby of the building, a confused crowd watched the proceedings.
  
  
  Slocum was there, and Ego's face was wet from the jar again, and he was looking at me with an angry, humiliated expression. Ego ignored her and turned to Alexander Sokolov, who had come out around the crowd.
  
  
  Russian, smiled pleasantly. He even leaned down to kiss me on both wands, as his fellow countrymen do with their comrades.
  
  
  "You saved us all," he said, his lips brushing my ear. "But leave for Calcutta tonight. Then, smiling, he stepped back and began to chat diplomatically about how Americans and Russians live together peacefully everywhere, even in Calcutta. Behind him, he was seen by Amartya Raja, his left arm in a cast and face wounds from the explosion at the ammunition depot. He was standing openly, but I could guess at the fear that possessed him. Sooner or later, the ego will be exposed. It was only a corkscrew of time.
  
  
  Finally, Choeni's hand was in mine, and she led me to the Bentley.
  
  
  He looked back at the building and thought about what Sokolov had said.
  
  
  He had to leave. The next morning, the ego people will try to kill me. Even before that, Raj might have sent his assassins. Calcutta was a dangerous place; but then her, looked at Choeni and thought of something. "Your house," I said. "The bed is softer."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  The Grand Helmsman gave his troops a decisive order. The Kremlin could not turn around. The wick of total destruction has already been lit in Calcutta.
  
  
  There was only one person left to prevent it: Nick Carter. A deadly mission when he discovered that his opponents were children. Children filled with hatred and a thirst for murder, led by a crazed Pied Piper who was as invisible as he was dangerous.
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of contents
  Chapter 2
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Butcher of Belgrade
  
  
  
  
  Annotations
  
  
  
  AN ASSASSIN AT THE TOP OF HIS BLOODY PROFESSION ...
  
  
  A man unknown to any professional intelligence agency in the world. Mastermind behind a billion-dollar private spy network called Topcon, Inc. A sadist whose brutal power has reached half the globe ...
  
  
  IN PARIS
  
  
  A red defector who was supposed to tell Nick Carter about the deadly Topcon game was stabbed to death before he could utter a single word.
  
  
  IN LAUSANNE
  
  
  A beautiful young German agent used all the tricks of her well-trained mind and body to deny Nick any chance of finding Topcon.
  
  
  IN MILAN
  
  
  A Chinese operative almost permanently stopped Nick with a fatal karate kick. The Chicom agent was also hunting for the man who ran Topcon.
  
  
  IN TRIESTE
  
  
  The owner of the Nazi high school criminal involved Nick in an explosive game of hide-and-seek. And while she was distracting Nick to the side, the elusive # 1 Topcon man escaped once more.
  
  
  IN BELGRADE
  
  
  A spooky masquerade turned into a nightmare when Nick Carter finally discovered the true identity of the Topcon host!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  The tenth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  Butcher of Belgrade
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  
  The Orient express slid out like a big black car around Milan Station. Picking up speed, the train took off around the city and into the green Italian countryside, whining along the tracks as it sped towards Trieste.
  
  
  In the compartment at the back of the rocking train sat one short, nervous man with a brown suitcase at egoist's feet. Ego's name was Carlo Spinetti. He was a merchant on his way home from a trip to visit distant relatives. Looking out the train windows at the rushing landscape, he thought how happy he would be to see his wife and children again. For some, this journey may be exciting, but for Carlo Spinetti, the constant bustle of the crowd was unnerving.
  
  
  The tall man opened the compartment door and stood looking at Carlo with cold, dark eyes that seemed to have been carved around the black wood. Ego's eyes fell on the brown suitcase that Carlo hadn't bothered to put on the counter. A faint smile curved the corner of the man's mouth, and then he walked the rest of the way to the compartment and sat opposite Carlo, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
  
  
  "You get off in Trieste, eh?" he asked.
  
  
  Carlo Spinetti blinked and shifted in his seat. He was surprised to learn that this stranger knew that ego was the destination. He said, " Yes, and you?"
  
  
  The man continued to smile, as if he knew about the joke that was being kept from Carlo. "I also go out in Trieste."
  
  
  Five minutes later, a fat man entered the compartment. He closed the door and leaned against it, studying the Spinetti as the first man had done. Ego's eyes also fell on the leg bag at Spinetti's. Then he nodded to the tall man, as if they knew each other from the distant past.
  
  
  Instinctively, Carlo bent down and moved the suitcase that seemed to interest the two strangers. He couldn't explain ih's interest. The bag was battered and worn, and there was nothing of value in it except for Carlo's clothes and some small gifts that he sent home to his family.
  
  
  "Are you going to Trieste too?" "What is it?" he asked the second stranger nervously.
  
  
  "Yes." The voice was rough and harsh. The big man dropped into the seat next to the first stranger and crossed his arms over his chest. He sat in silence, his eyes closed as if he had dozed off, as the train pulled away.
  
  
  Carlo shifted uncomfortably. He told himself that he must be imagining the threat he felt on ih with random words. Both men were dressed more expensively than he was. Ih faces seemed stern, but they didn't look like thieves who stole from innocent travelers.
  
  
  "What is the matter with you, my friend? You seem a little nervous, " the tall man said calmly.
  
  
  Carlo put a finger to his collar to ease his ego. "I was wondering-maybe
  
  
  Do you know me? "
  
  
  "No, my other, I don't know you."
  
  
  "I feel like you're looking at me."
  
  
  "I'm looking at you, but I'm not looking," the tall man said. Then he laughed.
  
  
  Carlo's nervousness quickly turned to fear. Telling himself that Emu didn't need to stay here, that he could change the compartment, he bent down and quickly grabbed his suitcase. But as he started to move from his seat, the tall man across from him kicked him and pinned the suitcase in place, blocking Carlo's path with his foot.
  
  
  "Don't leave us, my friend. We like your company, " he said in a threatening voice.
  
  
  Suddenly, the massive man's eyes snapped open. He glared at Carlo. "Yes, sit down. And keep quiet if you don't want to be offended."
  
  
  Carlo dropped back into his seat. He was trembling. He felt something crawling down ego's cheek. He brushed the ego away with his hand, then realized it was a post bank.
  
  
  "Why are you doing this? I've never seen you before. What do you want from me?"
  
  
  "I told you to keep quiet," the stocky man growled.
  
  
  Confused and terrified, Carlo stayed where he was until the train pulled into the station in Trieste. He was so scared that he only got up when the big man stood up and made a gesture. "Let's go. You go ahead of us."
  
  
  Tall sunset man in a coat. He pulled out a short, broad-bladed knife. "We'll take your suitcase, my other one. Behave yourself if you want to live."
  
  
  Carlo protested. "I don't have anything of value in my suitcase. Of course, this is a mistake; you made a mistake."
  
  
  "We have the right person, and the right suitcase." The sharp thread of the knife pricked Carlo's neck. "Shut up and go."
  
  
  As Carlo walked slowly down the train steps, sweating and shaking with fear, it occurred to him that maybe these people would kill him, no matter what he did to us. Panic thundered in the egos of the heads. As he stepped out onto the station platform, Ego's eyes caught a glimpse of the uniform of a policeman in the crowd. He instinctively shouted, " Please help me!"
  
  
  He ran towards the policeman, but the knife blade bit savagely into the emu's neck. He staggered, gasping for breath. What was the reason? Why did they need an ego suitcase? Confused in both directions, he ran blindly from the end of the platform, and with a cry that turned into a death sob, he fell down onto the tracks ...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  
  Washington a soft rain was falling. A thick fog hung over the city like a gray coat. When he looked out of the windows of his hotel room, he could see her almost as far as the Pentagon could throw. Just in case, I tried to see the silhouette of the Soviet embassy on the street. I was wondering if anyone around the boys ' egos was busy coming up with the projects I was assigned to interrupt.
  
  
  The phone rang, and he quickly went to it. There was a message waiting for her from David Hawke, the man who had called up the signals for AX, the cloak and dagger agency that had hired me. The work was risky and sometimes the hours were terrible, but I met a lot of interesting people.
  
  
  The voice that came on the line belonged to one of Hawk's assistants. "The old man is in a meeting, and he says that he will be bound for a long time. He tells you to take the day off and talk to him tomorrow."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, and hung up, frowning. When David Hawke was involved in long meetings, it usually meant that something had gone wrong on our part.
  
  
  Impatience gnawed at me as I stripped off all my equipment - a luger in a shoulder holster, a stiletto in my sleeve, a small gas bomb that her parts first taped to the inside of my thigh-and stepped into the shower. Sometimes my business was like a military one: hurry up or wait. I haven't been in Washington for two days, waiting for orders, and Hawk still hasn't told me what's going on. When it came to incomprehensibility, many Easterners could have extracted the evil eye from the lean old professional who ran Operations AXE.
  
  
  Hawk called me to the capital via New Delhi, where he had just completed an assignment. The call was marked as "Priority 2", which meant that an urgent case was ready. Only Odin's Priority instructions could get an agent home faster, and Priority One was reserved for messages sent when the President was on the hotline and the Secretary of State was biting his nails to the joints.
  
  
  However, I've only been able to talk to Hawk once since arriving, and that conversation was brief. All he told me was that he had an assignment coming up that was open in my alley.
  
  
  That probably meant I might get killed.
  
  
  Wrapping a towel around her waist, he listened to the news while shaving. There was a lot going on in the world now that hadn't happened before, and for the most part, it wasn't very good. Along with the bleak weather, it was enough to send a loyal friend to the bar for another double bourbon. But it was a night that couldn't be significantly brightened up if the man knew the right girl. And I only knew her.
  
  
  Her name was Ellen. She worked for a very expensive lawyer who specializes in Supreme Court cases. I didn't know how good he was as a lawyer, but if his brief summaries were half as great as his secretary's, he probably would never have lost the case.
  
  
  I hadn't seen Ellen in almost a year, but since she knew what I was doing, I didn't have to offer any lengthy explanations when A called her. She said that she would give up other plans for the night. I drove across town to her apartment in the car that AX had brought for me. The fog was so thick that I had to move at a snail's pace.
  
  
  Ellen was wearing a tight black dress with a plunging neckline. She took my cloak, then put her arms around my neck, pressed her full breasts against me, and gave me a kiss that would have melted a statue's eyebrows.
  
  
  "Don't waste your time," her father said.
  
  
  "There's never anything to lose with you. Today you're here, tomorrow you're gone." She smiled at me. "I take it you're still working for that nasty old man, Hawk?"
  
  
  "Actually, but today it's all yours."
  
  
  She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds very interesting, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  We decided not to go outside. The weather was too bad, and besides, the truth was that no one around us wanted to stray too far from the bedroom. After Ellen fried us steaks as thick as the Sunday New York Times, we sat and drank wine and talked about what happened to us in the year with them ferrets as we saw each other. She told me about her activities, and I told her where I was, if not happy with everything I did.
  
  
  Then he brought her a glass and walked up to her on a long baha'i. With a slow smile, she drained the rest of her wine, then leaned down, her black dress sliding down her white chest, and held out her mug next to mine.
  
  
  "Finally, Nick," she said. "I was starting to think you'd never get to this point."
  
  
  He laughed softly and let his fingers slide down her dress and over the softness of her breasts. Her nipple was hard and taut against my palm. I kissed her and felt her swift tongue, and then she turned and fell into my lap.
  
  
  Lingering on her lips, her ego explored her until she responded hotly. By the time the kiss was over, Nah was breathless, her breasts twitching up and down.
  
  
  "Nick, it's been too long."
  
  
  Yes, indeed, I thought.
  
  
  Standing up, he pulled her to her feet, reached up, and unbuttoned the back of her dress. He slowly lowered the straps from her shoulders, then exposed her full breasts. I kissed her again, and her hands slid down my back.
  
  
  "The bedroom where she was before?" I asked her.
  
  
  She nodded, searching for my mouth again, and I picked her up and carried her through the door to the bed.
  
  
  "Great?" I ask her as I stand over her, taking off my coat.
  
  
  "All right, Nick."
  
  
  He finished undressing and hung the luger over the back of a chair. Ellen looked at me with dark and smoldering eyes.
  
  
  "I wish you wouldn't wear that thing," she said. "It reminds me of what you do for a living."
  
  
  "Someone has to do it."
  
  
  "I know. But it's so dangerous. Come here, Nick. Hurry up. I want you now."
  
  
  When her husband approached her, she climbed out through the dress and black panties that were all she wore underneath. While she was being caressed by her inner thigh, she was being kissed by her breasts. She writhed as if my touch had ignited a fire.
  
  
  Then I entered her nah, and she grew beneath me, synchronizing her movements with mine. We reached the climax together.
  
  
  She was all I remembered, and more.
  
  
  Our bodies were still connected when the phone on her bedside table rang. Ellen grimaced, then crawled out from under me and picked up the phone. She listened to the voice on the phone, then handed it to me. "It's that person."
  
  
  "I hope I didn't interrupt her," David Hawke said.
  
  
  "You were pretty damn close," emu told her. "How did you know where he was?"
  
  
  "An educated guess, her, I guess you'd call it, her know, her told you to take the day off, Nick, but things finally started showing up. Her hotel would like you to move to the store that's open now."
  
  
  He hung up the phone
  
  
  I got out of bed and dressed again. "Any messages for that vile old man?" Ellen's approach to the day asked her.
  
  
  "Yes," she said with a faint smile. "Tell em that I think his timing was amazing."
  
  
  The rain had subsided by the time it reached the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services building on Dupont Circle. It was a store, as ego-Hawk called it, a cover for the AXE operations center.
  
  
  Only the lights in Hawk's offices were on as he hurried down the silent hallway. A couple of men were sitting in the waiting room. Odin around them jerked his thumb in the direction of another day, and entered it and found Hawk Ego at the table. He looked like he hadn't had a very good night's sleep.
  
  
  "So, Nick, how was your night?" "What is it?" he asked in a dry voice.
  
  
  "It was great while it lasted." Sell it without asking.
  
  
  "I've been running from one damn meeting to the next, trying to work out the details of this new assignment." Hawke's disdain for bureaucracy showed on his face. "Now something has happened that gives emu a special urgency. I'll give you information tonight, because I want you to fly to Paris in the morning."
  
  
  "What do I do when I get there?"
  
  
  Hawk opened a drawer and pulled out a Manila folder. Around the folder, he extracted several photos. He slid the photos across the table. "Take a look at this. This nondescript little gadget that you see here is an extremely valuable piece of equipment."
  
  
  I carefully examined three photos of her. "It's obviously an electronic device. But what else is it?"
  
  
  "As you know, we have a very sophisticated satellite monitoring system. It is much more valuable than anything the Russians or Chinese have been able to improve on. A big part of the success of our system is the device shown in these photos. It has the ability to aim at a tiny moving target from a long distance and pick up the tiniest sounds made by that target."
  
  
  "I understand why this is valuable."
  
  
  Hawk tore the wrapper off his black cigar. "This allows us to track everything that the Soviets receive from their spy satellites, and record it all for later decoding. As far as satellite intelligence is concerned, this is the most desirable facility in the world."
  
  
  "And it's no bigger than a man's fist."
  
  
  Hawk nodded and bit into his cigar. "This means that the ego is easy to steal and easy to hide."
  
  
  He could almost guess the rest. "Someone on the other side has taken over one of the ponies?"
  
  
  "We let the Brits get a few around them. One was stolen in London."
  
  
  "The Russians?" I asked her.
  
  
  "No," Hawk said. "But they'd like to have egos, damn it. The Chinese, too. Now let me give you a spin, Nick. What do you know about the organization called "Topcon"?"
  
  
  When he heard her name, he leaned forward. My reaction must have revealed my growing interest, because Hawke allowed himself a thin and somewhat tired smile.
  
  
  "Topkon" - repeat it. "I know it exists. Like you, I hear gossip about the spy trade."
  
  
  "It is an independent and managed intelligence organization. Effective. Not so long ago, it seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere, but it immediately became a factor in the East-West espionage war. Topcon steals secrets and sells ih at the highest price. So far, the ferret has mostly been stolen by our secrets, and mostly red ih has been bought ."
  
  
  Hawk was really tired. He put the unlit cigar in the ashtray and narrowed his eyes. "Topcon is a dark organization, but apparently cohesive and carefully controlled. Perhaps this is the best possible spy organization created with them by ferret, as Gehlen created his own in Germania after the war. And we can't identify the person who leads it. information about nen has eluded us ."
  
  
  "I know. He could make a couple of stops in almost any big city in Europe and give the address of the local Soviet and British intelligence chiefs, but Topcon is a completely different matter. I can't tell you the name of anyone who works for them."
  
  
  "And I guess you were wondering when AX would challenge this company and try to figure out who runs it."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "I need a job, if that's what you mean."
  
  
  "Nick, Topcon has the precious little gadget shown in those photos. They put the ego up for auction."
  
  
  Hawke opened the folder again and took out a clipping around the newspaper he handed to me. "Before I continue, I want you to read this news."
  
  
  Her father frowned as he quickly scanned the Italian newspaper clipping. The story was very brief. Nen reported the death of a traveler named Carlo Spinetti who was stabbed to death. The murder was committed on a train platform in Trieste. Police
  
  
  They wanted the two men who had committed the crime of stealing Carlo Spinetti's suitcase.
  
  
  "What's the connection between this and the rest of what you've told me?" Hawka asked her.
  
  
  "The killers were not interested in the contents of their victim's suitcase. They needed a travel sticker that was already in the bag. A sticker that hid a microdot with valuable data." Hawk took the clipping and shook his head. "Carlo Spinetti didn't even know he was carrying an ego."
  
  
  "Without ego's knowledge, ego was used to transport stolen data?"
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. And Topcon is responsible. They use the railroad to smuggle information, to transport stolen secrets around the free world behind the Iron Curtain. They use the Orient Express, which runs around Paris to Sofia via Milan, Trieste and Belgrade. We have been closely monitoring the air routes, so they have developed another transit route ."
  
  
  It combined various pieces of information. "And you think that the electronic device stolen by Topcon will be transported through this transit."
  
  
  "Most of what I have told you came to us from a Bulgarian defector named Jan Skopje. He informed us that Topcon has a gadget and plans to bring ego to Sofia aboard the Orient Express. Odin around the Russian People, a high-ranking KGB official, plans to meet with a Topcon agent on board the train to negotiate a deal before arriving in Sofia. You, Nick, should meet with Skopje in Paris, get any other details, and intercept the cargo before it changes hands."
  
  
  He took another look at the photos of the device. "All right."
  
  
  "I brought you to Washington with the intention of instructing you to find the monitor. At the time, I didn't know who had it. Then the Skopje case started to break down, so I had to postpone the decision."
  
  
  "I understand. And now time is breathing down our necks. He has to get to the device before the Russians do."
  
  
  "While you're doing this, if you accidentally opened the roof of Topcon, I wouldn't be entirely disappointed."
  
  
  "I'll see what I can arrange." Its got up. "Any further instructions?"
  
  
  "You are against the KGB and Topcon. And God knows who else might have poked around hoping to get that monitor. So watch your steps, Nick. I wouldn't want to lose her, or the monitor, or you."
  
  
  I promised that I would try to save my ego from this violation.
  
  
  
  
  The second chapter.
  
  
  
  
  There was a carving day the next day when it arrived at Orly Airport near Paris. The weather was cool but clear, and the taxi ride to the Prince de Galles Hotel at 33 Avenue George V was very pleasant. Paris looked the same, except for the ever-increasing traffic on the streets. There were a few buds on the trees that lined the boulevards. I was nostalgically reminded of some of my favorite banners: the Rue For-ee with iron-clad balconies in the Montparnasse area, and the beautiful Rue du Faubourg Poissonniere, which led directly to Foley. But I didn't have time for that right now. Jana Skopje was supposed to find her.
  
  
  At nightfall, I was checked into the Prince de Galles. She dials the Skopje number he gave us and calls emu. Ego's voice was low, heavily accented, and strained.
  
  
  "Go to the Place des Three Graces near Foley," he told me. "At seven. The sooner the better, as you Americans say." There was a slight nervous laugh. "I'll be at Duke's Bar, a block from my hotel."
  
  
  "I'll be there," I said.
  
  
  Before leaving the hotel, she was checked out by a Luger - Wilhelmina. Her thought that such precautions were for one reason that hers was still alive, while a couple of Killmasters who preceded me were listed as Cold War victims in a special folder that Hawke fed in a locked drawer of his chair.
  
  
  Testing the stiletto that named her Hugo, her left arm flexed. The deadly knife slid neatly around its scabbard and into my hand. He nodded to himself, satisfied that he was so prepared for what lay ahead, and then went down the stairs and out into the spring sunshine of Bryliv.
  
  
  I had an early lunch at Chez des Anges restaurant on Boulevard Latour-Maubourg coq au vin, oeufs en meurette and a mug of excellent Burgundy wine. Then I took her by taxi to Republic Square.
  
  
  Since I knew the area and wanted to be extra careful that night, I passed her for the rest of the walk. There were already a lot of strollers on the streets, and it was nice to pass mimmo by them and get lost. I saw a large group of young people enjoying a spring night outside the Belleville metro stations. Then he passed under the dilapidated archway that had once covered the Cite de Trevize, and found himself in the small square that Skopje had mentioned. It had the look of old Paris - a park bench with a fountain.
  
  
  There were three hotels in the square, all small, and one around them was the Duke's Bar. I went in and looked around. The place was deserted, apparently just like the Skopje hotel. Ego found her sitting at a table near the back door leading to the back room. Her, went up to him.
  
  
  "There are flowers in the Tuileries," I said.
  
  
  He studied my face. He was a tall, thin man with a sallow face and dark circles under his eyes. "It will be early spring," he said cautiously.
  
  
  Her sel is opposite him on a chair. We were alone here, except for the waiter at the bar. "His name is Carter," I said. "And you, Jan Skopje."
  
  
  “yeah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Carter." The ego mannerisms were even more nerve-racking than the ego voice on the phone. "We must make this meeting brief. Her, I think they found out where I live. I do not know what they mean, but I do not want them to see me with you."
  
  
  "Bulgarian agents?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I'm not sure. Maybe it's the Topcon people. They're..."
  
  
  The waiter came and took our order. Skopje waited for him to bring the drinks and then left again before resuming the discussion.
  
  
  "There's a man watching over my hotel," he said softly. He glanced over his shoulder at the doors of the back room swinging open, where the waiter had just disappeared. Then he turned to me. "The stolen device will be delivered aboard the Orient Express in two days in Lausanne, Switzerland. The train stops there early in the morning."
  
  
  "Why Lausanne?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Topcon's headquarters in a hall in Switzerland. I do not know where." He kept a close eye on the entrance to the hall. The waiter came back into the room and walked over to the bar.
  
  
  "Who will carry the stolen device?" I asked her.
  
  
  "This is a particularly large operation for Topcon. Consequently, the stolen property will be transferred to the head of the organization."
  
  
  "Who's that?"
  
  
  Skopje opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't get our words out. Ego's eyes opened wide and his mouth opened even more. He heard a faint noise behind the revolving doors, behind Skopje, and saw one of them move around them. Skopje's jaw worked soundlessly as he clutched futilely at a spot in the middle of the belly of his back. Then he collapsed into a chair.
  
  
  She reached for Wilhelmina, getting up from her chair. Then she saw a small dart sticking out all over Skopje's back. "Skopje?" I said, lifting ego's head. But he was already dead.
  
  
  At that moment, the waiter turned to us and saw what had happened. Ego ignored her screams and ran through the swing doors to the small kitchen and pantry. The door leading to the alley was open.
  
  
  Passing through a dark doorway, he cautiously entered the alley, Luger in hand. There were heavy shadows, and at first he couldn't see anything. Then he caught a glimpse of a dark figure appearing on the bright street.
  
  
  When he reached the sidewalk, he stopped and looked straight ahead. The man ran down the block, people watching the emu go.
  
  
  He holstered the big Luger and went after it. He turned the corner and I followed. He was catching up with her. He turned another corner and we were in the Rue Bergere. Blinding neon lights floated up in the darkness. The man was still running ahead. He kept running after him. Tourists and native Parisians stopped and watched. The man disappeared down a narrow alley, and he lost it again.
  
  
  I ran to the street entrance and peered into the darkness. Ego was nowhere to be seen. All I could see of her were doorways, a couple of alleys, and another intersecting alley. Wilhelmina pulled it out again and walked more carefully. He could have been anywhere, and I had the disadvantage of having to follow him for fear of being ambushed.
  
  
  Passing mimmo, she was checked by every doorway. They were all empty. It's quite possible that he reached the intersecting street before he reached the corner of it. I went through the alley and didn't see anything in nen. He slowly moved on to the next one, now sure he'd lost it.
  
  
  As I entered the alley, there was some movement next to me. Something hit my right wrist hard, and Wilhelmina lost it. Big hands grabbed me and knocked me off my feet, which hit the cobblestones, injuring my back and shoulder.
  
  
  When I looked up, I saw two figures standing in front of me. One was the thin, mustachioed man I'd chased through the streets of Paris, and next to him was ego, a big, bald, hulking fellow, the man who'd hit me with a piece of plank and knocked me to the ground. Slim was holding a piece of iron pipe a foot and a half long in his hand. I wondered if they'd lured me here to kill me.
  
  
  "Who are you?" I asked her
  
  
  hoping to stop ih. "Why did you kill Skopje?"
  
  
  "Ça ne vous regarde pas," the big man said, telling me it was none of my business.
  
  
  "Dispatch-woo," another added, urging the big man to continue.
  
  
  He did. He hit me in the face with a spiked shoe. I grabbed her foot and stopped her from smashing my head in. Hers twisted hard, rolling to keep the pressure on his leg. A moment later, he broke his ankle, and bones cracked. He screamed and hit the sidewalk.
  
  
  Hardy swung the pipe at me, and when it rolled away, it cracked loudly on the pavement next to me. The pipe came down again, but this time Nah grabbed it and pulled hard. He fell on top of me, losing the pipe. He then tried to free himself, but while he was thrashing around, her ego cut her neck and heard the crack of bones. He was dead when he hit the sidewalk.
  
  
  When her father got to his feet, the big man was trying to get back into the game. As soon as he tried to stand up to one every tribe, hit her ego over the heads, and he collapsed on the sidewalk. Is dead.
  
  
  I asked her, and found Wilhelmina, then Stahl rummaging in ih pockets. There were no identification cards. Since they spoke French, I thought it was more likely that they were Topcon people from Switzerland, rather than Bulgarian agents. Jan Skopje confessed to AX that he worked for the KGB and Topcon and helped plan the theft of the monitor. When Skopje deserted, Topkon or the KGB had to shut up their egos. Obviously, this was Topcon's job.
  
  
  She was about to give up on asking for anything of value in the bodies when she found a scrap of crumpled paper in the thin man's pocket. It was in French: Klaus Pfaff. Gasthaus Liucerne, L. Minuit le deuze.
  
  
  He noticed the tag on the inside of the ego camisole; nen had the initials H. D. He slipped the paper into his pocket and carefully examined the thin man's appearance. Then she hurried off into the shadows of the Parisian night.
  
  
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  
  
  Early the next morning, I checked out a few small hotels in Cite de Trevize, and got lucky at the third stop. Two men registered the day before yesterday. One was thin and the other was big. The thin man logged in as Henri Depay, a name that matched the initials on his jacket. The big one's name was Navarro.
  
  
  He could make some guesses by piecing together his scraps of information. Depe was supposed to show up for math and go by the name of Klaus Pfaff after he got rid of Skopje and me. The letter L and then gasthaus in the note probably meant Lausanne. Or so it seemed to her. Depay was to meet Pfaff at the appointed time, at midnight, and tell Em how things had gone here in Paris. Presumably, then Pfaff will report to the head of Topcon. Unless Pfaff himself was a big man.
  
  
  There was a clear course of action for me. I'm going to Lausanne, because that's where the stolen monitor will get on board the Orient Express. And Pfaffa would have met her instead of Depe. If Pfaff himself wasn't a Topcon executive who would have carried the device on the train, he probably would have known the leader's identity. Maybe I can convince her ego to reveal this secret identity.
  
  
  He could have boarded the Orient Express in Paris at Gare de Lyon, but since he expected her to be on board some time later, and because time mattered, he hired a car to take her to Lausanne. She was hired by a Mercedes-Benz 280SL, a yellow sports car that still smelled new. By late morning, he was out of Paris and on his way to Troyes and Dijon. The weather was getting warmer, and it was a pleasant ride. The countryside was hilly and green, but as we got closer to Switzerland, it became more hilly.
  
  
  In the middle of the next day, his car moved to Switzerland, and the road became narrow and winding for a while. Snow peaks could be seen in the distance, but they remained in the background for the rest of the road. Not far from Lausanne, among the grassy hills in the surrounding area, she was spotted by a car that suddenly broke down on the side of the road. A girl was peeking under the ego hood. He stopped and offered to help her.
  
  
  "Is there anything I can do for her?" Approach to the bright blue Lotus Plus 2 asked her.
  
  
  She raised her eyes and looked at me intently. She was a beautiful, long-legged blonde in a leather miniskirt and boots. Her hair wasn't shoulder-length and looked disheveled. After focusing on me for a moment, her face lit up.
  
  
  "Nick!" she said. "Nick Carter!"
  
  
  Now it was my turn to take another look. "I'm afraid you have the advantage," I said uncertainly. "I don't believe ..."
  
  
  "Bonn, last year around this time," she said in a German accent. "The Groning case. Nick, you don't remember!"
  
  
  
  Then I remembered her, too. "Ursula?"
  
  
  She smiled a wide, sexy smile.
  
  
  "Ursula Bergman," I added.
  
  
  "Yes," she replied with a smile radiating from her beautiful face. "How nice of you to come, just to help an old friend in need."
  
  
  "You had brown hair in Bonn," I said. "Short brown hair. And brown eyes."
  
  
  "This is my real hair," she said, touching the flaxen strands. "And the eyes were contact lenses."
  
  
  Ursula laughed melodiously. Last year, we worked together on Sundays in Bonn and Hamburg to gather information about a left-wing German named Karl Groening, who was suspected of passing West German military information to certain individuals in East Berlin. In this case, Ursula was performing a special task. Her regular job was with the West German intelligence unit, which was exclusively dedicated to tracking down and detaining former Nazis who had committed war crimes. That's all Akes told me about her, and I didn't have time to find out more.
  
  
  "I stopped following the Groening case after they called me back in Washington," I said. "Did the Bonn courts find ego guilty of the charges?"
  
  
  She nodded smugly. "He is currently whiling away his time in a German prison."
  
  
  Good. You like to hear about the happy endings of these games from time to time. What are you doing in Switzerland, Ursula, or should I not ask?"
  
  
  She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. "The same thing."
  
  
  "I see."
  
  
  "What are you doing in Switzerland?"
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "The same thing."
  
  
  We both laughed. It was nice to see another friend again. "What's wrong with the lotus?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid it's Kaput, Nick. Do you think I can ask her to give me a ride to the city?"
  
  
  "I'd love to," I said.
  
  
  We played a game like this in a Mercedes, its, pulled out onto the road and headed into town. After he picks up speed, he looks at Nah as she continues to talk about Karl Groningh, and sees the way her breasts press against her jersey blouse and the way the mini skirt rises high on her long, full thighs. Ursula bloomed a ferret with them as he met her in Bonn, and the result was impressive.
  
  
  "Are you staying in Lausanne?" Ursula asked as hers switched to a twisty fall. A panoramic view of Lausanne, a small town set in the hills with patches of snow from the recent winter snowfall above it, opened up before us.
  
  
  "Just tonight," I said. "Maybe we could get together for a drink in some humble little ratskeler."
  
  
  "Ah, I would really like that. But she's busy today, and I have to leave tomorrow morning."
  
  
  "Do you think your car will be ready by then?"
  
  
  "I'm leaving by train in the morning," she said.
  
  
  The next morning, only one train left Lausanne, and that was my train, the Orient Express. "How interesting,"he commented. "I'm also leaving by train tomorrow morning."
  
  
  She looked up at me with her clear blue eyes. We both evaluated the significance of this coincidence. If we didn't work together, if we didn't know each other's employers, we would both be suspicious. But I'd seen her, Ursula Bergman, at work, and I trusted my opinion that she wasn't a double agent.
  
  
  She had already made up her mind. Her eyes sparkled with genuine friendliness. "Well, that's very nice, Nick. We can have a drink together on board."
  
  
  "I'm really looking forward to it." He smiled at her.
  
  
  When we arrived in town, I dropped her Ursula off at the Hotel de la Paix on Avenue B. Constant, in the heart of the city, and then drove to a harmless little pension on Place Saint-nine.
  
  
  When hers got to her room, hers opened her luggage and started getting ready for the meeting. Henri Depay was going to do it around him, and I had to do it from memory.
  
  
  Casey got it, which was given to me by the guys around the special effects and editing department. It was a disguise kit, and a very ingenious one at that. Hawk himself had put a lot together - he was an expert in disguise in his day. The set included strips of cordon plastic "skin" and colorful contact lenses, wigs and pads, as well as many different shades of makeup. There were even plastic scars that could be attached to any part of the face or body.
  
  
  I put the kit in front of the dressing table mirror. First, I applied a plastic "skin", building up layers to thicken the bridge of the nose and lengthen the tip. Then he pumped her cheekbones so that the sticks looked sunken, under the growth. After I lengthened her earlobes and chin, my face began to resemble Depeu's. Then I put on some ego-savvy makeup, put on brown contact lenses, and opted for a light brown wig. Her, looked at himself
  
  
  in the mirror. I wouldn't pass for Depe if anyone looked too closely, but I can fool Pfaff for a moment.
  
  
  At eleven-thirty, he drove across the Bridge of Besser on the Rue de la Caroline to the Lucerne guest house. When I walked in, I was sorry there were half a dozen customers.
  
  
  I didn't have a chance to find out what Klaus Pfaff looked like. He could only hope that I had conquered his ego there, and that when he arrived, he would recognize my pseudo-Depe face.
  
  
  It was twelve o'clock, the meeting time, and nothing happened. A young couple of students came in and took a table in front, and a table at the back of the room, facing the wall, asked for it. Then came five, and then ten. I was beginning to think that Pfaff wasn't going to show up, or that he was already there. There was only one person, and that was a pot-bellied German. I didn't think he could be a Pfaff. A whole group of new customers arrived, and the place was bustling with activity. She didn't give us the faintest idea what I would do with Pfaff under these different circumstances. It was a quarter past eleven, and I had to order a sandwich and a beer. Just after the waiter brought my order, the door opened and a short, thin man walked in. There seemed to be a bulge under the ego jacket. He stopped candid for a day and looked around. When his eyes found me, he walked straight back to my table. It had to be Klaus Pfaff.
  
  
  He stopped at my chair and looked around the room again before sitting down. He was a nervous man with slicked-back blond hair and a thin scar on his left ear. "Bonjour, - Klaus," the emu told her.
  
  
  He sat across from me. "Sorry I'm late," he said," and please speak English. You know the rules."
  
  
  He wasn't looking at me sincerely yet, and he was very grateful to her. The waiter returned and took Pfaff's order of stewed sausage and sauerkraut. While this was going on, he pulled Wilhelmina around his jacket pocket and aimed the Luger at Pfaff. No one has seen the gun yet.
  
  
  The waiter left. Pfaff glanced at me, then looked over his shoulder. Good. What happened in Paris?"
  
  
  As I was preparing for this meeting, it occurred to me that Pfaff might just be the head of Topcon, the one who was supposed to carry the stolen items. But now that ego saw her in front of him, he realized that he couldn't be a leader.
  
  
  "Quite a lot has happened in Paris," I said.
  
  
  My voice startled him. He focused on my face for the first time, and ego's eyes narrowed. I've seen them evaluate me. Then his face changed as he looked back at my face.
  
  
  "No, I'm not Henri Depay," I said.
  
  
  Anger and fear were clearly visible on his narrow face. "What is it?" "What is it?" he asked softly.
  
  
  "Where it came from, we call it truth or consequences."
  
  
  "Who are you? Where's Henri?"
  
  
  "Henri is dead," I said. "I killed her."
  
  
  Ego's eyes drooped even further, and the corners of rta twitched slightly. "I do not know if you are telling the truth or not. I'm leaving her. My meeting was with Depe."
  
  
  He started to get up, but ego stopped him.
  
  
  "I wouldn't do that," Stahl warned her.
  
  
  He hesitated, still sitting on the chair. Ego's gaze fell on my right hand, which was now holding the Luger under the table.
  
  
  "Yes," I said quietly. "I don't have a gun pointed at you. And it will be used by the ego if you get out of that chair."
  
  
  Pfaff swallowed and looked at my face. Her, I saw how the ego, the mind, works, trying to understand who I am, and trying to evaluate my goal. "You wouldn't dare shoot guns here," he said.
  
  
  "I can go through the back door for fifteen seconds after you hit the floor." Her, hoping he'd call her bluff. "And outside, my friends are waiting for me. Do you want to try me?"
  
  
  The ego's anger, the person, disappeared; fear took control of her. He wasn't a brave man, which was good for me.
  
  
  "What do you want?" he asked.
  
  
  "Information."
  
  
  He laughed nervously. "Tourist office in the hall down the street."
  
  
  He sighed. "Be humble with me, I'll rip her head off."
  
  
  The ego grin was gone. "What kind of information do you need?"
  
  
  "I think we'd better discuss this in private," I said. With her free hand, he reached into the pocket of his doublet and tossed a wad of Swiss francs on a chair to pay for our orders. "Eda's on me," she said with a small smile. "Now, I want you to get up and walk very slowly to the main entrance. I'll be right behind you, and this gun will be pointed at your back. When we get outside, we'll give you further instructions. . "
  
  
  He said."Do you think you can get away with this stupid thing?"
  
  
  "You'd better rely on me."
  
  
  Wilhelmina shoved it in a minute, and we
  
  
  we went outside. Ego escorted her to the Mercedes and told her to get in the driver's seat. Her sel sat next to him, tossed emu the keys, and told him to drive to the outskirts of town.
  
  
  Pfaff was very frightened now. But he drove the car into the green hills, just as he'd told her to. Ego took it to a dirt road that sometimes went straight to the trees, and ordered emu to stop when we were out of sight from the main road. When the engine was turned off, her father turned around and took out the emu's Luger in the head.
  
  
  "You are committing suicide with this farce," he said loudly.
  
  
  "Because your Topcon buddies will get me?"
  
  
  Ego's lips tightened. This was the first time his organization was mentioned. "That's the right thing to do," he said flatly.
  
  
  "We'll see, in the meantime, you're going to cooperate with me, aren't you?"
  
  
  "What do you want to know?"
  
  
  "I want to know who's getting on the Orient Express tomorrow morning."
  
  
  "Lots of people."
  
  
  "I already know that the Topcon boss is going to personally transport the stolen device to the train," I said. "But you can tell me who he is and give me an ego description."
  
  
  "You must be crazy." He looked incredulous.
  
  
  He wasn't in the mood for insults. The luger brought it down on the side of his face. He grunted and fell, blood streaming from the blow on Ego's cheek. Ego's breathing became shallow as he clutched at the wound.
  
  
  "I don't want to say that anymore," Emu growled at her. "I want answers to the questions I'm asking you. And you'd better start talking faster."
  
  
  "All right," he finally agreed. "Can I smoke him a cigarette?"
  
  
  Hers hesitated. "Succeed." I watched her carefully as he took out one and lit it. He opened the ashtray on the dashboard and put a match in it.
  
  
  "Will you guarantee my safety if I cooperate with you?" "What is it?" he asked, still holding on to the ashtray.
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  "Then give you the name you want. This is..."
  
  
  But Pfaff wasn't going to tell me anything. Ego's hand released the ashtray retainer and pulled ee across the dashboard. He threw a load of ash in my face.
  
  
  While my eyes were full of ash, he hit my right arm and forcefully threw it to the side. For a small person, he had a lot of strength. Then the car door was opened and Pfaff ran out around the car.
  
  
  He swore out loud, clearing his burning eyes. The Luger was still holding her. Her got out around the car. By this point, my eyes were clear enough to see Pfaff running rapidly toward the main road.
  
  
  "Stop!" he yelled, but he kept moving. An emu shot her in the legs. The Luger roared, and Gawk landed at Pfaff's feet. Her shot missed.
  
  
  Pfaff turned and ducked into the trees to the left of the dirt road. I ran after him.
  
  
  I'd taken Pfaff's rifle off my shoulder as he was getting into the Mercedes, so I thought I had the upper hand, but I was wrong. As I came out into a small clearing, a gunshot rang out from the direction of Pfaff, and a mimmo whistled by my ear. There must have been a small pistol hidden somewhere with nen.
  
  
  As he ducked behind a thick pine tree, he heard Pfaff moving ahead of him. I started it more carefully. The Luger holstered her because we were so close to the main road and she didn't want to add her own fire to the noise. Also, her live Pfaff hotel.
  
  
  After another twenty yards, when I thought I might have lost my ego, Pfaff broke free around the shelter not far from me and ran across the clearing. He decided to be less careful. I ran after him, hoping he wouldn't hear me until it was too late. When I got within twenty feet of him, he turned and saw me. He had just raised a small pistol to aim when she was hit by his ego around the waist in the solar plexus.
  
  
  The gun fired twice, both times missing mimmo me as we crashed to the ground. We took a couple of rides. Then I grabbed her ego hand with the gun, and we both struggled to our feet. He punched Pfaff in the face and turned Ego's gun arm around. It fell out of the ego hands.
  
  
  But Pfaff was not found to give up. He sharply raised each tribe to my groin. While he was still recovering from the blow, he broke free, turned, and ran again.
  
  
  I fought the pain in my stomach and followed him. We cut through the undergrowth and tree branches. I won it with him every second. Then he lunged at him again. We both fell, my hands gripping him, and his fists slammed into my face and legs. We crashed into a dead tree, which collapsed from our impact. The man was holding her well now, but he was still struggling with his hands. Then her ego punched him in the face and he fell to the ground.
  
  
  "Now, take it, tailor, and tell me the name," he demanded breathlessly.
  
  
  Pfaff climbed in a minute. Her wondered why
  
  
  this time, he came up with a new weapon. I shifted my forearm and let the stiletto drop into my palm as Pfaff's hand came out of his pocket and went to his mouth.
  
  
  It took me a split second to realize what was happening. Pfaff, I know that emu threads, put a cyanide capsule in his mouth. He bit his ee.
  
  
  She was thrown to the ground by stiletto and fell to her knees beside him. I grabbed the ego's jaw and tried to open it, but my attempt was unsuccessful.
  
  
  Then it was all over. Pfaff's eyes widened, and he felt his ego, his body, tighten in my arms. Ego released her jaw and it opened. There was an unpleasant smell. Then I saw a tiny trickle of blood in the corner of rta's ego and a broken glass on his tongue. Gradually, Ego's face became darker.
  
  
  Klaus Pfaff was dead.
  
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  
  
  The diesel engine of the Orient Express rolled almost silently into Lausanne station just as the sun was setting on a distant hill. There weren't many people on the platform. He watched as the train rumbled to a stop and read the inscription on the sides of the cars: PARIS LAUSANNE-MILAN TRIESTE BELGRADE, SOFIA, ISTANBUL. These were exotic names, and they would evoke the memories of many around my past assignments.
  
  
  The train stopped and several passengers got off. By this time, a large crowd had gathered on the platform to board. He casually scanned her faces. One of them might have been the person with the monitor, unless the disappearance of Klaus Pfaff made Topcon think twice before moving the device on this train. But he didn't think so. Apparently, meetings and business with the KGB were already planned on this train. These plans couldn't be changed so easily.
  
  
  After taking another look at the faces around me, I picked up my luggage and started to board the train. Then he heard her voice behind him.
  
  
  "Good morning, Nick."
  
  
  He turned and saw Ursula Bergman. "Guten morgen, Ursula," I said.
  
  
  "Did you enjoy your evening in Lausanne?"
  
  
  "It was pleasantly quiet," I lied. He noticed that despite her smile, Ursula's face had changed today. There was a tension there that wasn't there before. "Listen, I heard her, we have a dining car to Milan. Can I buy you breakfast on board?"
  
  
  She hesitated for only a moment, then gave me a big smile. "I would like that hotel."
  
  
  While boarding her, tried to look at most of the passengers who are playing such a game, but it was very difficult. After half an hour, we quietly left for the Swiss countryside and soon were running at a good speed through the green hills. Ursula and I met in the dining car at eight-thirty, and we had no trouble getting a table.
  
  
  "The Swiss landscape is fantastic, isn't it?" He was making small talk.
  
  
  Ursula looked worried. "Oh, yes," she replied with false enthusiasm.
  
  
  "It's very similar to Bavaria here," he continued.
  
  
  She didn't hear me." There are similarities. I can see her now."
  
  
  Her gently ay smiled. "Ursula, something's wrong, isn't it?"
  
  
  She gave me a quick look with serious blue eyes. "I do not know if she wants to drag you into my problems, Nick. After all, you don't have to worry about your dell."
  
  
  Ee took her hand. "Look, if you're in trouble, maybe I can help you with something. My soul belongs to them, but they can spare me half an hour or so."
  
  
  She looked up and smiled at the little joke. "I was supposed to meet a man last night. Another agent of our organization. He was supposed to take the train to Lausanne with me, and we had to ... complete tasks together."
  
  
  "And he didn't sit down?"
  
  
  Ee Stahl's voice is strained with anger... ego found him in a hotel room..."
  
  
  Vote and that's it. Ursula and her fellow agent were apparently chasing another one through their many former Nazis, and the partner got too close to ih loot and Stahl himself a victim. "Was this the one by meet your friends all over the Third Reich?" I asked her.
  
  
  She looked up, and her eyes told me yes. "I'm not scared, Nick. My fellow agent was assigned to this case just to support me. Unfortunately, the ego must have found out. I don't think they know who I am yet."
  
  
  "I don't want to go into things that you shouldn't tell me. But I think we can relax the rules a bit. You are looking for a high school criminal and expect him to end up on this train. right?"
  
  
  "The informant told us he would be here."
  
  
  "Can you get other help if you need it?"
  
  
  "No chance. Not so fast. But I told myself that maybe I could count on your help in case of situations."
  
  
  She was assured by sl. "You can count on it",
  
  
  
  Ursula nodded. She was a cool agent. Nah had extensive experience with "wet cases" - as ih was so well described by the Russians-that involved intelligence work.
  
  
  The waiter brought toast and coffee and left. He looked down the aisle and saw an Oriental man sitting alone, obviously Chinese. He looked at me again, then quickly turned his attention to his breakfast.
  
  
  Wondering if a Chinese man could be a professional, he asked her for a name in her memory that could match the ego of a chubby face. My boss, Hawk, was very insistent on certain precautions that he called the basics of our trade, one around which was that agents of my rank would usually study the files of the other party's agents physiologically. Consequently, it was carried around by a whole memory bank.
  
  
  In this case, I couldn't come up with a name. I couldn't recognize the Chinese. This did not exclude ego as an opponent. He might have been a newly recruited scout, hema-to, who Stahl had seen ferret with them the last time he'd done his homework. As far as I know, it may have been related to Topcon.
  
  
  Another man, a Westerner, came in and joined the Chinaman. I watched them with interest, trying to guess what they were talking about. Curiosity can kill a cat, but it doesn't hurt anyone in my email business. Lack of curiosity was sometimes fatal.
  
  
  He took a sip of coffee and watched as a new couple entered the dining car. They walked down the aisle and put the game on the table next to where she and Ursula were sitting. The woman was in her mid-thirties, with dark brown hair and a good figure. The man was of medium height, with brown hair and a strong chin under a prominent nose.
  
  
  "What is it, Nick?" asked Ursula.
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "Nothing." My memory bank just discovered something about a man with a prominent nose. Ego's name was Ivan Lubianke, and he was a KGB agent.
  
  
  At the moment, it was thrown around the head of the Chinese and the ego of a comrade. The appearance of the Lubyanka meant something. He was a high-ranking KGB official, the type of person the Russians would send to negotiate with an organization like Topcon.
  
  
  Lubyanka and the woman with him seemed to be experiencing formal inconveniences exchanged by strangers. Her ego and behavior indicated that they had just met.
  
  
  I had a small microphone in my pocket. I wanted him to stick to the table where the Barbarians and the woman were sitting, and I wanted him to go back to his compartment and listen to their conversation. I was sure it would be extremely interesting.
  
  
  "Do you know this man, Nick?" asked Ursula.
  
  
  "He looks a little familiar." He pushed her away. Nah had enough to worry about.
  
  
  "Maybe you're interested in a woman," she suggested, showing me the shadow of a smile.
  
  
  "She can't hold a candle in front of you."
  
  
  At least that was true. One of the most pleasant memories of my last meeting with Ursula included a brief pause in the bedroom.
  
  
  Clearly the same thought occurred to the German girl. She laughed softly, then reached across the chair and touched my arm. "I'm sorry it's a business trip, Nick."
  
  
  "Maybe it won't be just business. "I can still take your clothes off," I said.
  
  
  While we were talking, I was still watching Lubyanka and the woman. Ih Stahl's conversation is more intense. He had already decided that Varvara was a Russian agent assigned to buy a surveillance device from Topcon. But what about the woman? I didn't think the Barbarians picked her up on the train for fun and games. The report, AXE o nen, stated that he was an exceptionally businesslike man, with no discernible weaknesses, except perhaps for the belief that communism was a matter of the future. I'll bet that lady was a spy, too.
  
  
  When I thought about this, the woman happened to glance in my direction. Her eyes were cold and penetrating, and her gaze was very direct. Then she turned her attention back to the KGB officer, and they plunged back into the discussion.
  
  
  I weighed the probability that the woman was a Topcon representative, that nah had a surveillance device that I was assigned to pick up. But I was told that the Topcon boss is carrying the devices on the train to negotiate. Could it be that this woman was the brain behind a super-tough organization like Topcon?
  
  
  If that had happened, I thought, she might have made an intriguing acquaintance.
  
  
  "Nick, she's decided to tell you about the man I'm looking for. I can't ask for your help if it's not on a par with you," Ursula interrupted my thoughts. "We've wanted an ego for twenty-five years. He was the worst killer ever. When he ran a POW camp in Poland, those who died quickly at his hands were more fortunate than those he tortured."
  
  
  . ;
  
  
  The German girl turned and looked out the big window next to us. Mimmo slipped through the chalet-dotted countryside. The click of the tracks under the train was the rhythmic undertone of her low voice.
  
  
  "It was in Belgrade that we found the ego after. Those around us who have seen the reports about ego's career call ego the Butcher-Belgrade's butcher. He is both dangerous and treacherous. Although we came close to grabbing the ego more than once, it continued to elude us. It changes names, personalities, and even the face. We don't know anything about the ego of the present life, and we don't know exactly what it looks like now. We know that people who were familiar with him in the past noticed ego recently in Belgrade. He's supposed to be on this train with us."
  
  
  "I see that this is more than just another task. Capturing the ego is very important to you."
  
  
  "Yes, it is. What he did... " She didn't finish the sentence. Hey, I didn't need to finish my ego.
  
  
  She swallowed the last of her coffee. "We'll keep in touch, Ursula. It's not a very big train. I'll be right there if you need me. You're armed, aren't you?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Good."I looked across the aisle and saw the Barbarians and the woman walking away together.
  
  
  "Simple ones," I said, pulling out a few bills from my pocket and putting them on the chair. He rose from his seat. "We'll meet up later."
  
  
  Lubyanka and the brown-haired woman were getting out of the dining car. They were heading to the end of the train, not back to the Class A compartment. Her, followed them around the car, giving a quick glance at the Chinese passing mimmo. Ego's face was unfamiliar, but he glanced at me again as mimmo passed.
  
  
  There was a small viewing platform at the back of the train, and the mysterious woman and the Barbarians went straight to it. They stood and continued their conversation. They didn't see me when it was in the smoking room about ihc. He reached into his doublet pocket and pulled out a small disc microphone. With this device, its could just find out what they are saying. I went with them to the platform.
  
  
  The sound of my approach was muffled by the movement of the train, but also by ih voices. An obvious sound gave her away, and they turned. The woman looked at me with hostility; Lubyanka studied me closely. He didn't seem to recognize me.
  
  
  "Good morning," he said to her in a French accent. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"
  
  
  The woman turned away from me impatiently. Lubyanka grumbled, " Yes, it's a beautiful morning."
  
  
  I asked her. "How far are you going?" I pretended to lose my balance and grabbed the handrail near the Lubyanka, placing the keychain on the underside of the handrail.
  
  
  Now Lubyanka's face was also hostile. "It all depends on the circumstances," he said. He didn't want the intruder to bother the ego any more than the woman. He turned coldly away from me and stared at the receding tracks, glinting brightly in the morning sun.
  
  
  "Well, have a nice day," he told them.
  
  
  Lubyanka nodded, not looking at me. Then he turned and went back inside. When the mimmo of the dining car passed, Ursula was gone. He went to the sleeping car and entered his compartment number three. Then he opened his suitcase and found a small set of receivers hidden in the nen. He clicked it and turned the dial.
  
  
  At first, everything I had was static. Then she heard the steady click of the train's wheels and the sound of voices interspersed with it.
  
  
  "Forever... monitoring of devices... make an offer." It was Lubyanka's voice.
  
  
  More static than a woman's voice.
  
  
  "...Do not disclose the device... if we let you explore... but there are good photos... to my compartment, later."
  
  
  Then Lubyanka's voice said a brief farewell to the woman, and the conversation was over.
  
  
  I picked it up and hid it in my luggage. Now I had no doubts. The woman was a Topcon agent, and she mistletoe dealt with Lubyanka to sell a stolen monitor.
  
  
  However, there was still a corkscrew as to whether the woman on the train was alone, or whether she was traveling with another Topcon operative, possibly the head of the organization, who, according to Jan Skopje's prediction, was hiding in plain sight. If she was on board alone, perhaps she was the head of Topcon. Either way, she probably won't be carrying the device with her, and ego may not even be in her compartment. I had to check to make sure.
  
  
  A light lunch was served at a candid diner before we arrived in Milan. Ursula met her, and we joined in together. She thought about the pleasure she could afford in one of the entire sleeping compartments. But I didn't have much time to think about sex. I walked through it
  
  
  , to find out which compartment the Topcon woman occupied.
  
  
  She was able to complete her mission when the train stopped in Milan and the dining car was removed. Ursula got off the train briefly to look at the passengers who had come out to stretch their legs, and I went with her. Just as the train was about to leave, she was seen as a Topcon woman exited along the doorway of the stations and villages and began a second round of two sleeping cars, adjacent to Voiture 7, where she stopped. I left her Ursula on the platform, and quickly moved to Voiture 5. As he entered the corridor, he saw a woman disappearing into a compartment. He walked down the corridor and noticed that she had entered compartment 4. He walked to both ends of the car and stepped out onto the platform. A tall, dark-haired man in his fifties - but with a young, masculine air-climbed into the car; he had a walkie-talkie of an excellent German brand, but it was quiet. He walked past me with a curt nod and went into the bedroom. He remembered seeing Ego at the train station in Lausanne. After he left, he went out through the trains again and found Ursula.
  
  
  She watched the faces, but she hadn't found her man yet. She was angry.
  
  
  "Do you know how long he'll be on board?" I asked her as we climbed aboard together.
  
  
  It may be released in Belgrade, but I'm not sure. He may have gotten to the point where we were monitoring him and didn't take him on board at all."
  
  
  We watched a uniformed train clerk on the platform swing his "poached egg," a disk on a stick that signaled the train's departure from the station. There was a slight jerky movement, and the train moved on. Many people have left the platform.
  
  
  She was very close to Ursula. I put my hand on her waist. "Do you think you would recognize your man if you saw ego?"
  
  
  She glanced at me and then at the station as she slipped mimmo us and fell onto the train. "As an SS man in the Third Reich, he was blond. He probably dyed his hair. He had a mustache then, but he may have shaved off ih. However, there are things I can look for. He's a man about your size. He used to have a bullet scar on his neck. Her, I understand that the ego could be surgically removed, but I can still "find" the ego.
  
  
  "It's not that much, ostensibly."
  
  
  "There's something else. He has a deformed joint in his left arm. It's going to be hard to change that."
  
  
  "It's still not much. But I will keep an eye on the person who keeps his left hand in his pocket all the time," I said jokingly.
  
  
  Ursula gave me a small smile. "If I see someone who might be him, Nick, I have the hope of tricking ego into revealing his identity."
  
  
  She seemed determined. But her dedication to duty wasn't the only thing that appealed to me.
  
  
  Ee hugged her and she suddenly turned around, her lips slightly parted. He pressed his lips to hers, and she answered.
  
  
  After a moment, she pulled away. "I see you still enjoy keeping your fellow agents in a good mood," she said.
  
  
  He noticed how her breasts were pressed against the sweater she was wearing. "You know me, I like it when everyone smiles," I said.
  
  
  She was a little flustered, maybe a little embarrassed by the way she responded to the kiss. "I have to go to my compartment, Nick. See you later."
  
  
  Her smile was light. "I'm counting on it." Then she left.
  
  
  We were out in the open again. It was a sunny spring day. The Italian countryside was reeling with bright colors of crimson poppies and blue wildflowers. Venice was our next stop licks by the evening, and its expected to find out about the woman on Topcon before we get there.
  
  
  I went through the day buses that had seats in both first and second class. The second part of the class was much noisier and less civilized than the first part. The first-class compartments had closed doors, and many of them had the curtains drawn to protect themselves. He moved slowly from one car to the next, watching the faces of the travelers as they chatted, played cards, or just sat and dozed, letting the train's motion put ih to sleep. On the last car in front of the sleepers, the brown-haired woman saw her again. She was sitting with two men; our odin around them wasn't Lubyanka. Odin around the men was with a radio that missed me getting back on board in Milan. She sat knitting, looking out the window, and didn't seem to know one person. The man with the radio was engrossed in an Italian newspaper. The other man, a fat, bald man, was happily munching on the lunch he had brought on board, and seemed oblivious to the other two. A mimmo coupe passed her before the woman noticed me and headed for the Voiture 5. This was my chance to look inside.
  
  
  ee coupe.
  
  
  She was alone in the hallway when the servant arrived. I knocked on her door once to make sure that her friend, our doorman, wasn't at the house. Then he quickly picked the lock and went in, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  It was a typical sleeping area with a single cot on one side of the small room and a bedside table and mirror on the other. There were racks for luggage, like in day cars, and the woman had several suitcases.
  
  
  I took pictures of her luggage one at a time and looked through everything. They didn't find her anything, not even the photos she mentioned in the conversation with Lubyanka. She was found on an immigration document stating that she was Eva Schmidt, optimistic, Switzerland.
  
  
  I was disappointed in my luggage. She was systematically searched by Cut, looking through bedding and anything else that might hide the device. He was almost done when the door swung open. Odin around the two men standing there was the Chinese man he had seen in the dining car earlier. With him was an ego dinner companion, a Western citizen with a dark, pockmarked face.
  
  
  Everyone around the intruders had a revolver. And every weapon was pointed at me.
  
  
  "Gentlemen, you should have knocked."
  
  
  The dark man slammed the door. "Do you want ego to kill her now?" "What is it?" he asked the Chinaman.
  
  
  Well, there's not much that can stop it. The ih pistols had silencers. If I get hit by a few bullets, no one outside of cut off will know.
  
  
  "Don't be impatient," the Chinese man said to the swarthy one in math and perfect English.
  
  
  Although the dark man's face was plump and his thick neck was covered with accumulations of fat, his shoulders looked strong and his arms were huge. I had no doubt that he could take care of himself in battle.
  
  
  The dark man was short and heavy, with a bulging ego. He looked like he was spending too much of his free time drinking. His eyes were close together in his pock-marked face. She was rated by the ego behind the Chinese as an opponent, as slower and possibly less intelligent than the ego comrade.
  
  
  "Did you find what you wanted?" the Chinese man asked me.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "What do you think I wanted?"
  
  
  "Such rheumatism is very stupid, Mr. Carter. If you're going to pretend you don't understand what I'm saying to her, I might as well let my friend go ahead and shoot you."
  
  
  "I definitely wouldn't want that to happen." I turn her hands around, palms up. "I'm empty-handed, as you can see."
  
  
  "Maybe Eva Schmidt isn't wearing the device," the dark - skinned man said.
  
  
  "This is certainly possible. What do you think of this, Mr. Carter? " the Chinese asked.
  
  
  "I don't know. I haven't had the chance to meet Miss Schmidt. How do you know my name?"
  
  
  "This is in our files along with your photo. You know that you are close to becoming a celebrity in our field. Her, hoping we might run into another friend."
  
  
  "Your files should be more complete than ours. I tried to find you when I saw you in the dining car. I couldn't find it."
  
  
  The Chinese man chuckled. "There are no pictures of me in the Western files, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  This gave me something to think about. This placed the ego in a special category.
  
  
  The Chinese man sat down on the edge of Eva Schmidt's bunk. "Good enough for me, Mr. Carter. Her humble man. I'd rather not discuss myself. I prefer that you tell us how much you know about the organization that deals with Topcon."
  
  
  I saw no reason to keep it a secret. "Very little," I said. "I don't even know if Eva Schmidt is the head of organizations or just one employee at a time."
  
  
  "In fact, it is for us this, for us another," said the Chinese. He seemed surprised that he had more information about Topcon than I did. "The Schmidt woman is not a boss, and yet she is definitely more than just a subordinate."
  
  
  The dark man leaning against the wall stirred uneasily. "You're telling emu more than he's telling us," he grumbled to the Chinese.
  
  
  "Since we're going to kill the ego, it doesn't matter," the Chinese replied in his deceptively amiable voice.
  
  
  Her legs shifted slightly to be able to move towards anyone around the men. I didn't plan on being shot down without trying to kill ih first. When her move was made, she was chosen by the one who was licking everyone.
  
  
  "You shouldn't be here either. Topcon sells devices to Russians, " he told the Chinese.
  
  
  "They also suggested ego dn. We will not pay ih price. We decided to take the ego instead of this one."
  
  
  He leaned forward slightly, letting his weight go along with the movement to prepare himself
  
  
  rush to the man on the bed. "You mean this train might be crawling with all sorts of agents hoping to steal the device from the people who stole the ego first ?"
  
  
  "This is a problem of what you capitalists call free enterprise. It awakens the competitive spirit, " the Chinese said, chuckling.
  
  
  The dark man spoke again. "We'd better get this over with. The woman can come back at any time."
  
  
  "And we will continue with this, my other friend. But it's not every day that you get a chance to talk to an American killer in person. How many of my associates have you gotten rid of in your infamous career, Mr. Carter?" "
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "I'm also a humble person."
  
  
  "You were a thorn in our side. When I tell her that I took over the monitor and eliminated you, I can get her praise from the minister himself, " the Chinese man said in a gloating voice.
  
  
  Her, thought they were a great couple. The dark-skinned man wanted to kill me immediately out of sheer impatience, and the Chinese man was interested in the fame he might gain by returning to Beijing with my scalp on his belt.
  
  
  The Chinaman pointed with his left hand at his companion. Then he raised the revolver on his right. He was ready to execute me, and he wasn't going to take any chances. He planned for both of them to put bullets in my body.
  
  
  "I lied to you," I said.
  
  
  The Chinese hesitated, thumb on the trigger. The man swore for a day. "He's slowing down, Sheng Tzu."
  
  
  Sheng Tzu, I thought, and suddenly the memory bank was working. Sheng Zi, a legendary Chinese Communist agent who hid his identity so successfully that he was more like a ghost than flesh and blood. At various times, she was heard describing ego as an old man; at other times, she was heard telling people that no, emu was only in his thirties. And no one around these people knew ego well. They only caught a glimpse of the ego, apparently in various disguises. For the reason that Sheng Zi remained a mysterious person was that people who knew what he actually looked like had a ridiculous habit of dying violently.
  
  
  The Chinaman's eyes narrowed even more as the name slid across the other's mouth. "Fool," he hissed at the dark man. "You were warned never to use my name."
  
  
  He looked back at me, their expressions no longer friendly. "Now, Mr. Carter, your death is more likely than before."
  
  
  "Your people should really need this device. They must have pulled out a lot of artillery."
  
  
  "No more talking," he spat at me, furious that his ego companion had made a mistake. "You said you lied to us. Explain it to me."
  
  
  "I found a gadget. It's in my pocket." He moved her hand. "I'll show it to you."
  
  
  "Carter, take your hand away again and I'll check the dead man's pockets," Sheng said.
  
  
  Its frozen. Her, knew that he meant every word.
  
  
  Shan made a gesture. "Check your ego pockets," he said in math for the day.
  
  
  The dark-skinned man moved forward, and for a moment his body blocked Shen's view, obscuring the movement of my hand as it pressed the stiletto against my palm.
  
  
  He put his hand in the pocket of my doublet, and Hugo grabbed it and drove the razor blade into the ego of my life. He gasped, his eyes widening painfully. He slumped forward, and Ego grabbed him by the shoulders to use as a shield.
  
  
  Shen shot me. It startled the dark-skinned man when her ego-sagging body grabbed her. The impact made his ego jump, even though the life was draining out of him before the bullet hit.
  
  
  Gritting his teeth, he pushed her dead weight back in his arms, tossing her body toward the bunk and the Chinese agent. Shan dodged. For a man of ego, growth, he was surprisingly fast. He went out of the way, and the body of the ego comrade collapsed on the cot.
  
  
  Shan was about to shoot again. He took a step toward it and heard the silenced revolver in ego's hand pop. Her bent down, turning her body forward and down and kicking her ego with her right foot.
  
  
  Ego: the second shot missed due to my movement, and then my punch, which I was taught by a Japanese karate master, hit Sheng hard in the arm, breaking the fingers, and the revolver flew out over Ego's hands.
  
  
  Before he could recover, hers moved toward him. Her fist was thrown at ego's chubby face and caught ego in the jaw. He gasped and staggered, but he was too strong for ego to be overcome in a single blow.
  
  
  He reached into his jacket for Wilhelmina. Her hand was on Luger's ass when the Chinaman lunged at me. He hit me openly on the chin with a blow that nearly broke my neck and pinned me to the bed.
  
  
  Losing his balance, he fell
  
  
  over the motionless body of Shen's companion. He rolled over, landed on the floor, and reached for the Luger again.
  
  
  By this time, Sheng had opened the door. Surprisingly quickly, he was out in the hallway before hers could point the gun in ego's direction.
  
  
  He got up and ran after him, pushing the half-open door out of the way. There was no sign of Shen. Gloomy her, back in the compartment, Schmidt's women. There was a body that needed to be dealt with.
  
  
  Slamming the door, he dragged the dead man to the window and threw him out. She caught a glimpse of a body rolling down the slope before the train left ego behind.
  
  
  Her breathing was heavy. He picked up the dead man's gun and found Shen's on the floor beside the bunk. Ih threw it out, then closed the window and hurriedly tidied up the compartment. I didn't want the Schmidt woman to know I was there.
  
  
  My job was harder than when I boarded the train. Sheng Tzu had to find her. The fight that just won it is not over for us. He was the only living agent of the free world who knew what he looked like. He wasn't going to let me carry this knowledge around with me for long.
  
  
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  
  I walked along the train from one end to the other and didn't notice the Chinese agent.
  
  
  By the time I finished my search, the train had made two quick stops. Zi Sheng could jump down on anyone around them. It could also be on board in one of the compartments I couldn't enter, or in a dozen other places. I couldn't hope to explore all the places to hide in a moving train.
  
  
  He sighed and gave up for a moment. One way or another, I was sure that I would meet Shen again.
  
  
  In the middle of the next day, she found Ursula sitting alone in her compartment. She was busy making notes in a small notebook that she took out around her purse. He opened the compartment door for her and went in.
  
  
  "Hello," I said.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick! Sit down. I was just trying to write a note to my boss. Her need to tell emu that so far the ferret has been left empty-handed. I'll send her a telegram to Venice."
  
  
  Her sel is next to her. There were three plush seats on each side of the compartment, each one surrounded by a black-and-brown patterned material that gave the emu the look of a European tea room from the last century. The compartment was built in the days of glamorous trains, when kings and celebrities boarded the Orient Express. There were large and small luggage racks above the seats, a mirror on each seat, and on the sides of the mirrors were photos of the city's landscapes.
  
  
  Ursula put her notes back in her purse, and she caught a glimpse of a Webley .22 automatic inside. Hers, hoping that Hey wouldn't have to go up against her man with this toy. She looked at me, and the smile faded from her face.
  
  
  "Nick! What happened to you?"
  
  
  She mistletoe was referring to the bruise that showed the place where Shen had hit me. Her, chuckled. "I'm working on my profession."
  
  
  "Are you all right?"
  
  
  "Yes, I'm fine." I was pleased that she was genuinely concerned. "Let's say there's no dining car right now, but I bought her a bottle of bourbon in Milan. Would you like to join me in my compartment for a drink?"
  
  
  She looked at me with cold blue eyes. She knew it was an offer, and she knew her hotel so she knew. She glanced again at the moving countryside, which was now gradually flattening out as we neared the Adriatic.
  
  
  "I think you're trying to seduce me, Nick."
  
  
  "No way," I said.
  
  
  She grimaced. "You haven't changed a bit. Can't you see that I'm working?"
  
  
  "You need to relax sometime."
  
  
  "It's not easy to do that when you're tracking down a man like Hans Richter."
  
  
  It was the first time she'd mentioned the name of the man she'd called Butcher. Her realized it. I read it about Richter, and what I read was scary.
  
  
  "So he's the one you're chasing. I understand your determination."
  
  
  The door opened and a middle-aged woman was sitting there. "Are these seats taken?" "What is it?" she asked in a British accent, pointing to four hundred seats.
  
  
  "No, please join us," Ursula said.
  
  
  The woman came in and sat on the window seat opposite Ursula and me. I'd left the compartment door open, and a cool breeze was blowing down the corridor. After she sat down, she reached into a straw bag for a bunch of knitting.
  
  
  "Nice day," she smiled. She was a thin, hawk-nosed woman with short gray hair. Her glasses only had the lower part of the normal lenses - small pieces of glass that were used for close-up work.
  
  
  "Yes, isn't it?
  
  
  "Ursula agreed.
  
  
  Ursula looked from her knitting to me and smiled. The woman went back to knitting, no longer paying any attention to us. I was just about to speak to Ursula again when a man entered the compartment. Without speaking to Hema and me, he sat down at the far end of the compartment for the day. It was the man she'd seen earlier with the walkie-talkie he still carried. He set her down on the seat next to him, pulled the newspaper out from under his arm, and began to read. Every time she saw this man, he would carry the radio, but he never turned it on.
  
  
  "Do you know when we will arrive in Venice?" The Briton asked Ursula.
  
  
  Ursula tried to get a better look at the man with the newspaper. Now she turned to the Englishwoman. "I expect around six or later."
  
  
  "Oh, that's not bad. We'll all have to eat something there, of course, because there's no dining car."
  
  
  "Yes, actually," said Ursula. Her, saw her face change as if she remembered something, and then she quickly looked around at the matter from the radio.
  
  
  "I find it terribly uncivil not to send a dining car with us all the way," the British woman said.
  
  
  Ursula was now looking at the man's left hand. I looked at her, too, and saw what she was looking at. The knuckle on the ring finger of the hand that held the newspaper was large and knobby. We exchanged glances. This knuckle was the hallmark of Hans Richter.
  
  
  Ursula couldn't get a good look at Ego's face, so Hey decided to help her. He waited for the man to turn the page, then spoke to him.
  
  
  "Excuse me, sir," I said.
  
  
  The man dropped the newspaper and looked at me. "Yes?" Ego's accent was similar to Ursula's. He was about my height and had a military bearing. Ego's muscular, intelligent face looked younger than its years at first glance.
  
  
  "I see you have a London newspaper," I said. "Are there any football scores there?"
  
  
  Ego's gaze shifted from me to Ursula, and now it's back to me. He put down the newspaper and handed it to me. "I'm sure there is. Here, I just finished it."
  
  
  She avoided looking at his left hand. "Thank you," I said, taking the paper. I didn't see the scar on his neck.
  
  
  He was looking at Ursula again. "It's all right." He picked up the radio and stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me."
  
  
  He turned and left the compartment, heading for the sleeping cars. Her, turned to Ursula:"Well?"
  
  
  "I do not know," she said.
  
  
  The woman across the aisle had stopped knitting and was listening to our conversation with genuine interest.
  
  
  "There aren't many hands like that," I said.
  
  
  "No," Ursula admitted. "Not very much."
  
  
  I kept it. "I'll be right back."
  
  
  He moved quickly down the hall of the day coach in the direction the man had gone. I caught up with him as he was entering Voiture 5, the car that the Topcon woman was staying in. She stands at the end of the car while he shells. Then hers and ducked around the corner of the corridor. A moment later, he heard the door close. He entered compartment 6.
  
  
  While his was standing there, hers made the decision. My next move against Topcon will be less subtle. I'll have to go to Eva Schmidt and ask her where the stolen device is hidden. Now was the perfect time. I knocked on the door and 4 - this is a compartment, but there was no answer. I tried again, but everything was quiet inside. Forever will try again later.
  
  
  When he returned to Ursula, the woman was still with her, discussing the advantages of rail travel over airlines. Ursula was delighted to see me. "Let's take a walk," I said. "On platforms of beauty".
  
  
  "Don't forget to eat in Venice," the woman said.
  
  
  "We won't forget," her father said.
  
  
  When we went out into the corridor, I said to her: "Come on, let's go to my compartment."
  
  
  She looked at me. "Great."
  
  
  When we got to my compartment, which was three minutes away from Ursula's, aka the car, her hotel jacket came off, and Ursula stared at the big Luger in its holster. Then she dismissed her thoughts.
  
  
  She sat down carefully on the edge of my bunk bed, and I poured her a bourbon for each of us. She took hers with a small smile. "Before you get me drunk, tell me - did you find the person with the radio?"
  
  
  "He's in the next car," I said. "Compartment 6. Do you think you found the Butcher?"
  
  
  "I didn't see the scar," she said.
  
  
  “no. But the ego physique fits, and so does the ego age."
  
  
  "I don't know, I just don't know," she said slowly. "I have a feeling that these are our people, but I don't want to arrest the wrong person."
  
  
  "Then you have only one alternative," I said. "You're going to
  
  
  try to find something in the ego's personal stuff that will make your identification more positive."
  
  
  "Yes, you're right," she agreed. "I have to try to get into the ego compartment."
  
  
  He sighed. "Look, I'm good at this. Let me search the ego compartment."
  
  
  "You wouldn't know what to look for, Nick."
  
  
  I thought about it a bit. "Alright, let's go together."
  
  
  She smiled. "That's better. You can't fully immerse yourself in the excitement."
  
  
  He took a sip of his bourbon. "We can't go now," Ay told her, putting his arm around her waist. "Our people, or whoever it is, have just returned to the compartment. He'll be there for a while. We'll have to wait out the ego."
  
  
  Blue eyes looked up at me, and she took a sip of bourbon. Her took the cup by her hand, and had to step aside. He lifted her to the edge of the bunk and pulled her close. Then ee gave her a long kiss on the lips, and she responded. He kissed her neck under her blond hair, and her breath caught in her throat. "Relax," I said.
  
  
  By the time the next kiss was over, she'd decided to give herself to me. He pulled her to her feet and we started to undress, not saying a word to us. Soon we were on the bunk, our bodies tensing. Soft, pleasant sounds came out of her throat. Her flesh was hot against my touch.
  
  
  He ran his hands over her chest. Ursula's eyes were closed. Her, saw the flash of her white teeth. She moaned and wrapped her right arm around my neck. Felt her shiver and heard her sigh, and then she fell, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
  
  
  The train's wheels rumbled beneath us, and the car moved smoothly. It was a great moment, and no one around us wanted to interrupt the ego with words.
  
  
  Finally, Ursula touched my wand. "That was great, Nick."
  
  
  Her smiled hey, in rheumatism. "It's better than knitting in a compartment."
  
  
  When we were dressed, I opened the window curtain a crack. We found ourselves in a swampy area near Venice.
  
  
  "Now, as for that compartment, we were going to search..." said Ursula.
  
  
  "Let me check on your man and see if he's still there."
  
  
  He slipped out into the corridor and went to his room, which was occupied by a man with a walkie-talkie.
  
  
  He opened the door when he saw her, walked over to her, and for a moment we looked into each other's eyes. He continued walking, and walked mimmo to both ends of the car. Then hers, I turned and pretended to take a quick look back. The man was still standing in the doorway, watching me.
  
  
  Our eyes met again. Ego's gaze was hard, challenging. Then he went back to the compartment and slammed the door.
  
  
  The search that suggested it to Ursula has been ruled out for the moment. Moreover, this person seemed suspicious to me. If he was Hans Richter, that suspicion was understandable. To avoid capture for as long as Richter did, the man had to be super-careful, constantly vigilant, distrustful of everyone. He probably slept with a gun in his hand.
  
  
  Of course it was Richter's, I thought. Ursula had to make sure, because it was her job. Hey will need proof of the ego's true identity to arrest him. But for all practical purposes, it seemed to him that he was the butcher of Belgrade. That deformed knuckle and the man's wary demeanor convinced me of that.
  
  
  As I was standing at the end of the car, Eva Schmidt appeared, reminding me that I had my own job, and that she seemed to be the key to it.
  
  
  A woman passed mimmo me and was caught by the fragrance of ee brass, which was very feminine. He looked at her feet as she walked down the hall. Not bad, I thought.
  
  
  When she stopped for the day of her compartment, she gave me the same appraising look as when ee first saw her. Then she unlocked the door and went in.
  
  
  He went back to Ursula and told her that the man they thought was Richter was still in the hall in the ego compartment. "Try to keep an eye on the ego door. I have a little business of my own to attend to," I said, checking the Luger.
  
  
  "What's for business, Nick?"
  
  
  "Some people call it a belief."
  
  
  I knocked on Eva Schmidt's door, and she opened it instantly. She looked surprised. "What do you want?" "What is it?" she asked in a German accent.
  
  
  "You," her father said. He pushed her away and quickly closed the door behind him.
  
  
  The woman looked at me warily, but she definitely wasn't on the verge of panic. "There are better ways to get to know each other," she said.
  
  
  "It's more like a spa call, Eva."
  
  
  "If you're a cop, I have nothing to hide. If you're a thief, there's not much worth stealing from me."
  
  
  "Only an electronic device that more governments would like to have," I replied. "Give the ego here.
  
  
  I know you're a Topcon agent. "
  
  
  "What is a Topcon agent?"
  
  
  "I also know that you talked to a KGB agent. You hope to sell the device to the Soviet Union."
  
  
  "What's for a KGB agent?" she said. It was starting to sound like a gramophone record.
  
  
  I realized that I needed to convince her that I knew what I was talking about. Its said: "I listened to Odin Poe meet your conversations with the Russian. Ego's name is Lubyanka. We have ego photos in our files."
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, the CIA?"
  
  
  "I'm on an ih job."
  
  
  "I'm tolerant, I'm trying to sell her something to the Russians. How did you propose to stop me?"
  
  
  "Well, there is one simple way. I could kill you."
  
  
  Eva Schmidt didn't flinch. "Not on a crowded train, you can't. You're bluffing."
  
  
  I moved it with my hand, and the hairpin went into my hand. "How very wrong you are. She's already been killed by one person on this train. I can easily do it with two."
  
  
  Her face paled, and her eyes darted nervously to the gleaming blade of the knife. "There are no monitors in this compartment."
  
  
  "Where is this from in the hall?"
  
  
  "I can't tell you that. If she had told me, my people would have killed me."
  
  
  My hand shot out to her. In one swift movement, he cut off a button on her dress, and she fell to the floor and rolled off.
  
  
  "It might as well be your throat, Eve."
  
  
  She gasped softly. Her eyes followed the button. "I don't have a device. I only negotiate with the Russians."
  
  
  "The Topcon boss is in the hall on the train, isn't he? You are an intermediary, you pass the emu over to the KGB."
  
  
  "Just a precaution. You know how it is. There is no one else you can trust." Eva Schmidt seemed to have an unflappable sense of humor.
  
  
  Hey grinned and leaned against the side of the compartment. "If the KGB sets the right price, your boss will come out of hiding and hand over the monitor. Is that the plan?"
  
  
  "You won't stop emu from doing this. No one has ever stopped the ego."
  
  
  "I specialize in beginners," her father said.
  
  
  Then someone in the hallway turned the handle and pushed the door hard, knocking me off balance.
  
  
  Eva Schmidt reacted as if she had expected this news. She kicked out, and her heel caught on my shin. Plunging her shoulder into my chest, she grabbed my wrist with both hands, and puts my hand to herself on every tribe.
  
  
  The woman received a blow from the expert. She would have broken my arm if hers hadn't moved with her, robbing her of the leverage needed to compensate for my superior strength. He wrapped his free arm around her neck and yanked her head so hard that she grunted as if she'd been hit.
  
  
  The stiletto lifted her and touched her throat, then turned to face the door.
  
  
  There was no one there.
  
  
  "Move again,"Eve told her," and this trip is over for you."
  
  
  She stopped struggling. He watched as the compartment door, which was now slightly ajar, shook slightly with the train's movement.
  
  
  Dragging the woman with him, the corridor checked her out. Eve's supposed co-worker was gone.
  
  
  "You were expecting company. Who was it?" Sl asked her.
  
  
  "Russian. You scared the ego."
  
  
  Her door slammed shut. "I have a suspicion that you are lying, and I just missed the meeting with the head of Topcon."
  
  
  "If so, you're in luck. He would have killed you."
  
  
  This was only the second time she had told me how infallible the mysterious man was. Either his colleagues admired him, or Eva was personally interested in him. I remembered something the Chinese agent said when he was bragging. He said that Eva wasn't a Topcon executive, but she definitely wasn't just another mercenary.
  
  
  "Tell me about your boyfriend, Eva. Start with his name."
  
  
  "You're choking me. I can barely speak it."
  
  
  I loosened her grip a little, and she returned the favor. She bit into my hand.
  
  
  There are a few things you can't resist. Odin had a deep bite of sharp teeth all around them, and Eve seemed to have the sharpest ones.
  
  
  Her cursed and let go of ee.
  
  
  The woman jumped away from me and jumped to the knitting suitcase I'd seen her carrying in the day trainer. She pulled back the top, peeking inside.
  
  
  She was hit on the waist by ee. We collapsed on the bunk. Eve kicked me and hit me in the eyes. We rolled to the floor, and it hit every tribe and hit the target. She felt a sickening pain.
  
  
  "The tailor," I said. Vote and that's it. My patience has run out. She was hit hard by ee with her head
  
  
  
  and her target hit the floor. He hit her again with his hand, and she screamed as blood flowed around the corner of her lip.
  
  
  He straddled her, pressing her bare thighs against my back. Her dress was torn in the struggle, and part of one breast could be seen. Somehow, she looked sexier than before, but I wasn't in the mood for friendly games.
  
  
  Eve put her hand to her mouth and looked at the blood on nen. "Donnerwetter!" she spat. But there was intense fear in her eyes.
  
  
  "If you think I won't kill you because you're a woman, throw it out of your head."
  
  
  Hugo held it up in front of her startled eyes, then slid the blade just under her chin. "I won't threaten you anymore. I'll just do it."
  
  
  "The ego's name is Horst Blucher. I won't tell you again, even if it means my life. It cannot be transferred to the ego. But if you want to bet against a Russian player, I'll give the floor to Horst."
  
  
  He thought about it for a moment. I didn't have the authority to pay cash to get the device back, but Eve must have meant it when she said she'd give her life to protect her boss.
  
  
  He reached into the knitting case, slide into it, and pulled out the Beretta . She was stuck with a gun in a minute, just for insurance.
  
  
  "You must be very comfortable with this Horst guy."
  
  
  "He's a genius. I really admire him."
  
  
  "And a little more, I keep the money."
  
  
  Eve touched her lip, which had been cut by a backhand. "Yes, we are lovers. That's one of the reasons she would have died for him."
  
  
  "My government may be ready to make an offer to return the monitor. Pass the message to your math discretion."
  
  
  "I'll see what he says."
  
  
  "When will I recognize her?"
  
  
  "I expect to have rheumatism by this evening."
  
  
  She sat up and leaned heavily against the edge of the bunk. He sensed that Horst had little chance of taking the bait and getting out into the open. But it was a long-range plan, hoping that Eve would lead me to him.
  
  
  Outside in the hallway, I wondered if I'd made a mistake. There was a chance that Eva could get in touch with Horst without my knowledge, and he was just trying to kill me. Then I'll have a big Topkon rifle and a Chinese assassin for my scalp. He didn't find the prospect appealing.
  
  
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  
  Ursula was gone.
  
  
  I left her to continue watching the door of a man we suspected was Hans Richter, a Nazi war criminal named Butcher. She wasn't at the end of the car where I last saw her, and she wasn't in her own compartment or mine.
  
  
  It occurred to her that a single-minded girl like Ursula wouldn't leave her post without a good reason. She must have seen the man come out of the compartment and decided to follow him.
  
  
  He stopped in front of the man's door and knocked on it. I didn't get a response. He looked down the hall. A traveler entered the car and came towards me with a smile on his face. Where had her ego seen her before? Then I remembered. Earlier in the journey, he was sitting in the car of the same day as Eva Schmidt and the man we will consider Richter.
  
  
  He greeted me cheerfully. "How's the trip going?" When emu told her that everything was going well, he nodded and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder, then moved on.
  
  
  He paused, waiting for it to disappear from view. Her carapace was in the compartment while no one was there, conducting the search that Ursula had done. The sooner she settles her business, the sooner I'll stop feeling responsible for nah.
  
  
  The cheerful stranger stopped. He turned around. "Can she ask you a corkscrew?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  He removed the hand that was already in his jacket pocket. "Would you trust me if I told you I was holding a revolver?"
  
  
  "I do not know why you lied to me about such things." He was impressed by Ego's acting skills. He looked like a jolly tourist. He even wore a camera on a strap around his neck.
  
  
  "I'm going to take you to someone who wants to talk to you. That's all we want - a little conversation, " he said.
  
  
  "Then you don't need a gun."
  
  
  "Probably not, but I prefer to be careful. I'll go a short distance behind you. Close enough to shoot, but not close enough for you to jump on me. If you behave yourself, we'll get along just fine."
  
  
  "I try to get along with everyone," I said.
  
  
  "Just turn around and start walking. I'll tell you when to stop."
  
  
  He behaved decently and followed orders. I was curious to know who sent ego after me.
  
  
  Good. Hold on, " he said as we entered the next car.
  
  
  He paused, looking back.
  
  
  
  We were next to a number of private compartments. I heard the cheerful man turn the key in the lock.
  
  
  "You can now turn around and go inside," he said.
  
  
  He followed orders until he got to the compartment. Then he saw Ursula and went crazy.
  
  
  Girl lying on the bed. She was completely naked. Nah was stripped of her clothes and thrown around the compartment. She was breathing, but not moving.
  
  
  Ignoring the gun, he turned to face his captor. Its jumped for him. My hands closed around his throat. It was his ego that hit her against the side of the compartment, strangling her. "What did you do to her?"
  
  
  Then the door behind me opened. I heard her, but I didn't turn around in time. A pair of brass knuckles hit me in the ear and knocked me to the floor.
  
  
  He tried to get up, but couldn't. I could feel my hands reaching behind my back. Then someone tied my wrists together with a silk cord, pulling the bonds together with ease.
  
  
  Ego's hand slapped me on the shoulder. The man who straddled me to tie my shoelace said, " Don't worry about the girl. She was just knocked out."
  
  
  I recognized her in the voice of a cheerful tourist.
  
  
  My blurry vision began to clear. She was seen by the feet of another man who was standing on the floor. Nen was wearing expensive Zhirinovsky black leather ballet slippers. Obviously, he was the one who teased me. "Find out who he is," he said to Mr. Jolly.
  
  
  Then he was out the door before her eyes could catch a glimpse of his face.
  
  
  When the door closed behind the man in the black shoes, Mr. Jolly turned me over. He was still beaming like the chairman of the welcoming committee. "Like I said, you won't get killed if you behave yourself."
  
  
  "What about the girl?"
  
  
  "I understand your concern. She is beautiful. But we had to find out who she was. So I knocked her out, took off her clothes, and examined her."
  
  
  "How much did you learn?"
  
  
  "Any organization issues identity cards to its agents. For estestvenno, she's a mistletoe of ego to herself."
  
  
  That was the problem with Ursula's secret political agency. They followed all the bureaucratic habits that could be dangerous for an operative on the ground.
  
  
  "Do you also have an ID card?" the cheerful man asked.
  
  
  "I told her.
  
  
  Her, hoping that if I could get the ego to talk long enough, she could put the ego within striking distance of a well-placed blow. Then he could start a whole new ball game with his serve.
  
  
  "You two wandered around the train together, tried out the day, peeked into other people's compartments. If you don't work as partners, how do you explain it?"
  
  
  "Tailor," I said,"can't you think of anything for yourself?"
  
  
  "No, its lazy." He pulled another piece of cord around his pocket. "I'll make it hard for you to move around." He deftly wrapped the rope around my ankles, careful not to take my ego by surprise. I didn't have a chance for a good shot.
  
  
  In the corridor, the man showed the same caution, no doubt born of experience. Whatever he was, he knew the rules of the game.
  
  
  Mr. Jolly's accent was German, just like Eva Schmidt's. Or Ursula's, for that matter. This was not the key to unlocking the ego of belonging to any organization. In the espionage business, the parties are quite often changing, professionals of all nationalities were available to hire any client, and what seemed obvious, sometimes turned out to be false.
  
  
  For example, Sheng Zi's assistant was as Chinese as Frank Sinatra.
  
  
  As far as she knew, Mr. Jolly could work for anyone, from Topcon to East German Intelligence. He might also have been a friend of Hans Richter, the man Ursula was supposed to apprehend.
  
  
  He could only be sure that he wasn't working for AX for perfectly clear reasons or in Beijing. If ego had been hired by the Chinese Communists, Sheng Tzu would still be there, and most likely would already be dead.
  
  
  He dropped my feet, then gave them a little jerk to test the strength of his work. Satisfied, he straightened up. "Now that we're comfortable, we can talk. Tell me all about yourself."
  
  
  "From the beginning? Well, its born in the United States of America..."
  
  
  "You joke too much," he warned me.
  
  
  He walked over to the bed and looked at the naked Ursula, who was now bound hand and foot, which is also a rope, like me. He glanced up to make sure I was watching his every move, then deliberately flicked his fingernail one at a time around the unconscious girl's nipples.
  
  
  "I won't try to beat out answers around you. That would be too difficult. If you don't tell me who you are, I'll work on the girl."
  
  
  I couldn't understand what I got out of withholding information. "I get orders from an organization called AX. My name is Nick Carter."
  
  
  "Your name and the name of your organization are familiar to me. But I don't understand why you and the girl are working together."
  
  
  "You may not believe this, but we're just old friends on the same train."
  
  
  "A girl tracks down former Nazis. Are you also hunting a former Nazi?"
  
  
  "Not really. But if I run into one of them, I definitely won't kiss her ego on both sticks."
  
  
  "I wouldn't have thought of her, Mr. Carter. Either way, I have to go." He glanced at his watch and walked quickly to the door. "Enjoy the rest of your trip."
  
  
  He watched the door close and heard the lock click. Then the compartment was quiet. I looked around. There was no us luggage, us clothing indicating that the apartment was occupied by a passenger. Maybe Mr. Jolly had a lock pick and chose an empty sleeping place to keep us captive.
  
  
  I was surprised that he asked his questions and left us unscathed. But I wasn't going to complain. My problem was getting us out of here.
  
  
  "Ursula," I said. "Wake up, Ursula."
  
  
  The girl didn't move. Hers crept toward the bunk, moving slowly and awkwardly. Then hers, he knelt down and spoke to Ursula again. Her lashes fluttered slightly.
  
  
  It was a beautiful painting, fresh and inviting. He leaned down and touched her nipple with his tongue. It was one of the best ways to wake her up.
  
  
  Ursula smiled instinctively. Then she stirred on the cot. Her eyes flew open. "Nick!"
  
  
  "Surprise," I said.
  
  
  Her nipple was touched again. He hated stopping.
  
  
  "Now is not the time for that," she chided me. "How did you get here?"
  
  
  "I was brought by a stocky man. Funny guy with a camera around his neck. What do you think?"
  
  
  "I watched the compartment in Voiture 5 while you went about your business, whatever it was for us. The man went out. As usual, carrying his damn walkie-talkie. He was in such a hurry that I was sure he was going to meet someone and decided to follow up on what he thought was so important. He must have noticed me. He led me through the common car, where this funny guy with a camera was sitting. They must have exchanged signals in some way. The two around them trapped me on the platform. She was forced to come here. Then I was hit in the ear."
  
  
  "I see a beautiful goose egg there, but you're still in good shape."
  
  
  Ursula blushed a little. "You've put me at a disadvantage."
  
  
  "I wish she could find a way to make money out of it."
  
  
  "Try to focus on your business. What should we do next?"
  
  
  "I'll figure something out," he assured her.
  
  
  He was already thinking about the day's events. Something didn't fall into place, and it annoyed me that I couldn't figure it out.
  
  
  I tried to arrange my conclusions in a logical order. The man with the radio was Richter, Ursula's Nazi fugitive. He had a deformed knuckle, like Richter, and acted like a man used to running. After getting to know Ursula, it was only natural for estestvenno that he would try to find out who she was. He saw me with a German girl.
  
  
  Richter hit me while I was wrestling with my ego partner, Mr. Jolly. He was the person who told Mr. Jolly who my identity was. But why would a cautious man like Richter leave the corkscrew problem to his comrade? In that case, why was Richter traveling with a comrade who seemed to be an experienced agent? Maybe Herr Richter was also in the spy mail business.
  
  
  "Come here, Ursula, and make room for me. "I'm going to go to bed with you," I said.
  
  
  "Nick!" she scolded. "Not now."
  
  
  "You got it wrong, baby. I'm going to lie down on the bed and try to untie your hands."
  
  
  We played this game back to back, and engaged her in the tight knots on the ropes that bound her. The task was so difficult that I cursed Mr. Jolly half a dozen times.
  
  
  "Nick, why did they take my clothes off?"
  
  
  "Not just because of the view, even though it's beautiful. Mr. Jolly Hotel search your clothes."
  
  
  "Did anything happen while I was knocked out?"
  
  
  "Nothing like that that you wouldn't miss," I chuckled.
  
  
  As I untied the knot, my hands occasionally brushed Ursula's bare back and buttocks. "This job has some additional benefits," her husband said.
  
  
  "Did they find anything when they wanted me, Nick?"
  
  
  "Your ID card. Richter knows who you are."
  
  
  At that moment, Mr. Jolly's camera caught sight of her.
  
  
  
  
  I left my ego in the compartment.
  
  
  "What happened?" Ursula asked.
  
  
  "He left his camera behind."
  
  
  "You mean he might come back for it?"
  
  
  "Not in this life," I said. "A person who is so careful doesn't forget something like a camera."
  
  
  Not unless he was going to forget about it.
  
  
  Her, got out of bed and fell to the floor. Her rolled up to the digital cameras because it was the fastest way to get there.
  
  
  "Ursula, get out of bed, stand with your back to the window and raise your ego." I told her.
  
  
  Nah was smart enough. From the tone of my voice, she knew I shouldn't waste any time. Her, heard her bare feet hit the floor.
  
  
  He was lying on his stomach, looking at the camera up close. If she was right, she risked getting shot openly in the face, but that can't be helped.
  
  
  "I don't see any timing device and I don't hear any ticking, but I think there's an explosive device inside."
  
  
  "Did this person leave an ego on purpose?" Ursula said. Now she was at the window.
  
  
  "After knowing who you are, why should Hans Richter let you live? This compartment is supposed to be our grave, baby."
  
  
  I could hear Ursula's heavy breathing. She clutched at the window, tugging at her ego.
  
  
  "Mr. Vesely looked at his watch before leaving us. Its supposed to assume that he activated the timer by pressing the lever on the digital cameras. I can turn off my ego if I take the camera, but I'll take the risk."
  
  
  He turned his back on the digital camera and grabbed it with both hands. Its sweating. I didn't tell Ursula, but I thought that if the explosives went off when I moved her camera, at least my body would protect part of the explosion, and maybe save her life.
  
  
  "Get away from the window," her father said.
  
  
  She identified my name in a soft voice, then moved, and he stood up.
  
  
  No explosion.
  
  
  Her, jumped to the train window. He didn't want to risk rolling around on the floor. He turned his back to the window, leaned against it, and swung the camera around with his bound hands.
  
  
  As the train moved forward, he looked at Ursula, and we smiled at each other, which seemed like a relief to us.
  
  
  Then we heard an explosion along the tracks. It was like a hand grenade exploding on the other side of the hill.
  
  
  "I am glad that you saw this camera and understood what it is," said Ursula.
  
  
  "Yes, a few more minutes and we would have exploded."
  
  
  "I'm so sorry, Nick. I'm putting your life in danger. Richter's going to try to kill us both."
  
  
  Ursula could only see the tip of the iceberg. Hans Richter and ego Lieutenant Mister Jolly were a minority of the murderers on this train.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  By the time the Orient Express stopped in Venice, I had managed to free Ursula's hands. She got rid of the ropes around her ankles and put on a couple of basic items of clothing before untying me.
  
  
  "Don't be shy, "sl teased."By now, I know everything about you."
  
  
  "No, Nick. You only know what I look like. A man never knows everything about a woman."
  
  
  We went out all over the compartment, and mingled with the crowd getting off around the train. Ursula scurried off to get some sandwiches, and hers took up a position that allowed me to keep track of faces that meant something to the two of us.
  
  
  Hans Richter and his partner's ego didn't see her, and Sheng Tzu, an agent of the Chinese Communists, didn't see her. Eva Schmidt caught a glimpse of her. Like Ursula, she was picking up sandwiches.
  
  
  "Eva," I called out as she mimmed past me and headed back to the train, a bag of food in her hand.
  
  
  She stopped walking. "You gave me until tonight, remember?"
  
  
  "Just checking, voting, and that's it."
  
  
  "I'll contact Horst and pass on your message of interest in the monitor. But I won't make that contact until I'm sure the time is right. In other words, I'm not going to reveal my identity to you or anyone else who might be watching me."
  
  
  Then she left with the crowd, and he turned his attention to Ursula, who had just come up behind me with our sandwiches.
  
  
  "I thought you were trying to find another playmate," she said, " until I heard a snippet from your conversation. Who is Horst?"
  
  
  "Just the person I want her to meet. Remember Richter, baby."
  
  
  Soon the Orient Express was leaving the station in the direction it had come. To head east again, the train had to return to the mainland via the causeway. It was dark as the Express sped down the two-mile road, and we saw behind us a dazzling display of yellow lights along the shoreline: views of Venice rising through the sea blackness.
  
  
  
  After a quick meal, Ursula said she wanted to hit Richter's Gansu Province again. "Let's try ego coupe. If he's there, I'll arrest him. If not, we'll search the ego of things and find out what he's up to."
  
  
  Richter wasn't there, and I wasn't surprised.
  
  
  "By now, he knows they didn't kill us. There should have been an explosion that didn't happen."
  
  
  "Nick, do you think you've lost his ego?"
  
  
  "He didn't get off all day in Milan," I said.
  
  
  The lock was forced, and we entered the Butcher's compartment.
  
  
  It was turned on by Verkhny brylev. There were two pieces of luggage, and both were on the floor, not on the shelves. One suitcase took her, and Ursula reached for the other. After picking the locks on the suitcases, we carefully opened them.
  
  
  There wasn't anything significant in the bag he searched, but there was a handkerchief that definitely didn't belong to the math major who had the radio. It had a faint brass smell that I thought was vaguely familiar. He closed her bag and helped Ursula look through the other one. A moment later, she held up a piece of paper.
  
  
  "Look at this," she said. "He plans to go out in Belgrade." It was an ego train ticket.
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. "It doesn't give you much time."
  
  
  I looked in the corner of the drawer under some shirts and found a couple of packs of European cigarettes. They seemed like a special blend. "Expensive taste,"she remarked, showing Ursula one of the packages.
  
  
  She took the cigarettes from me and looked at the pack. "Hans Richter smoked a special brand of Belgian cigarettes. This is my place."
  
  
  "You'll have to try to grab the ego in Belgrade when it comes out all over the world."
  
  
  "The Yugoslav authorities promised to help bring Richter to justice. I'll ask her to meet us at the train station with a couple of plainclothes policemen."
  
  
  "Wouldn't you rather make the arrest alone?" I asked her.
  
  
  "He must be captured alive," she said. "If I catch her with that Nazi pig, I'm afraid I'll blow the emu's brains out."
  
  
  They put everything down as it was, and went out to the compartment. Ursula went to her own compartment to wait out the rumbling train for her.
  
  
  We stayed in Trieste right after Venice. We were supposed to be in Poggioreale del Corsa on the Yugoslav border at nine-thirty. I decided that if Eva Schmidt hadn't contacted me by then, I would have started looking for her.
  
  
  I went back to my compartment, hoping that Eva would contact me there. I gave hey ego the number when she promised to tell Horst Blucher that I wanted to bid for the satellite monitor.
  
  
  The company was waiting for me, but it wasn't Eva Schmidt or her boyfriend. Ivan Lubyanka, the Chekist, leaned back in my bunk, his head propped up on his left hand. He was holding a Webley revolver in his right hand .455 Mark IV with silencer.
  
  
  "Come in," he said.
  
  
  I closed the door behind me, thinking I should have been more careful.
  
  
  Lubyanka sat down on the cot. "So you're Nick Carter. You don't look so cool."
  
  
  "Who told you I was cool? Her pussy."
  
  
  "If I'd known you were on the train with me, Carter, I'd have stopped by earlier to see you."
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. "If you were making wards, you would recognize me when you saw me in the dining car. She knows you."
  
  
  He looked at me irritably. "You know, of course, that I must kill you."
  
  
  Her shoulders hunched. "Why bother?" I asked her. "You'll probably kill me anyway."
  
  
  "I didn't come here to bet," he said flatly, with a heavy accent. "I came here as the sole buyer, and I want to keep it that way."
  
  
  "What about the Chinese?"
  
  
  "I'll deal with one competitor at a time," he said softly.
  
  
  "If you do that, you'll have bodies all over the train. You should think about it." Stahl didn't try to snatch it from Hugo, because he knew the Barbarians wouldn't give me time.
  
  
  "I've been thinking about it," he said. He got up from the bunk. He was a couple of inches shorter than I was, and I could see that Em didn't like it very much. "You and I will go to the end of this train, Carter. We'll go very carefully. I'll keep this gun in my pocket on the way, but it'll be aimed at your spine. As you know, a shot in the spine is very painful. So I hope you don't do anything stupid."
  
  
  "And what happens at the end of our good walk together?"
  
  
  "Don't worry, it will be very fast."
  
  
  "How generous of you."
  
  
  "Please. You're coming with me now." He waved the big gun at me, and it went off.
  
  
  I realized that if this thing went off, there would be a hole in my chest big enough for a man to stick his fist in.
  
  
  He turned and opened the door, hoping someone was in the hallway. But there was no one there. Her, I went into the corridor, and Varvara followed me. The gun was still held in front of him, but while he was looking at it, he shoved ego into the pocket of his doublet. I could see how little it was sticking out from under the fabric, and it was aimed at my waist.
  
  
  He closed the compartment door and motioned for me to go. Then he turned and walked slowly down the corridor. The train rumbled and rocked beneath us, but not enough to upset the Lubyanka's balance. He kept about three paces between us, so I couldn't get to him easily.
  
  
  We came to the end of Voiture 7 and pulled out onto the platforms between Voiture 7 and Voiture 5, where Eva Schmidt's compartment was located. We had to go through two sets of doors. As I passed into the second car, Lubyanka saw her take a step right behind me.
  
  
  With a sharp movement, he slammed the door back to Lubyanka Street. The door hit Ego Yi, losing his balance, and he fell to the floor of the platform. But he hadn't lost his revolver. He fired as he fell. The first gawk-eyed shattered glass of the day went through nah and almost hit my shoulder, burying itself in the wood paneling behind me. A second shot rang out, but he didn't even come close to me.
  
  
  As Varvara rushed to the platform, Wilhelmina threw her up. My shot hit the metal floor of the platform next to the crouching Russian, ricocheting around him without hitting him.
  
  
  The Barbarians opened fire again, knocking out the door jamb that had used it for cover. Then, as he ducked out of the door, he hurried back through the door of the other carriage. Ego saw her at the last minute and managed to squeeze two more shots at Luger. One of Lubyanka's gawking eyes hit him in the shoulder, and I saw him fall to the floor in the other car.
  
  
  There was a long, empty moment when the wheels rattled loudly beneath us. Then he saw her raised hand with the revolver. Lubyanka quickly shot at me, but wildly missed. Then he saw the target's ego thrashing around at the bottom of the window. Hers, fired, but missed. Then he left and ran down the corridor that led to the other end of the car. He probably decided to run away and lick his wounds.
  
  
  He carefully moved to his side of the platform and quickly crossed the chasm and took up a position next to the other door. There were no more shots fired. I looked inside, but Lubyanka was nowhere to be found. Maybe he set a trap for me there.
  
  
  He opened the door a crack to get a better look at her. Nothing. It looks like the Barbarians are really gone. He walked slowly into the car, holding the Luger in front of him. The ego wasn't there. Then I turned the corner and saw ego, maybe two-thirds of the way down the hall. He turned, his face dark with anger and frustration, and fired two inaccurate shots at the reloaded revolver. I crouched down quickly, and the bullets whizzed over my head.
  
  
  He swore under his breath. The moment Varvara ran down the corridor, she was once again shot at by him. But the movement of the train ruined my aim, and I almost missed it. Then the Russian disappeared around the corner, leaving through the train.
  
  
  Apparently, no one had heard the muffled gunshots. Throughout the compartment, no one came out. When he reached both ends of the car and the place where the KGB man had disappeared from sight, he saw that the train was entering Poggioreale del Corsa.
  
  
  The Barbarians wouldn't get off at this fast stop, he told himself. He wouldn't want the authorities to know about the ego injury. He couldn't explain what had happened. In addition, Emu still needed the monitor that he had tried to buy from Topcon agents on the train.
  
  
  A couple of uniformed men were walking down the hall toward me. One was a train conductor, the other a customs officer. We were near the border, we were checked.
  
  
  She was presented with a false identity card provided by the TOPOR special forces. The customs officer nodded, and he and the conductor moved on.
  
  
  The train picked up speed, moving steadily towards South Ossetia. The next stop will be around midnight at Povka.
  
  
  I thought that my next task would be to visit Eva Schmidt. The woman had to be the one who told Lubyanka that I was trying to get a satellite monitor.
  
  
  Eva's compartment tried it, but it wasn't there. He picked the lock again and entered with a Luger in his hand. There was no one there. He decided that since her compartment was the only one that could be identified by its number, my dear opponents would hold conferences somewhere else.
  
  
  He got out of the compartment and went back to the day cars, all the time looking for the Lubyanka.
  
  
  And Schmidt-a also wanted Shen, because I had reason to think he was still on board, hunting for my skin.
  
  
  My search was fruitless. We were alone, there was no one around them. He was worried that maybe they had all somehow escaped at the border.
  
  
  Then the train pulled up to Pivka station. Pivka is a provincial town located at the intersection of several Yugoslav railway lines. The station is primitive , a long gray building with few lights at night. It was cold up there in the mountains. When the train stopped, shell drizzling rain.
  
  
  It was watched from one around the car platforms to see if anyone would get out. Four people appeared on the platform. The three around them were passengers who had decided to grab a sandwich shop and coffee at the near end of the station building. The fourth, whom she finally recognized by his familiar gait, was Ivan Lubianke.
  
  
  Without once looking over his shoulder, Lubyanka hurried through the station building and into the dark street beyond. Hers hesitated for a moment. This may be a ploy to distract my attention while Schmidt and Blucher were getting out of the other car. But I had to take this chance. He put his foot on the ground and followed the Lubyanka. He may have a stolen monitor.
  
  
  The barbarians had already disappeared into the gray building. I hurried after him, hoping that the train wouldn't leave before I could get back. The dimly lit, shabby reception area was almost empty. Lubyanka wasn't there - he must have been out by now, circling the building.
  
  
  I ran out the door to the street and looked around at the dark sidewalk outside. A light rain soaked my face - it was a cold, miserable night. There were no cars in sight, no pedestrians, just gray stone fences, gray buildings, and rain. Lubyanka completely disappeared.
  
  
  I had to decide whether to follow the Lubyanka and forget about the train, Schmidt and Blucher, or go back on board if they were still there with the stolen device.
  
  
  It was a forced decision because I didn't have time - this train was supposed to leave in ten or fifteen minutes. If I make the wrong decision, I will return to where I started my search for the monitor, and I may even lose my ego forever.
  
  
  In a moment of illness, her choice was made. He turned and hurried back through the dimly lit station to the platform. The lights of the Orient Express stretched along the tracks in front of me. The train looked like an oasis of civilization in this black wilderness. He looked towards the restaurant and saw several people sitting inside, drinking hot coffee or tea at rough wooden tables. A Yugoslavian child who was supposed to be in bed at this hour was moving towards the table with a steaming cup of tea. Nen was wearing a white apron and patent leather ballet slippers. After checking the faces of the customers and making sure that no one around them was familiar to me, I went to the men's room. To her relief, he wondered where Lubyanka had gone and if he was going to make a deal with the monitor.
  
  
  As her husband turned to leave, she noticed a man standing in the doorway - my old friend Sheng Tzu. He was grinning slightly, and he was holding a revolver in his right hand. It was Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum with a large silencer.
  
  
  "This is the last time we'll meet, Mr. Carter," Sheng said. "Our Russian has conveniently left the train yet, and when I get rid of you, I won't have any other competitors."
  
  
  Her looking gun, and ego's hand with the gun. "Blucher himself has yet to be dealt with." He noticed that the only holy light in the room came from a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling, not far from where he kept it. But I couldn't see it, so I couldn't darken the place without taking two or three bullets. And there was absolutely no cover in the room.
  
  
  "The woman will be my path to the device," Sheng said coldly. "But that will be my problem, not yours." He raised the gun slightly; and it was aimed at my folding dollar. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a man came through the door behind him. He was a Yugoslav employee of the station.
  
  
  "What is it?" "What is it?" he asked, looking at Shen's long gun.
  
  
  He was standing three feet away from Shen. Sheng turned to him, threw out his left elbow, and slapped his ego across the face. There was a dull crunch and a muffled cry, and the guy collapsed unconscious on the floor.
  
  
  But she didn't have to wait for the clerk to fall to the floor. Before Sheng could turn back to finish me off, her grabbed the string of the small light bulb in front of me and yanked sharply as hers turned to the left.
  
  
  The room was almost completely dark, with a single dim holy light coming from the station platform through the open door. Shen fired a shot in my direction, but missed
  
  
  
  The gun thudded into the room, and gawk slammed into the cement wall behind me. When he turned back to Shen, he was aiming. The stiletto hurled her across the darkened room, catching Shen in the forearm behind the hand holding the revolver. The hand opened convulsively, and the gun flew across the room.
  
  
  Sheng let out a loud cry as he stared at the knife embedded in Ego's forearm, which had severed tendons, arteries, and muscles. He turned, still holding the knife in his hand, to find the gun. Then he took a step forward, but it was blocked by ego. He swore in Chinese.
  
  
  "No more guns, Shan," I said with a low growl. "Let's see what you can do without him."
  
  
  Sheng hesitated for a moment, then pulled the stiletto from his forearm with a grunt of pain. Blood spurted onto the floor. He deftly grabbed the handle of the knife with his left hand and moved towards me.
  
  
  I could have tried to get the gun on the floor, but I knew I'd never get to it before Shen did. As for Wilhelmina, it's my Luger at this station that would be absurd, like a rifle.
  
  
  Shen now circled me forever. I had to step back from the ego gun on the floor. He couldn't do it either, but he was completely satisfied with his new advantage. He expected me to be cut to shreds with a stiletto.
  
  
  Sheng quickly entered, feinting with his knife. He was good at it. I avoided a quick, sharp blow, but a second attack cut through the sleeve of my doublet and grazed my arm. The smile returned to his broad face. He was sure. He took another swipe with the blade and cut my chest.
  
  
  Our eyes were getting used to the dimness now, and I could see blood dripping continuously from Shen's right forearm as he methodically chased me in a tight circle. He'd seen the blood on my shirt, too, and it was clear to ego face that em liked what he saw. He decided that he would finish me off in just a few seconds.
  
  
  Then Sheng took a big step. He came to kill me, to strike a blow in my life. He took a step, turned to the side, and slapped his ego's wrist with his right hand. She was hit hard by his ego, and his arm split open from the impact. Hugo fell to the floor with a crash.
  
  
  Before Sheng could recover, her, turned to lick him and cut Ego's head and neck with the back of his hand. He grunted and dropped to all fours. I stepped over him to throw another punch, but he was ready for me. He kicked me with his right foot and knocked me off my feet, hitting me on the thigh.
  
  
  We both jumped to our feet at the same time, but I had the advantage over him because I wasn't hurt that badly. It was thrown at him by a fist, but he saw it just in time. Even though he had a sore arm, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder in a wide arc. I saw it, the ceiling and floor, as I reached for it on the way down. Her, landed on one of each tribe, still holding on to it. With the momentum he created, she was flipped over her back by ego, flipped upside down in the air, and landed hard on her back on the concrete floor. It hit with a loud thud, and he could hear the air rushing out through the ego of his lungs.
  
  
  Her father scrambled to his feet as Sheng rose weakly to his knees, out of breath. Then her ego kicked sharply at the target and he fell to his side. He tried to get back on his knees, but his ego was waiting. As he struggled to his feet, he took careful aim, slammed the back of his hand down hard on the bridge of his ego's nose, and hit the target with a loud crack. Sheng grunted and fell back to the floor. Then he twitched twice and died.
  
  
  I looked out the door and saw that the conductors were preparing to start the Orient Express again. After Hugo and Wilhelmina picked her up, he buttoned up her jacket to hide the blood on her shirt and ran to the train on a rainy night.
  
  
  
  
  The eighth chapter.
  
  
  
  Shortly after the train left for Pivka, she found Ursula on the back platform, alone, checking ammunition in her Midget Webley. She was glad to see me.
  
  
  "I saw you coming out and thought you might have a problem at the station," she said.
  
  
  Her jacket and shirt had been changed, so there was no evidence of my run-in with Shen. "There were several events for me," I admitted. "Are you getting ready for Belgrade?"
  
  
  She smiled tightly. “yeah. I think it bothers me a little bit."
  
  
  "Well, almost an hour. I suggest you go get some sleep. We won't arrive in Belgrade until nine in the morning."
  
  
  "I'll get some rest," she said. "I promise."
  
  
  Good. I need to do something. See you early tomorrow morning." Are you going back to your compartment?"
  
  
  "I think I'll get her some air first," she said. She leaned down and touched her lips to mine.
  
  
  I'm worried about you, Nick."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "See you soon."
  
  
  I left Ursula for her on the platform and walked back through Voiture 7, now the last car, to number 5, where I hoped to find her, Eva Schmidt.
  
  
  I had reached the far end of Voiture 7 both ways when I saw a man walking towards me through the corridor of the next sleeper. It was Hans Richter. He no longer carried a radio, and his face looked very businesslike. He ducked back into view and ran ahead of him, back to his compartment. He unlocked the door and stepped inside as Richter turned the corner of the corridor.
  
  
  I waited until I heard an ego pass before retreating into the hallway behind him. He walked over to Ursula, who was still on the back platform. At first I thought it was probably just a coincidence, but then I saw him stop at the end of the corridor, pull out a large stiletto from his pocket, and open the blade. There was no doubt about it: he knew Ursula was there. Apparently, he guessed that she was after him and was going to kill her.
  
  
  Richter disappeared around the corner of the corridor. He moved quickly after it, knowing that it would only take the emu a moment to kill Ursula if she didn't see it coming, and that the rumbling trains would drown out any sound it made.
  
  
  It only took me a moment to turn the corner of the corridor and reach the main platform. When his ego scanned, he saw that our men had already grabbed Ursula from behind and held a knife to her throat. Another ego hand was pressed to her mouth, and she could imagine her very wide, fearful eyes.
  
  
  Richter was speaking to his captive in a haughty, hard voice when he opened the door a crack behind him.
  
  
  "Yes, her, I know that dying is unpleasant. But that's what the Bonn government has in mind for me, isn't it?"
  
  
  It was not an easy situation. He couldn't just kill Hans Richter because Ursula and Bonn had left ego alive. It was important to them that he endure the shame of a public trial.
  
  
  He closed the door behind her, pulled Wilhelmina out, and came up behind Richter as he was about to run the stiletto across Ursula's throat. Then he pressed it, little by little, to the base of Richter's skull, so that he could feel the ego there.
  
  
  Richter turned his head quickly, still holding the knife to Ursula's neck. When he saw me behind him, a look of pure hatred appeared on his hard, muscular face.
  
  
  "You?" "What is it?" he exclaimed.
  
  
  "You'd better drop the knife, "he said, pressing the luger firmly against ego's skull.
  
  
  "What if I don't?"
  
  
  "Then I'll shoot you in the head," I said grimly, hoping he hadn't called my bluff.
  
  
  "Not before I can open this lady's throat like a ripe tomato. No, I have the advantage here, my other one. If you don't immediately put the gun away and leave this platform, her, I'll kill her immediately.
  
  
  "You misunderstand why she's here," he continued smoothly. "She's only trying to scare a woman. I wasn't going to kill her. And I'm not going to kill her now if you leave this platform. If you don't, I'll have to cut her jugular vein."
  
  
  Richter was a clever liar, but not a convincing one. I knew that if I left the platform, he would never see Ursula alive again.
  
  
  I could see her blue eyes staring at me in despair. He swallowed hard and pressed the Luger even harder against the base of his ego skull.
  
  
  "All right,"I said," do it."
  
  
  Richter looked at me. "You mean let me kill her?"
  
  
  "Actually," I said. "And after that, your target will disappear into the darkness. Now you decide, Richter. Drop the knife or you're dead."
  
  
  Hers, I hoped it sounded convincing. Richter hesitated for a moment, considering and evaluating. Then he saw his ego's face change and relax a little. He took the knife out around Ursula's throat and took his other hand away from ee rta.
  
  
  I took a big step away from Richter, and he took a little step away from Ursula. Now she turned to face him, breathing hard.
  
  
  "Well, it looks like you finally caught me," he said to Ursula in a sarcastic tone. "Wie schade für mich." It's a pity for him - ego sarcasm is harder than ever.
  
  
  "Looks like we arrested ego before you did," he told Ursule, his eyes still on Richter.
  
  
  "We'll take ego to my compartment. I will guard her ego all night so that it doesn't break free," said Ursula.
  
  
  Richter chuckled.
  
  
  "All right," I said. I didn't want this man to stay with us until morning, especially when he was worried about Eva Schmidt and Blucher, but there was no other way. "Move on, Richter." He waved the Luger at the main platform
  
  
  
  He still had the knife in his hand, and he reached out to pick it up as he passed mimmo me. He gave me the ego without a problem, but then when it was thrown overboard by the ego, taking his eyes off it for just a split second, he grabbed my right wrist with his hand and pushed the Luger away from him.
  
  
  We hit the bulkhead together, and Richter turned to grab the gun. At one point, he might have risked shooting at him, but Ursula was in the line of fire behind him.
  
  
  Her, turned with Richter while her ego spun in a small circle until the ego split hit the back of the train. Ursula was no longer behind him. He struggled to turn the luger toward him. I no longer cared if I killed him, Richter, or not, but instead tried to hurt her ego. Groaning and sweating, he pressed her like a gun to his ego and body. He squeezed my hand, and a shot was fired around the luger. Gawk hit the bulkhead and ricocheted into the night.
  
  
  Ursula had just pulled out her Webley, but I was between her and Richter, and she couldn't use it against him. With a sudden, fierce, desperate push, Richter threw me away from him. Hers fell momentarily on Ursula, knocking Webley out of her arms. Then Richter walked through the door. He disappeared behind her as another Luger shot fired at her. Gawking eyes broke the glass and hit him as he rounded the corner into the hallway. The bullet of his ego hitting the wall. But he was still on his feet. Then, it disappeared across the entire field of view.
  
  
  "Tailor!" Her, screamed. "Are you all right?"
  
  
  Ursula was picking up her Webley. "I'm fine, Nick," she said, but I could tell she was shaken.
  
  
  He grabbed the door, yanked it open, and stepped into the sleeping car. As she rounded the corner of the corridor, luger in hand, she saw Richter about halfway down, running toward the other end. It was lowered by a luger, but then he changed his mind. Most of the passengers were already in their compartments, and the shot would probably wake ih up.
  
  
  The luger lowered it and watched Richter disappear to the other end of the car. Ursula was right next to me.
  
  
  "Apologize," her father said.
  
  
  "Don't worry, Nick. He's still on the train. He wasn't going to be so lucky next time. We'll take care of it. Maybe we should look for ego?"
  
  
  "Let's go."
  
  
  We went to Richter's compartment, but Ego wasn't there. Then we searched the rest of the train. Ego was nowhere to be seen. Obviously, he had found a place to hide. It looks like we'll have to count on Ursula being able to capture ego in Belgrade this morning. He insisted that Ursula go to her compartment for a short rest. She needed it badly. Her, headed back to Voiture 5, hoping to meet the Schmidt woman.
  
  
  When it arrived in Voiture 5, I had a big surprise waiting for me.
  
  
  I had just reached the corridor leading to Eva's compartment when her door opened and Hans Richter appeared.
  
  
  Stahl turned the corner to watch. He was pulling on his jacket, and there was a bandage on his arm. He glanced around furtively, then walked away from me to the other car.
  
  
  Apparently, the ex-Nazi hid in a compartment occupied by Schmidt's women until we ego wanted to. He also got a blindfold, which meant Eve must have helped em.
  
  
  I shouted, coming out of the shelters.
  
  
  He ran. I ran after him as he flung open the door and went out through the carriage.
  
  
  He reached both ends of the corridor, yanked open the door, and followed.
  
  
  Then she was met again by a cheerful man.
  
  
  He was on the platform between the cars. He must have been waiting for Richter. He heard me scream, saw Richter running, and was ready to meet me when she burst through the door.
  
  
  With a pair of brass knuckles similar to the one used by Richter before, Mr. Jolly hit me. Her ego caught a glimpse of her face in the light of the car behind us just before we struck.
  
  
  My knees sagged. The person using the brass knuckles knew how to hit and where exactly the blow should hit to put the victim in place. I woke up curled up on the platform, the conductor shaking me and asking me what was wrong.
  
  
  "I was hit by a man."
  
  
  "Possibly a potential thief. When you walked in the door, you saw a man leaning over you. He ran to the next car. If you can describe the ego..."
  
  
  "I didn't even see their faces, egos," I lied.
  
  
  Richter's and ego buddy escaped again, but hers, thought I was lucky. If the conductor hadn't shown up, Mr. Jolly probably would have left me in worse shape than unconscious.
  
  
  I assured the conductor that I could walk. When I managed to get away from him, I went back to Eva Schmidt's compartment.
  
  
  "Who's that?" She called out in rheumatism at my knock.
  
  
  Her voice changed and she spoke in French. "Porter, ma'am."
  
  
  There was a pause. Then the lock clicked. The door opened a crack. He stuck his foot in the hole and shoved the luger into Eve's surprised face.
  
  
  "How was he about the deal we had earlier?" he told her in a gruff voice.
  
  
  "I contacted Horst. But I didn't have time to contact you again."
  
  
  Slamming the door, he told her: "You're lying - you set the Russian on me."
  
  
  The woman avoided my gaze. "If he got you into trouble, it was Ego's idea. She was only told by EMU that you are special operations in bidding for the device."
  
  
  "It's beautiful. When you told em that, you knew damn well what he was going to do."
  
  
  "You can't expect me to worry about your safety. Not after you interrupted me."
  
  
  I restrained myself. "What is your connection to Hans Richter?"
  
  
  Her gaze returned to me. "Hans Richter and I have no connection."
  
  
  "I saw him coming out of your compartment. He had a gunshot wound and came to you for help. You bandaged Emu's arm."
  
  
  Her gaze didn't waver. "I admit that this is true. But we still have no connection, other than I know that West German agents are looking for egos. I don't think it's my business. Let them capture their own former Nazis."
  
  
  "Why did he have to come to you?"
  
  
  "A few years ago, we knew each other well. Her ego became known when I saw him again. She made the mistake of giving Emu her compartment number, not even suspecting that he would get into trouble on the train." She smiled a little. "Now, don't tell me that you don't understand what I mean when I say that ego once knew well."
  
  
  "Let me tell you about a thought that just occurred to me, Eva. Maybe Hans Richter is the boss of Topcon. Maybe this is the man you call Horst Blucher."
  
  
  "Horst doesn't run when he gets shot. He's too smart for that."
  
  
  "Then where is he and why isn't he showing up?" I asked her. "What did he say to my request for a meeting?"
  
  
  She pulled out a pack of American cigarettes and lit them. "Horst says he will consider you a legitimate bidder for this device. But he will only deal with you on this train, and the deal must be locked up before we arrive in Sofia. You will make your offer through me."
  
  
  "Take the tailor and I'll do it," I said. "I am ready to make my offer on the monitor. But I only do it for the ego of the Topcon boss."
  
  
  She sighed heavily. "Emu won't like it, but I'll get her a message. I'll make an appointment and bring the notification to your compartment."
  
  
  "When can I expect to hear from you?"
  
  
  "Then we'll stop in Belgrade in the morning. I can't contact Horst tonight."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "But this time the meeting will end better. I'm getting very impatient."
  
  
  In the darkness of my compartment, I stretched out on the bed and listened to the sound of wheels as the train sped towards Belgrade, and this was an important moment for me and for Ursula.
  
  
  Ursula was hoping to catch her fish in Belgrade, and hers was hoping to meet his. Despite the story Eva Schmidt had told me, I still wondered if the man he'd been stalking and Ursula's elusive prey were the same thing ...
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Because of the night's excitement and extreme fatigue, he slept longer than expected. My only transmission is a knock on the compartment door. It was Ursula. It was a clear day outside, and we were approaching Belgrade.
  
  
  "She was asked to say goodbye in case we didn't see each other again," she told me softly.
  
  
  She hardly looked like an agent. Her tousled blond hair made her look like a young schoolgirl, which was just as well.
  
  
  "How nice of you," I said.
  
  
  When I got up from my bunk, she came over to me and pressed her lips to mine. Her, felt her soft body against his chest. After a long time, the kiss ended and she began to breathe shallowly.
  
  
  "Her mistletoe in mind is that it's really nice to say goodbye," she said.
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. I think she was taught by ee to combine business with a little fun. "We'll be in Belgrade soon."
  
  
  "It won't take long to say goodbye."
  
  
  He smiled again, leaned down and touched his lips to hers. "You're very convincing," I said.
  
  
  "I was hoping to be." She smiled.
  
  
  She pulled on her raincoat and pulled off her boots while he watched. Then she would pull the sweater over her head. This time, she wasn't wearing a bra. She looked lovely in the morning sun. When she started to take off her skirt, her shirt started to unbutton.
  
  
  A few minutes later, we were lying on the bunk together. Her warm nakedness pressed down on me, and I could feel her whole body
  
  
  
  waiting for my touch.
  
  
  Her hand slowly ran down the velvet of her thigh. We didn't bother to draw the window curtain, and sunny saint ee's skin took on a peachy hue as she moved her hips toward me. Her hand slid between her legs.
  
  
  Her breasts reached out to me, responding to my touch. She found me and caressed me slowly and carefully, in a gentle rhythm. Her lips hungrily wanted me, searching, nibbling, and sinking.
  
  
  Then I felt a slight shiver inside me and knew I couldn't wait. I approached her cautiously, and we joined hands. A beautiful moan escaped from the depths of her throat.
  
  
  I didn't say hey. He was obsessed with the urgent need to find satisfaction in her. We moved together, more and more insistently, and the beautiful sounds around her throat seemed to carry around me. Now her hips are bringing me captive to sensual desire. The rhythm increased and became more rigid. A cauldron was boiling inside me, ready to overflow. As her sounds merged with the distant whistle of the train, the cauldron boiled, and she received this hot spill to her innermost and most intimate places.
  
  
  "Nice way to start the day," I said, lying next to her. "And we don't say goodbye. Not now. I'll meet you at the police station."
  
  
  "Forget it, Nick," she smiled. "You have your own task to think about."
  
  
  "My assignment may be related to yours," I replied. "I can't explain it now. But we'd better get dressed. We're almost in Belgrade."
  
  
  We dressed quickly as the train passed the outskirts of Belgrade. Later, as we walked through the train cars, an unpleasant thought occurred to me. If Blucher's Horst had actually been Hans Richter, and if Ursula had managed to arrest ego before she knew where the stolen monitor was in the hall, or if the monitor had been taken into custody with Richter, my chances of getting ego back were slim. The Yugoslavs, of course, will not hand the device over to me or the US government.
  
  
  In a sense, Ursula and I were adversaries at that time, because our missions and immediate goals contradicted each other. He was sure that although she had saved Ursula's life, she would not have considered delaying Richter's arrest in Belgrade just because she was asked to take some of his electronic equipment away from him before he was taken into custody. She would have considered her assignment paramount because of the enormity of her previous crimes ' egos.
  
  
  However, the double identity has never been proven. I didn't see her, so I didn't want to distract Ursula from her goals without divulging my mission, and I didn't want to do that. So I decided to stay with Ursula during her arrest attempt, watching Eva Schmidt, and see what would be in my favor.
  
  
  We passed through the day coaches slowly, but we didn't see Schmidt, we didn't see Richter. By the time the train moved down the long gray platform of Belgrade station, we were standing on the platform next to the engine. There were a lot of people waiting for the train, and we both realized that our people could very easily get lost in such a crowd.
  
  
  The train finally stopped. He turned to Ursula and smiled at her. "Well, let's see if we can find any of your plainclothes guys," I said.
  
  
  We got off at the end of the train on the platform before the rest of the passengers and headed for the busy station building. Ursula wanted to see him, but he was looking at the train platforms.
  
  
  "I see ih," she said. "Keep an eye on Richter while I guide her." If necessary, we will search the train from the front and back."
  
  
  Ursula ran away, and then Eva Schmidt noticed her. She was alone and hurried through the crowd to the back of the train. He followed her, bumping into the travelers in his haste.
  
  
  I saw Hans Richter and his companion, a stocky man with a cheerful face, get out of the last car. Richter ness luggage and the familiar radio.
  
  
  They met the luggage cart and disappeared behind it. I walked up to them with my luggage hiding me from ih's eyes, and got close enough to hear ih's voice.
  
  
  "You were wise to detain Carter. This will end soon." It was Richter. "I'll meet the Russian here and make a deal."
  
  
  "Do you have a device?" It was Eve who said that
  
  
  Richter laughed. "Open here in my radio, where it's been all along."
  
  
  It was Wilhelmina who pulled it out from under his doublet. No wonder our people never parted with a radio that wasn't playing. The satellite monitor was inside the radio case. Even if the ego was taken apart, the device would look like part of fold paper to anyone but an expert.
  
  
  Walking around the luggage cart, he said, " I'm not sure.:
  
  
  
  "Thank you for arranging the meeting, Eva."
  
  
  Richter swore.
  
  
  "I'll take the radio, Horst. I guess you prefer that name, dis wouldnt you ego now use. When I have the radio in my hands, we'll go over and talk to the cops, who I know you too."
  
  
  His ego friends stayed with him until the very end. Eve swung her purse and hit me with the gun, and Mr. Jolly pounced on me.
  
  
  She was shot by a stocky man as we were falling. He was too tired to fight him.
  
  
  He was gasping for breath as he was thrown off by Alenka's ego and got to his feet again. He didn't look surprised that I pulled the trigger on the Luger. He was expecting this when he jumped after me, I thought. He was just trying to give Richter time to take a break.
  
  
  The ex-Nazi took the opportunity. He rushed back to the station, pushing people away as he went.
  
  
  Eva Schmidt also ran away. When she saw that I had put a bullet in the man who had attacked me, she turned and was lost in the crowd. I noticed her walking in the direction of the train, but I didn't care what happened to her.
  
  
  He was racing after Hans Richter.
  
  
  When he reached the entrance of the big station, he turned around. Now he was holding a parabellum mauser in one hand and a radio in the other. He pointed the Mauser at my head and fired. The shot thundered across the platform, almost hitting my left eye. A couple of women screamed. Behind me, a tall, elderly man fell to the ground - a gawking emu hit him in the shoulder. There were more screams. As Richter turned and ran for the station, he pulled out his luger ,took aim, and fired. It was then that he changed course, and he missed it.
  
  
  There was no time to see where Ursula and the police were. He ran to the station after Richter. There were hundreds of people inside, and Richter moved deftly through them to the far doorways that led to the street. I put it in Wilhelmina's pocket and increased the speed. People stood and watched, and some tried to get out of our way. Richter knocked the woman off her feet and walked on. Hers was still gaining momentum, and before he could reach the doors, he stopped ego with a few punches.
  
  
  Richter hit the floor hard, but didn't lose us Mauser, our radio. He turned to shoot my head off, but I caught it in my gun hand and pushed it away. The Mauser roared in the large room, and Gawk slammed into the high ceiling. There were more screams and screams, and there was a stampede to get away from the gunshots.
  
  
  We rolled over twice, trying to maintain control. Our hands struggled to hold the gun. He fired again, and the front window shattered. His men didn't brute punch Richter's square face, and his ego power weakened. The mauser fell out across Ego's hands as her hand quickly turned.
  
  
  Richter cursed laughed hit me in the head with a clenched fist and connected. I felt a crunch near my ear and fell to the floor. At that moment, Richter got up and reached for his Mauser.
  
  
  He pulled out his gun before I could get close to him, and when he turned to me, a small grin appeared on his face. It was thrown into the palm of Hugo's hand as he aimed the mauser at my head. But our guns, our stilettos didn't hit.
  
  
  "Halten sie! Genug!" It was Ursula.
  
  
  Richter turned away from me to see a very grim-faced Ursula pointing an emu at Webley's back. On either side of Nach were two Yugoslav secret policemen in plain clothes. Each of them had a short revolver pointed at Richter.
  
  
  "Please put the gun down," the one on Ursula's right ordered.
  
  
  Richter grunted, dropped the mauser, and looked back at me. "Damn you, tailor," he said softly in English.
  
  
  I walked over to him and yanked the radio out of his hand. The Yugoslavs nodded at me and grabbed Ego's hands.
  
  
  "We will take ego to the customs post for a brief interrogation before moving the ego of the headquarters," Yugoslav, who spoke earlier, told Ursula.
  
  
  She had to get that radio out of there. "I have to go to the train to get my bag," I said. "I'll be right back."
  
  
  I was approached with a letter by the same Yugoslav. "No, please. The train will be delayed. Come with us first."
  
  
  He didn't seem inclined to argue. "Okay," I said, reluctantly following them into the room.
  
  
  It was a rather small room with only a chair and three straight chairs. There was only one window facing the street. It looked raw.
  
  
  As we entered the room, Ursula spoke to the Yugoslav who claimed to be accompanied by ih.
  
  
  "Oh, the ego bag!" she exclaimed. "It's on the platform. I'll get it."
  
  
  "Very good," the policeman agreed.
  
  
  Ursula had just disappeared and was closing the door behind her when Richter started acting up again.
  
  
  The cops were still holding ego's hands. The one who hasn't spoken yet took the radio from me, to my particular regret, and put the ego on the chair in front of us. Now he reached into his jacket for a pair of handcuffs, but Richter suddenly and rather violently broke away from the other Yugoslav's arms and hit his ego in the face with his elbow. The cop staggered back and fell heavily to the floor, while Richter shoved the other one at me. The man bumped into me, and I had to catch his ego to keep him from falling to the floor.
  
  
  Richter hit the first officer and reached for his gun. I reached for Wilhelmina as the man who'd hit me tried to regain his balance. Then Richter appeared with a snub-nosed revolver, turned around, and shot me. I dove toward the chair, and he missed.
  
  
  The cop who'd fallen on top of me was now reaching for his gun. Richter shot him and hit him openly in the chest. The man rose to his feet, and was pushed back by the sudden impact. Ego's eyes reflected the surprise of sudden death as he slammed into the wall and then slid to the floor.
  
  
  Richter quickly walked around the chair, grabbing the radio as he went, and ran to the window. Her quick shot shot across her cover and grazed Ego's shoulder. He turned and returned fire. Then he saw that another policeman started aiming at him. He fired again, hitting the man in the face, and the cop fell heavily into his chair. Richter then turned and dived through the window, shattering the glass in a hail of shrapnel. I shot him again as he disappeared, but missed him.
  
  
  At that moment Ursula came through the door.
  
  
  "He's lost us," I said. "Come on." Her, jumped out the door mimmo curious onlookers and headed through the station to the front doors. Ursula was genuinely behind me.
  
  
  When he reached both ends of the building, he saw that Richter was no longer there. He saw a black car speeding away from the spot a block down the street, but he had no way of knowing if it was Richter's.
  
  
  "The next time I see her, Mr. Richter," Ursula said grimly,"I'm going to put a bullet in the emu's head and ask questions later."
  
  
  At that moment, the only thing he could think about was the radio that Richter had grabbed when he ran away. I had the monitor for a moment, but now it was lost to me again. Maybe forever.
  
  
  Then I remembered her, Eva.
  
  
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  
  "We're looking for the same person," Ursule told him.
  
  
  She looked at me questioningly as I hurried with her back to the station entrance. "What do you mean, Nick?"
  
  
  "There isn't much time for explanations right now. Richter is involved in a major theft, and he stole something very valuable for my government to sell to the Communists. That's why he was on the Orient Express."
  
  
  I could hear the police sirens as we raced through the station. A crowd gathered around the room where the police tried to detain Richter. Outside, the Orient Express was preparing to leave.
  
  
  "I'm going to leave you here, Ursula. Don't tell the police anything about my involvement if you can avoid it. Check in at the Majestic Hotel at Obilicev Venac 28 and I'll meet you there later. In the meantime, check out calve and try to find Richter. If you still find him, don't try to grab him, wait for me."
  
  
  "When will I see you again?" she asked. "Where are you going, Nick?"
  
  
  "There's someone on the train who can tell us where to find Richter," I said. "So, I'm going back on board. I hope to get back to you later today or tomorrow."
  
  
  She smiled. "I'm glad that our work will allow us to stay together for a while," she said. "Good luck until I see you again."
  
  
  "It's the same with you," I said.
  
  
  He reached the platform as the train started and jumped on board. The beautiful blonde Ursula waved, I'm standing in the doorway, and then turned to greet the uniformed Yugoslav police officers.
  
  
  In a matter of seconds, the train left the station and slipped back to the Yugoslav village. While in Belgrade, the train entered the dining car, which was now the last car on the train, behind the sleepers. This made another place where I would have to look for Eva Schmidt, and that's where I found her. She had just ordered breakfast when he came to her table.
  
  
  "I have to put a bullet in you, right here," I said. "But I'll give you one last chance. Get up and go to your compartment. Its going to be yours sincerely. And no tricks this time. You try something like last time, and I'll kill you without further discussion."
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment. Then she got up and walked down the aisle of the dining car. I left her
  
  
  a few bills ee a table for the waiter and followed her. Soon we were standing in front of the ee compartment door in Voiture 5.
  
  
  "Inside," I ordered.
  
  
  She unlocked the door. We went in, and he locked the door behind us. "Now, what would you like to know?" "What is it?" she asked tartly.
  
  
  "How to find your lover".
  
  
  She smiled harshly and ran a hand through her dark hair. "It can be very difficult right now. Hans will complete his sale very soon, and then he will become a very rich man. He will change his identity again and continue to elude the fools who pursue him." She was laughing. "And we can thank your government for all of that."
  
  
  He didn't like being laughed at and called a fool. "You have a way to try your luck," her father said. "Where is Richter staying in Belgrade?"
  
  
  Eve smiled. She started undressing while I was talking to her. I didn't know what she was expecting, but soon she was out of her pants and out of her bra. Nah had a ripe full digit.
  
  
  "If I give you this information, I will accept a challenge related to your work," she told me.
  
  
  She stared at me as she took off her bra and exposed her breasts.
  
  
  "You can also be kind enough to tell me where the Topcon headquarters hall is," Hey told her as he watched her pull the black lace panties off her white thighs. She tried to distract me with sex, just like so many other women.
  
  
  "Maybe we can make some sort of compromise," she purred to me, standing completely naked. She came up to me and touched me with her breasts.
  
  
  "What's the compromise?" I asked her.
  
  
  She snuggled up to me a little. "You'll settle for less than all the information you want, and I'll give you a small gift instead." She ran her tongue slowly over her lips.
  
  
  "I can still pick up the gift," Ey reminded her, feeling her hips move toward me.
  
  
  “yeah. But that wouldn't be the same, would it? It's not the same at all."
  
  
  He let the corner of the rta move. She was good. He and Richter made a great team. He probably used it in other Topcon missions. "And if I was willing to compromise, what information would you give me?"
  
  
  She moved her hips more aggressively, and it was distracting as hell. "I can't tell you where the Topcon headquarters are in the hall, because I do not know. Richter doesn't take me there. But I will tell you that he is checking in at the Excelsior Hotel in Belgrade at the Prince of Milos 5. Hers, I will tell you because he won't be there for long and you probably won't be able to find ego anyway."
  
  
  Her hips moved closer to me. Ih wrapped his arms around her and felt her soft flesh move at my touch. Ee grabbed her chin with his other hand, pulled her close, and kissed her fiercely on the lips. She held her breath, her eyes bulging. Then a look of confusion and disappointment appeared in her eyes. A moment ago, she was in control of the situation, she was directing the action, but suddenly she lost that control.
  
  
  Her chin wouldn't let go. Ego gripped her tighter. "You're lying, dear," I insisted.
  
  
  Confusion turned to apprehension. "Clean..."
  
  
  "Ah, yes. I can see it in your eyes." He let go of her chin, but held her close with his other hand. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out Wilhelmina. He held her close to her left breast and plunged her into the soft flesh.
  
  
  "It's not like it used to be," her father said. "I've run out of patience this time. Now listen carefully. I'm going to find out where Richter is hiding in Belgrade, whether you tell me or not. Do you really want to die just to make things a little more difficult? for me?"
  
  
  The fear she had shown earlier was now back in her eyes. I could tell she was thinking about what I said. She glanced down at the gun clutched to her chest, and then looked me in the eye.
  
  
  "Sava Hotel," she said softly.
  
  
  Her, looked at her face, and she was convinced. The Savva Hotel was the kind of place Richter would have chosen-small and private.
  
  
  "And the Topcon headquarters is in the hall in Lausanne, isn't it?"
  
  
  She glanced quickly at me, then away. She was pressed harder by the small gun against her chest. She gasped.
  
  
  "Yes," she said quickly. "But I honestly don't know the address."
  
  
  He took the gun and holstered it. "I believe you," I said. "And now I must leave you, and get off at the next station."
  
  
  She didn't move away from me. "Don't you want to accept the other part of the agreement I proposed?"
  
  
  He ran his hands down her thighs and kissed her on the lips. She seemed hungry to me. But I had something else on my mind. He turned and took her scarf from the wall of the compartment.
  
  
  "I know I'll love it," I said. "But it should put business before pleasure, at least sometimes."
  
  
  He held the scarf up to her face, and she looked at him questioningly. Then he pulled on her ego hey, mouth and tied it back. She suddenly started wriggling, punching, and making muffled noises through the scarf. He grabbed her naked body, picked her up, carried her to the bed and threw her on the floor. I thought I saw an expectant look in her eyes for a moment, but I tied her to the cot with her own straps and clothes. After a moment, she was sprawled out on the cot and staring at me intently.
  
  
  "As long as you don't cross the border with Bulgaria, you won't need a conductor or porter to kick down your door," her husband said. "And it's only too late. By then, I'll have reached the Sava Hotel."
  
  
  Hatred flashed in her eyes, and she muttered something in German through her scarf.
  
  
  "Don't worry about being tied up," her father smiled. "Just try to think of my alternative."
  
  
  He left her tied naked to the bunk and locked the compartment door behind him. Then I went to the Voiture 7 and my compartment to pick up my small luggage. He was ready to get off at the next stop, which was soon followed by a whistle.
  
  
  Now he had to return to Belgrade in the hope that Richter had gone to the Sava Hotel, even though the Yugoslav police were looking for him. I needed to find out if he still had the radio.
  
  
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  
  It was around noon when I got back to the central station in Belgrade on a second-class train. I took a taxi down Saraevoska Street to Knez Mihaila Boulevard, passed the impressive National Museum, made a couple of turns to make sure we weren't being followed, and then headed straight for the Majestic Hotel on Obilichev Venac Street. Ursula was very happy to see me.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick!" she said, wrapping her soft arms around my neck as I entered her room. "Her soles are on the floor. Where the hell have you been, tailor?"
  
  
  "I had to deal with some unfinished business. You didn't think that I would leave you alone in this evil communist capital, did you?"
  
  
  She closed the door behind me. I noticed that she was staying in a very elegant room at a modest price and that the nah had a beautiful view of the street. But now all she could think about was Hans Richter.
  
  
  "Did you learn anything?" she asked.
  
  
  He lit her a cigarette and offered her one, but she declined. He was looking at nah seriously now. She was quite tense. "I think I know where Richter is hiding," her father said. "Unless he panicked and ran around town."
  
  
  "Is it somewhere nearby?"
  
  
  He took a long drag on his cigarette and held it for a moment. "Yes, it's not far from here."
  
  
  "Where? Everything?"
  
  
  He studied Ursula's face for a moment before speaking. It seemed like a good time to talk about the monitor here. He had to either say this or completely exclude her from the novel, and the latter option didn't seem fair.
  
  
  "Yes hotel," I said slowly.
  
  
  "Which po?" She went to the phone on the nightstand. "I'll call the police and they'll meet us there."
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "No, Ursula."
  
  
  She looked at me with a hint of surprise in her beautiful blue eyes. Then she got the phone back. "Why not?"
  
  
  "Ursula," I said, " I'm going to talk to you. Richter stole an electronic device from the British government, a US device that is important to the security of the West. He has this device with him. At least he had it when he went out, around Central Station through the window."
  
  
  She remembered for a moment. "Radio?" she asked.
  
  
  "Yes, radio. He's pretty sure there's a device hidden inside it."
  
  
  "That's why he carried the radio with him on the train."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "That's what I believe in at the moment. Now the Yugoslav police would be happy to extradite ego to West Germany to stand trial for war crimes. Communists are always happy if they catch a person from the Third Reich. But I think you can understand that they might take a different view of corkscrew about returning me an electronic device ."
  
  
  "I understand, Nick," she said.
  
  
  "I tried to separate Richter from the ego radio stations, but I didn't succeed," he continued. "If I had been there, my task would have been completed. Now I need to get this radio back."
  
  
  "But, Nick, I can't arrest Richter without the police," she told me. "Putting the ego in the custody of our government requires a lot of bureaucracy. The police must be involved."
  
  
  "I understand," I said. "But remember that West Germany is alone in the world.
  
  
  services of countries that will suffer if this device falls into the hands of the KGB. In fact, her guess is that Richter expects to make a deal to sell the devices to the Russian government here in Belgrade. They may have already done so. In any case, Ursula, her and ask you to give me time for Richter and ego, radio, before we turn to the Yugoslavs for help in ego's arrest."
  
  
  She thought for a moment. "I want to help you catch Richter."
  
  
  "Yes, you can come with me," I agreed.
  
  
  She smiled. "All right, Nick. I'll wait for her before I call the police, but of course they might have their own ideas. I think she was seen by the person watching this hotel. I have to assume that they can't trust me completely."
  
  
  "It makes sense," I said. "After all, you're not a good communist."
  
  
  She gave me a big German smile, and her blue eyes flashed. "I'm not even a good girl," she said.
  
  
  "I wouldn't agree with that."
  
  
  She was wearing a robe tied at the waist because she had just come out for a shower. She untied the robe and let it fall open, revealing that she was naked underneath. "I guess I'd better get dressed," she said.
  
  
  He looked hungrily at her curves. "I suppose."
  
  
  The robe fell to the floor. He let his gaze wander over her bulging breasts, her slender waist, and the sweep of her milky thighs and thighs. He remembered Eva on the train, and he knew that Eva had triggered something in me that now caressed and nurtured the Ursula type.
  
  
  "On the other hand,"she said, approaching to close the distance between us," if our people are in this hotel right now, he'll probably be there a little longer."
  
  
  "I guess," I said.
  
  
  She started nibbling on my ear. And I let her start undressing me.
  
  
  Ursula was stoking a fire in me that promised to get out of control very soon. He helped her take off the rest of her clothes, then led her to the large double bed across the room. We lay down together, and the next thing I knew, she was coming up to me in a man's position.
  
  
  Her breasts hung over my chest in beautiful vertical arches. She came down to lick me, and the tips of her breasts rubbed softly against my chest, kissing my face and neck with her wet lips.
  
  
  She moved down to my stomach, kissing me gently, and a fire burned in my groin. Then she moved down, cajoling with full, warm lips until she couldn't take it anymore.
  
  
  "Now, slacker?" she asked.
  
  
  "Now," I said hoarsely.
  
  
  Ee pushed her onto the bed and straddled her, breathless and impatient. Milky thighs rose up and surrounded me, and I remember feeling them lock tightly behind me as we connected. The fire turned into a volcanic holocaust. Then there were sweet smells, beautiful sounds, and hot flesh as we climaxed.
  
  
  When I looked at the Sava Hotel, I understood why Richter chose ego. In the States, ego is best described as a flea trap - an old ramshackle building that looked like it should have been demolished long ago in the old city area. The sign outside was so dilapidated that you could walk through it without even knowing it was a hotel. It was like a place where the management would look the other way from unsavory guests.
  
  
  There were only twenty rooms in the hotel, and from the number of keys placed in the mailboxes behind the desk, he could see that only half a dozen had been taken. I wasn't surprised when a scruffy Yugoslav employee didn't ask to see our passports, but simply took out ih numbers. He was only trying to persuade the police as a formality.
  
  
  As Klera moved around the chair to pick up my piece of luggage, her looked at the mailboxes again and memorized them, which indicated that certain rooms were occupied. Then we went up the stairs with the clerk. When he opened the door and put my luggage in, he gave em a tip.
  
  
  As Klera was leaving, the door in the corridor opened and Hans Richter came out. She was pushed away by Ursula in the afternoon, and he hid from sight. A moment later, I stole a glance and saw Richter and two men standing in the hallway with their backs to me. They were about to leave the other man around whose room they had just left. The other man is Ivan Lubyanka.
  
  
  Apparently, Richter went here by the Lubyanka when he got off all over the Orient Express at Povka. Now, although Richter seems to have found another hiding place because of the accident at the station, he came here with these people, who were obviously Topcon agents, to discuss the sale of surveillance devices with the Russian.
  
  
  Richter's not ness radio. Maybe he didn't trust the KGB. He and his companions walked down the corridor to the stairs while Barbarians closed the door.
  
  
  He turned to Ursula. "These are our people, and they are our friends," I said. "Follow them and see where they go. Try not to get killed. In the meantime, I'm going to visit my Russian friend in the hallway. I'll meet you at the Majestic at three." Wait. in an hour, then this, and if I don't show up, you're on your own."
  
  
  She looked up into my face for a brief, tender moment. "All right, Nick."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "See you soon."
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Ursula disappeared down the corridor, followed by Richter and his men.
  
  
  A few minutes later, he knocked on the door of the Lubyanka room. After a brief pause, Lubyanka's voice rang out from behind the desk. "Yes?"
  
  
  Her understanding of dialects and voices was quite good, especially after mistletoe's ability to hear ih, so she cleared her throat and tried her best to sound like Hans Richter.
  
  
  "Blucher," I said.
  
  
  The lock clicked for the day as the luger pulled her out. When the door opened and Lubyanka's surprised face met hers, Stahl didn't wait for her to enter the room. He kicked hard at the door and burst into the room. It hit Lubyanka in the chest and head and knocked ego to the floor.
  
  
  Lubyanka started for the gun, but ego stopped him. "Freeze right there."
  
  
  He turned to see the luger aimed at the emu's head. Then he looked at the distance between it and the Webley and decided it wasn't worth the risk.
  
  
  "It's you again," he said bitterly.
  
  
  "I'm afraid so, old man. All right, get up. And stay away from your toy on the table."
  
  
  The barbarians slowly rose, blood dripping from their ego sticks and RTA. Ego lip is already swollen. Her, went to the door, and closed it, constantly monitoring the KGB officer. There was a great dislike in his eyes for me.
  
  
  "And now," I said, " it's a pleasure to talk to you."
  
  
  "We have nothing to talk about," he said grimly.
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  He grunted and put his hand to the cut on his cheek. "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place in math."
  
  
  "Maybe," I said. "But if I do, you'll feel really bad." Her, looked at his face when it came to me the impact of this app.
  
  
  "We haven't reached a deal yet," he told me. "Therefore, I don't have what you're looking for."
  
  
  I asked her. "If Richter still has it, where does he keep it?"
  
  
  "Richter?"
  
  
  "Sorry for the oversight. For you, he is Blucher's Horst."
  
  
  The Barbarians thought for a moment. "I have no idea where everyone is in the gym. He's very secretive and evasive."
  
  
  "Maybe he doesn't trust you, Barbarians," I said, giving him a little ego boost.
  
  
  He looked at me. "I don't trust emu either."
  
  
  The corner of my rta moved. It always gave me a little pleasure to see two unpleasant people trying to outwit the other with the other. "Well, one thing is for sure, Lubyanka. You know where to contact them. And her, I want you to tell me that."
  
  
  Lubyanka moved to the unmade bed. He was watching him closely, keeping the Luger pointed at him. "He didn't tell me where he was staying," he said slowly.
  
  
  "You're lying, Lubyanka. And you'll get a 9mm stare in the head." Her, came up to him licking. "I need the truth, and I want it now. Where can I find Richter?"
  
  
  Lubyanka's eyes suddenly became flat and desperate. To my surprise, he picked up a large pillow from the bed and turned to face me, placing it in front of him. He had no idea what he was doing, so he didn't take any chances. He was shot, and the Luger exploded in a small room.
  
  
  Gawk burrowed into the thick pillow and didn't reach Lubyanka's chest. Meanwhile, the Barbarians pounced on me, still holding the pillow between us. I took aim and shot him in the head again, and my shot narrowly missed the target as he fell on top of me.
  
  
  Lubyanka hit me in the hand with the pistol and hit him hard, but he still held the gun. Now the pillow was gone, and Varvara was twisting my arm hard with both hands. We hit the wall and he lost his gun.
  
  
  Then we both slid to the floor, trying to fight. I punched him in Lubyanka's already bloodied face, and he managed to return the blow before pulling away from me. Then he reached for Webley, who was now standing on the table next to him.
  
  
  He grabbed the gun before hers could reach it, but he couldn't get to the trigger in time to fire. When I approached him, he was tormenting them, for example, hitting me in the head with a heavy barrel.
  
  
  Her fell on the window, to moan. Then Lubianke got to his feet and made another Webley at me, but I found the strength to grab ego's gun hand and pull it before he could fire. He missed my mimmo and smashed the window with it.
  
  
  The glass shattered loudly and rained down on me as her, turned around and watched Lubyanka's body fly outwards - ego's arms were spread wide as he tried to grab something.
  
  
  During the fall of Lubyanka, there was a brief silence, then I heard her scream. He leaned out through the broken glass and saw that it had hit the second-floor balcony. He was impaled by pickets of the iron balustrade, face up, eyes open, and two pickets jutted out through the ego of his chest and life.
  
  
  He scolded himself. Lubyanka won't tell me anything now. After returning Wilhelmina, he quickly left the small room and hurried down the corridor just as shaggy sounds were coming from the grand staircase. It was avoided by ih, who went down the back service stairs to the street.
  
  
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  
  "This is the place. Richter went here with two men, " Ursula told me.
  
  
  We huddled in a dark doorway in a narrow street, looking out through the night at the old building across the street. Ursula was very worried, but she tried not to show it.
  
  
  "Do you think they might have noticed that you were following them?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I don't think so," she said.
  
  
  The house across the street was an apartment building. Ursula told me that they had entered a second-floor outdoor room, but there was no peace there at the time.
  
  
  "Well, let's go there and take a look," I suggested.
  
  
  "All right, Nick." She reached into her purse for a Webley .
  
  
  "I want you to cover me well there," I said. "This could be a trap."
  
  
  "You can count on me, Nick."
  
  
  When we got to the room where we thought Richter and Ego people were, it was empty. Her husband came in cautiously, carrying a gun, but there was no one there.
  
  
  "Come in," Ursula said to her.
  
  
  She joined me, closed the door, and looked around. It was a large room with a private bathroom. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the plumbing looked antique. There was a clumsy cot in the corner, a scarred wooden chair, and several straight chairs on the side.
  
  
  "Somewhere," he commented. Luger slid it back into its holster. He walked over to the cot. It looked like someone had been lying on it recently.
  
  
  "There's no luggage or anything," Ursula said. "We may have already lost our ego."
  
  
  "Let's take a look around," I said.
  
  
  We explored this place in parts. There was evidence that Richter was there - the butt of one of Ego's favorite cigarettes; a bottle of wine, almost empty; and in the trash can, ego tossed a train ticket, he found nothing to indicate that he would return to this room. In fact, all the evidence pointed to him leaving it behind forever.
  
  
  "What do we do now?" Ursula asked.
  
  
  "I do not know," her father said. He returned to the bathroom and slowly looked around. It seemed to me that there was some place in the room that we didn't notice. He looked at the empty medicine cabinet again.
  
  
  Then I went to the bathroom. The top was on nen. He lifted the lid and peered into the basin.
  
  
  There, I saw a piece of wet, crumpled paper floating in the clear water.
  
  
  He fished it out and looked at it. It was just a piece of paper from a larger piece that had obviously been torn up and consigned to oblivion, but nen had several handwritten letters.
  
  
  "I've got something," I said.
  
  
  Ursula came over and looked over my shoulder. "What is it?"
  
  
  "It looks like Richter was trying to get rid of it in the toilet. Can you make out what those letters are?"
  
  
  She looked at it. "It's Richter's handwriting," she said. She grimaced, turning the note slightly. Looks like it's written in Serbo-Croatian, Nick. Perhaps the main word is "national". And another letter, the beginning of another word ."
  
  
  He squinted at him: "National. But what's the second word?"
  
  
  "M-U-S-Museum, National Museum".
  
  
  Her eyes darted to Nah. "The museum. Does nen have a walk-in closet?"
  
  
  "I suppose so," she said.
  
  
  "Richter would have no reason to use the museum for a meeting," I said. "We know that he has already met Lubyanka at the Sava Hotel and possibly here."
  
  
  "That's true," Ursula said, but she didn't follow me.
  
  
  "Well, let's say you can put this radio somewhere for storage for a couple of days. You will not be able to use the luggage storage at the Central Station or at the airport, because the police there are watching you. But why not use a meal camera in a public place like a museum? "
  
  
  "But things are there, left only for a while
  
  
  
  "While the visitors are at the museum," Ursula reminded me.
  
  
  He thought about it for a moment. "They would hold the thing for a couple of days, waiting for its owner to come back. But perhaps Richter didn't want to rely on that possibility. He may have left the radio at the museum and then called them, never later, to tell them that he forgot to pick it up when he left. He would have promised to receive the radio within twenty-four or forty-eight hours. Then the ego would be assured that they took extra care to keep the ego for it."
  
  
  "That's a good theory, Nick. It's worth checking out next."
  
  
  "We'll be at the museum in the morning," I said. "If Richter finds out about Lubyanka tonight, he will most likely decide to leave Belgrade immediately, but not without this radio. If he did hide the ego in a museum, we could beat it up there. This may be our last chance to contact the emu."
  
  
  "In the meantime," she said, " you need to get some rest. I have a particularly comfortable room at the Majestic."
  
  
  "That's a good suggestion," I said.
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  We were at the National Museum when it opened the next morning. It was a sunny spring day in Belgrade. The tall trees in parque Calamegdan had bright green buds. Hydrofoil boats plied the calm waters of the Danube, and the busy traffic seemed somehow less hectic. But the museum itself was solid and gray on a clear morning, a stark reminder that Ursula and I hadn't come here for fun.
  
  
  Inside, there were high ceilings and sterile glass display cases that contrasted starkly with the sunny morning on the other side of the ego-thick walls. We quickly found the locker room. The attendant, Yugoslav, was still awake.
  
  
  "Good morning," ego greeted him. "Our other guy left a portable radio here and forgot to take ego with him. He sent us to take ego." He spoke with the best German accent.
  
  
  He scratched his head. "Radio? What is it?"
  
  
  I decided to try talking to him in Serbo-Croatian. "Radio. What he wears on his belt."
  
  
  "Ah," he said. He walked to the corner of the small room, and I held my breath as I reached for the shelf. He pulled out Richter's radio. "I have an odin left here by a man named Blucher, a Swiss."
  
  
  "Yes," I said, glancing at Ursula. "Voting is all. Horst Blucher-full name."
  
  
  He looked at the miss. “yeah. Do you have any identification, Mr. Blucher?" I don't seem to remember your face."
  
  
  He held back his impatience. I've already decided to take the radio by force, if necessary. "I'm not Blucher's Horst," he said deliberately. "We are ego friends who have come to demand a radio for him."
  
  
  "A. Well, Mr. Blucher was supposed to come himself, you know. This is the rule."
  
  
  "Yes, of course," I said. "But Mr. Blucher is ill and cannot come to the radio. We hope you will understand. You'll be doing the emu a great favor if you give us a walkie-talkie to transmit to the emu."
  
  
  He looked suspiciously at me, and then at Ursula. "Did he give you a receipt?"
  
  
  Now Ursula played a part. "Oh, dear! He mentioned that we should take the blanc frankly before leaving. But he forgot to give the ego to dn. He's very ill." Then she activated the spell. "I hope that you will not explain the error in detail. Mr. Blucher's tac Hotel will listen to beautiful Yugoslav music while he's here."
  
  
  "Ah," the man said, looking into her cold blue eyes. "Well, I can understand that. Here, you can take the radio. I already have a clear reason to keep my ego here."
  
  
  "Thank you so much," emu told her.
  
  
  He ignored me and handed the radio to Ursula. "Tell your friend to recover as soon as possible so that he can enjoy his stay in Belgrade."
  
  
  "Thank you," said Ursula.
  
  
  She picked up the radio and we went out through the changing rooms. But while walking around the building, I found that my victory was short-lived. The two men came out of the alcove in the corridor, and there was no one around. They both had guns. These were the two people from Topcon that we saw earlier with Richter, the people that Ursula followed.
  
  
  "Stop, please," the taller one ordered.
  
  
  She moaned softly. A few more minutes and the monitor would have been mine. Damn these people! This was the second time I owned it, only to have my ego taken away. Ursula wasn't as upset as I was. She had lost all contact with Richter, despite the restoration of the radio, and now these people had reestablished that contact. He wondered if she would live to benefit from this turn of events.
  
  
  A short, square man with a broken nose waved a submachine gun at the radio. "Put the radio on the floor between us, along with your purse... -
  
  
  he looked at me - and your gun.
  
  
  "Then get away from them," the taller man ordered.
  
  
  Ursula looked at me, and I nodded in agreement. With two guns pointed at us, there was no room to argue. She stepped forward and held out her walkie-talkie and Webley bag to the floor. The luger slowly pulled it out of my doublet, looking for any chance to use it against them, but now both guns were focused on my chest. The Luger put it on the floor next to the radio and her purse. I still had Hugo up my sleeve, but it seemed like I would have little opportunity to use ego.
  
  
  "Very good," said the tall Topcon agent. He had dark hair and a very thin face. He motioned to the other man, who stepped forward, opened Ursula's purse, and pulled out Webley. He also slipped it into Wilhelmina's jacket pocket. Then he picked up the radio.
  
  
  "Now come with us," the tall man said.
  
  
  Ursula looked at me again. "We'd better do what the man says," her husband said.
  
  
  We were dragged around the building unnoticed and put in a gray Fiat sedan. Ursula and I were told to get in the back of the car. The tall man got behind the wheel, and the one with the broken nose sat next to him, a gun pointed at my chest.
  
  
  "Now we're going for a little walk," the man with the gun told me with great satisfaction.
  
  
  The car entered the morning traffic. I saw that both rear doors were locked with special locks. It seemed like a pure attempt to beat up a man with a gun. Richter seems to have decided that it would be best to get rid of us so that the negotiations can continue without interruption. She was beginning to understand how he had eluded all kinds of police and government agents for so many years: he was smart, efficient, and completely free of conscience.
  
  
  We were driving around Belgrade. We drove along Brankova Prizren Boulevard until we reached the river, and then drove south to Kara Dordeva. We soon found ourselves in an open, hilly area.
  
  
  "Where are you taking us?" I finally asked.
  
  
  "You'll find out very soon," Broken nose said, giving me a sharp grin. Ego's accent was German, and the tall man's was French. It was a pretty cosmopolitan outfit, this Topcon.
  
  
  Ego's prediction was correct. Fifteen minutes later, after rounding a couple of country roads, we came to a secluded country house. The driver stopped in front of him and ordered us to get out.
  
  
  Ursula and I left via Fiat. Her had no idea where we were; her only knew that we were south of town. It was only logical that Richter would leave Belgrade, as the police were combing the city in a rage for him. To date, he has not been able to travel by public transport. I wonder if he still knew about Lubyanka.
  
  
  "Inside," the tall man ordered, brandishing a revolver. Both guns were pointed at us again. He followed orders.
  
  
  Inside, the house looked even smaller than it looked from the outside. But that was all Richter needed. A moment later, after the tall gunslinger called ego's name, Richter entered the room from the kitchen.
  
  
  "Well," he said when he saw us,"what a pleasant surprise." He reached for the walkie-talkie that the tall man had placed on a chair. "You almost got it, didn't you?"
  
  
  "So far ferret you've been one step ahead of us," I said. "But your luck can't last forever, Richter."
  
  
  Her, saw the way the mercenaries looked at me when her ego used her real name. Apparently, he was known to them only as Blucher. Richter grinned at me, then came over and punched me in the face.
  
  
  Hers fell heavily to the floor. Ursula gasped and leaned in for good. Iso rta was trickling blood. He lay there, looking at Richter and hating him. This hatred would make me try a little harder if I had the opportunity to go against him.
  
  
  Ursula looked at Richter. "The Nazi butcher!" "Stop it!" she hissed.
  
  
  Richter's face flushed with anger. He slapped her hard across the face, and she fell down next to me.
  
  
  Richter turned to the men who had brought us in. "Put them in handcuffs here and there." He pointed to the dividing wall, where a series of thin iron bars had been added to the kitchen doorway, and an old iron radiator on the side wall. "So they're separated."
  
  
  The man with the broken nose chained both of Ursula's wrists to the radiator, and the tall man chained me to the outer pillar of the partition. My hands were behind my back, and there were handcuffs on each wrist and a connecting chain around the crossbar. I had to get up, and Ursula had to sit on the floor with her back to the radiator.
  
  
  "All right, bring the bomb," Richter ordered the tall one with the gun. .
  
  
  The tall man disappeared into a small bedroom and returned a moment later with a pipe bomb. There was enough dynamite attached to it to blow up two houses the size of the one we were in. Richter looked at me with a grin, took the bomb around the tall man's hands, and placed it on a chair in the center of the room. a room about halfway between Ursula and me.
  
  
  "Andre is very good at these things," Richter remarked as he set up the watch that serves as the trigger for the bomb. "Gawking, of course, would be neater, but it is much more powerful. It is unlikely that the authorities will be able to identify your bodies, then the explosion and fire. I hope that this example will serve as a warning to anyone who might follow you."
  
  
  "I think this will get ih thinking," I said. Its carefully looked at the bomb that was already set up and ticking. Richter was right. If this thing exploded, there wouldn't be much left to explore.
  
  
  "We will never give up until you are placed under the care of the people whose name you have defamed," Ursula said in a strained voice.
  
  
  Richter glanced at Nach. "Did I defame you?" "I wish you'd been there when all this was happening, Fraulein. The third one never really depended on me alone to achieve their goals. We were all Nazis then. When we were defeated, a few of the weak ones went berserk, and the rest suddenly became anti-fascists.
  
  
  "You're a Nazi dog," Ursula hissed.
  
  
  "Now it's fashionable to be friends with former enemies, run around with socialists and betray old ideals," he continued slowly.
  
  
  "And the Nazis end up working with the Communists,"her emu denied media reports.
  
  
  He looked at me sharply. "It's a business, clean and simple. That's what I'm supposed to do as a human when they're hunting him like a dog, who attacked him."
  
  
  "Killing us won't save you, Herr Richter!" said Ursula loudly. "You will be detained, and you will get paid for what you did."
  
  
  He smiled bitterly. "Now you have less than twenty minutes to make sure." Without waiting for an answer, he turned to his minions. "Turn off the Lamborghini. We will take the Fiat to the Dragoman Pass stations in Crveni Krst. It should be safe to take the train there."
  
  
  "Yes, Herr Blucher," said the tall man. The two men turned and walked out into the street.
  
  
  As the gunmen were getting into the car outside, Richter turned back to me. "You have temporarily interrupted my deal with the Russians. But only temporarily. For this you are now being paid with your life."
  
  
  So he knew about Lubyanka.
  
  
  "When I leave here, I will not only have all the time I want, including travel, photos, music, to resume negotiations on the sale of satellite monitoring, but I will take off the surveillance of the Bonn government for a while. You see, everything is working as usual, very well for me ." He walked over to the door. Outside, the Fiat engine started up. " Auf wiedersehen. Or maybe I should just say goodbye?"
  
  
  He turned and left. A moment later, the Fiat pulled away, and the sound gradually faded as they made their way back to the main road.
  
  
  Ursula and I both looked at the ticking bomb, and then the other at the other. Ursula bit her lower lip and shook her head. "I should have killed Richter as soon as ego knew."
  
  
  "Chill out," I said. "We have less than fifteen minutes left. It doesn't leave much time for deep reflection."
  
  
  "I can't move," Ursula said, banging her handcuffs on the radiator.
  
  
  "Try to relax," her voice said calmly. "Your anxiety may be contagious, and I need to think of something."
  
  
  The damned ticking of the bomb on the table was like our hearts beating for the last time. He hung up and turned to look at the bars behind me. I pulled on the one I was attached to, and it bent, then bounced back. He frowned and rubbed the chain of his handcuffs against the bar. It made a soft sound, not as sharp, creaking as metal. After all, the bars weren't made of metal, but around a wood painted to look like black iron. Then Hugo remembered her. They didn't find Hugo, my stiletto.
  
  
  Hope bubbled in my chest and made my bowels tighten even more. I moved her right arm, but nothing happened. She was severely restricted in her movements. He turned to face Ursula and leaned back from the thin wooden bar.
  
  
  "What are you doing, Nick?"
  
  
  "Trying to save our lives," I said shortly. I didn't have time to talk.
  
  
  I moved her hand again, and Hugo slid into my palm. I held the knife so that my grip was firm. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he managed to land the sharp edge of Hugo's blade on the wooden crossbar with his bare hands. A twig cut through it, and I felt the blade of the knife sink into the wood. The wood was solid, but the knife
  
  
  was banished to a thin edge for stripes. He made small, strict movements with the blade and felt a couple of chips fall off.
  
  
  He looked at Ursula. "I'm trying to crack this damned block," I explained. I didn't see it, the dial is stiff. "What time is it?"
  
  
  "A little over ten minutes," Ursula said, leaning forward to see the dial.
  
  
  "Jesus," I said, angry that it had been so long.
  
  
  I cut her up. It does not need to cut through the entire bar. Her ego just needs to be weakened. There were a lot of chips on the floor. He stopped chopping her and pulled the bar hard. There was a slight crack, but the wood didn't break. The handcuffs were now deeply embedded in my wrists. I cut it out a little more, until I finally felt a deep crack in the wood. He braced himself against the pressure on his wrists and looked at Ursula.
  
  
  "Time," I said.
  
  
  "Six m".
  
  
  He put her legs under him and pulled with all his strength. There was a loud crack as the wooden bruce split. He fell headfirst to the floor and almost hit the chair with the bombs on it.
  
  
  My hands were still shackled from behind, but hers struggled to her feet. He could feel the blood on his wrists. Her, stood on a chair to look at the bomb. If Richter knew her, and she thought I was starting out, he would have arranged the bomb so that any concussion, such as lifting the ee, would have triggered it ahead of time. He leaned down to check the wiring, and found that he was right. I had to either defuse the bomb without moving it, or somehow free Ursula from the radiator.
  
  
  The bomb was supposed to go off when the minute hand showed half an hour, and there were only four minutes left. I didn't have much time.
  
  
  "We have to get you out of this thing," I said, turning to Ursula. "I can't move the bomb."
  
  
  "But how can I free myself?" "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
  
  
  He bent down and examined how it was rooted to the metal. There was only one way to free her, and that was to unlock the handcuffs. But, this operation would require several mines, even if her hands were held in front of her. Hugo put it in the back pocket of his trousers; I wouldn't have needed it. Then he carefully examined the radiator.
  
  
  The pipe around the basement connecting the radiator is all rusted. It looked like the radiator hadn't been used in years. In addition, the plates that attached the radiator to the wooden floor looked old and weakened.
  
  
  He stepped back and surveyed the scene from a short distance away. The radiator was placed about 30 cm from the wall. There was plenty of room for what I had in mind. Her eyes were frank in front of the radiator and glanced at Ursula.
  
  
  "Pull yourself together," I said. "I'm going to give this thing a hard hit."
  
  
  "All right, Nick," she said.
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. Two minutes left. Lifting his leg and bending it to each tribe, he ended up hitting the battery with his right foot.
  
  
  There was a crash of metal and wood as it connected, and Ursula was thrown back against the radiator. I heard her make a sharp sound in her throat. When I looked to see the results, I found a pile of rust on the floor. The radiator completely detached itself from the pipe and leaned against the groan. The plates that held ego on the floor had been torn off, but there was still rotten wood attached to them. The one around the plates was still sticking to the wooden floor by the anchor, so I threw it out again and released it completely.
  
  
  Ursula was bruised and covered in rust.
  
  
  "I'm afraid you'll have to drag your thread to this thing," her father said. "Get up. Quickly."
  
  
  She struggled to her feet, dragging one stream into the radiator with her. It was hard for nah, but nah had a lot of adrenaline. He moved sideways, grabbed the other thread with his cuffed hands, and lifted the radiator to hip level. Her, looked at the clock on the hard drive. Less than a minute left.
  
  
  I told her. "Out the door!"
  
  
  Ursula darted around the open doorway, still clinging to the large accordion-shaped piece of metal. He followed her, walking almost backwards.
  
  
  "Go very fast," I said. "Don't run. We need to go at least fifty yards. While he's digging holes in the ground."
  
  
  She obeyed orders, grunting and sweating. It was embarrassing as hell. One day Ursula fell to her knees, and her radiator thread almost lost. "Get up," he told her in a calm voice.
  
  
  She did. The clock in my head told me we only had about fifteen seconds. We moved quickly to a shallow hollow in the field next to the house and came upon nah. As soon as we hit the ground, there was a deafening explosion.
  
  
  breaking the calm day behind us.
  
  
  The shockwaves damaged my ears and scattered my hair across our faces. Then a tangle of dirt and debris hit us. Big, heavy logs were falling all around us. After a moment, it was all over, and we looked toward the house. A large cloud of smoke billowed skyward, and what little remained of the cottage was ablaze.
  
  
  "Oh, my God," Ursula exclaimed, probably imagining what would have happened to her if the radiator hadn't been properly assembled. Her blond hair was disheveled and her face was covered in dirt.
  
  
  "We were lucky," I said.
  
  
  Hugo grabbed her and went to the end of Ursula's radiator to start picking the lock on her cuffs. It took more than ten minutes. When she was finally free, she rubbed her wrists for a long time and took a deep breath. Then she went to work with Hugo to remove my handcuffs. It took Nah about the same amount of time, with her hands free. My wrists were cut by the handcuffs, but blood was already covering the wounds.
  
  
  "What now, Nick?" asked Ursula.
  
  
  "We are now heading for the Yelin-Richter Pass."
  
  
  "They have an advantage over us," she said. "And we don't have a car. They took some parts from Lamborghini."
  
  
  "I know," I said, glancing at the Italian car outside the house. Part of the ego glass was shattered, and the paint flew off one side in an explosion. "But our people have made it clear that they are returning to board the Orient Express at the pass. He is found crossing the border with Bulgaria in Dimitrovgrad. So we don't have to worry about getting to Crveni Krst when Richter gets there, but before the train departs. It might be possible if we get off the main road and catch a car right away."
  
  
  "Then let's go," said Ursula.
  
  
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  
  It was a real hike to the road. Ursula wasn't complaining, but I could tell that the strain of the last twenty-four hours was taking its toll on her. About half an hour after we left the site of the burning cottage, we reached the only road running through this part of the country.
  
  
  "It looks pretty lonely," Ursula said.
  
  
  The Rivnenskaya road ran along the river valley in both directions as far as the eye could see, but there were no cars on it. It was so quiet that it was hard to believe that any traffic ever passed by.
  
  
  "It makes me forget about Richter and just enjoy the peace and quiet," I said.
  
  
  "Yes," Ursula agreed. She went and sat down on the grassy bank by the roadside, and he joined her there.
  
  
  Ursula leaned back in the long grass, propping her elbows up. She closed her eyes and listened to a bird in a nearby field. It was a soft, sunny spring day with relaxing magic in the balmy air. Nearby, a cluster of poplars whispered, green buds adorning their lacy branches, and the wind that moved the trees also gently stirred the tall grass in the field parallel to the road. It was the kind of day, place, and company that made an agent wonder what the hell he was doing in his particular profession.
  
  
  Ursula's short dark skirt was pulled up around her hips, and I lay there looking really good. The bedroom isn't the only perfect place to make love, as I've discovered on other happy occasions. I find the perfect place in the most unexpected circumstances. But this possibility, given that we were hoping for a car at any moment, was less than favorable.
  
  
  "Nick! It's a car!" Ursula pointed out.
  
  
  It was a sedan, a Citroen, approaching us at high speed.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "I'll try to stop it." He got out onto the roadway and waved his arms in a wide arc. The car immediately began to slow down and a moment later rolled over onto the side of the road next to us.
  
  
  Inside were two young Italians on their way to the border.
  
  
  "Are you going to get to Crveni Krst on the Jelin Pass?" I asked her.
  
  
  Both of them were thin young men with long hair. The driver glanced at Ursula, and Em seemed to like what he saw. "We will definitely go to Crveni Krst," he said with a heavy accent. "Please sit down."
  
  
  We did so, and the car roared off down the highway. I was glad they liked to drive fast, because we didn't have much time. In fact, we might have already missed the chance to get there in time.
  
  
  At first, the young men flirted with Ursula. We offered cognac and hotels to stay and relax. But when they saw that Ursula didn't like group sex, they started enjoying the sun again, not when. We arrived at the mountain village of Crveni Krst, where Richter was undoubtedly heading, around two o'clock in the afternoon. The Italians took us openly to the train station, and we
  
  
  warmly thanked ih for the trip. Then Ursula and I went inside.
  
  
  It was a small place, and it looked completely gray, like most of the stations on this line in Yugoslavia. We quickly looked around the waiting room and saw that Richter and his two ego minions weren't there. Glancing at the station platform, her, I saw that the train was moving away.
  
  
  "Go," Ursula said to her.
  
  
  By the time we got off, the train was already at the end of the platform, picking up speed. It was the Orient Express.
  
  
  "Tailor!" I told her.
  
  
  He looked down into the stream of buildings, into an open area where a couple of cars were sitting, and saw the Fiat Richter was driving through a country house near Belgrade.
  
  
  "Look," I said. "Ego machines. He's on this train."
  
  
  He grabbed Ursula's arm and pulled her along as he ran down the platform to the car.
  
  
  "What are we doing, Nick?" she asked as we ran.
  
  
  "We're going to get a Belgrade butcher," her husband said.
  
  
  We stopped at a Fiat and he looked at the track. I had to catch that train. If Richter gets to Bulgaria, my chances of getting an ego and a radio were really slim. There he will receive all the necessary KGB assistance.
  
  
  He jumped into the low sports car and grabbed the wires under the dashboard. The train slowly disappeared around a bend in the track. I connected it, connected the wires, and the engine started working.
  
  
  "Get in and let's go!" he shouted to Ursula over the noise of the car.
  
  
  Hers was in the passenger seat, and Ursula was behind the wheel.
  
  
  He pointed to where the Orient Express disappeared around a bend in the road.
  
  
  Its said."Follow that damn train!"
  
  
  She only looked at me for a second. The car then flew around the corner and headed along the side of the highway.
  
  
  He looked ahead and saw that although there was a steep bank on both sides of the track near the village, there was room for a narrow sports car if Ursula could drive well enough.
  
  
  "Cross to the other side of the track at this intersection here," Hi told her as we bumped our left wheels into the sleepers. "I want to be near the train if we can understand it."
  
  
  She did as I said hey, and now we're on the left side of the highway. Ursula's eyes widened as she struggled to keep control of the car. The screeds under the wheels on the right shook the car hard, and potholes formed under the other wheels, but Ursula kept the Fiat on the side of the tracks. A moment later, the train was in sight again, and we were approaching it.
  
  
  "Hurry up," he urged her.
  
  
  Ursula stepped on the gas and we sped forward. The train was only a few yards away. It glided smoothly compared to our own wild ride. We hit a bump and the car turned left. For a moment I thought we were walking along the embankment. But Ursula fought for control and finally we went well again. The rear area of the dining car was now within twenty feet. Fiata opened the door for her and looked at Ursula.
  
  
  "When I get on board, go back to the city and wait for me at the station. I'll try to take ego alive if he lets me."
  
  
  She nodded frantically, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. He took one last look at Nah and stood on the step outside the open car. We were standing at the rear platform of the train. The open door of the car prevented us from getting too close, but I needed another head start.
  
  
  "Lick!" Her shouted hey, in rheumatism.
  
  
  The station wagon bumped, swerved, and pulled away from the train. Then we were outright opposite the train, the open door clanking against the platform structure. It was now or never. Her jumped over four feet of rushing ground, grabbed the platform railing, and grabbed nah. He pulled himself up to the platform and climbed over the railing. Then he saw her, looked back, and saw that Ursula was already braking the car. Ay waved at her, and she flashed her headlights as she slowly made her way to the next intersection.
  
  
  He straightened her clothes and pushed her hair back from her forehead. He came on board without killing us, himself, or Ursula. Now I had to find Hans Richter before we reached the border.
  
  
  He entered the dining car and looked carefully at the faces of the few people who came to drink after dinner. No one around them was a Richter, or an ego person. He moved casually around the car, as if he were just walking on a train. If the conductor had stopped me with a ticket bone, it could have been bought by the ego on board - maybe a second-class ticket, but I didn't care because I didn't expect to relax and enjoy this ride.
  
  
  Her slowly walked through the two sleeping cars, looking for any signs
  
  
  Richter, but I didn't see anything. I didn't see him in the public cars either. On the train, I saw only the faces of happy travelers. If Richter was on board, he played it safe and hid. The emu probably managed to get one or more sleeping compartments for themselves and the people's egos, and they will be inside them waiting to cross to Bulgaria in Dimitrovgrad.
  
  
  However, there was an advantage that her ferret got from them, as experienced by the last train. Now he was sure of Hans Richter's identity and knew what he looked like. Her ego might have described her to the train conductors.
  
  
  It took me ten minutes to find a porter, but when I did, he was very helpful.
  
  
  "Let me see," he said in Serbo-Croatian, " I believe that such a person as you describe will board at Crveni Krst. Yes, I remember her now. I just saw this guy enter bay 8 in the next sleeping car."
  
  
  A moment later her stopped for a day cut off 8. Her pulled Wilhelmina and mentally prepared for anything that might happen. He told himself that Hans Richter wasn't going to leave this time, he wasn't going to leave this train alive. He stepped away from the door for a moment, raised his right foot, and viciously kicked it.
  
  
  The door to the compartment slammed, and he followed it. The Luger was ready to fire. Her stayed candid for the day and inspected the interior. It was deserted.
  
  
  He quickly entered and closed the door behind him. My guess that Richter took two or more cuts was undoubtedly correct. He probably purchased another coupe, in the name of someone by other people, and he was probably there openly now, planning his next move by selling satellite monitor rides, photos, music.
  
  
  I looked around. There was no luggage or radio, but there was a jacket on the bunk. This is my version that Richter used to be in.
  
  
  She could have waited for ego here, or tried to find out where he and ego, the people, were hiding. I turned to the cot and pulled back the covers to make sure he hadn't hidden the radio somewhere. While I was being turned away on the day, I heard the click of a pen. He whirled toward the sound as he reached for the reloaded Luger.
  
  
  A Topcon agent with a broken nose was standing in the doorway, and his tall companion, shell, was right behind him.
  
  
  The man with the broken nose reached for his gun, but his ego killed him. While Ego Ruka was in his jacket, Wilhelmina's ugly little face was already pointing at his surprised face. The ego high comrade didn't even try.
  
  
  "Take your hand off the coat. Careful, " I said.
  
  
  He did.
  
  
  "Now, both of you, come inside."
  
  
  He took two steps back and entered the compartment. He ordered the tall man to close the door behind him. When he did, she was carefully disarmed by both of them.
  
  
  "How did you do that?" Broken Nose asked, " How did you get around the cottage?"
  
  
  "Never mind," I said, holding ih both in front of me. "Where Are Our People?"
  
  
  "Ah," the tall man chuckled. "You went the wrong way, my friend. He didn't get on that train."
  
  
  He was licking me, everyone. Her hit it with a "Luger" sideways on ego heads and grew up. He grunted and fell back against the wall of the compartment.
  
  
  I asked her."Do you want to try lying again?"
  
  
  The tall man was shocked and stunned. Another spoke for him. "He's on board," he said. "But we don't know where. We left the ego at the other end of the train."
  
  
  "This is a one-person compartment," I said. "Did you two take a separate compartment?"
  
  
  The man with the broken nose hesitated, and the tall one looked at him grimly. "Yes."
  
  
  "What's the number?"
  
  
  "Don't tell emu!" the tall man shouted loudly. Her ego kicked him in the shin and he screamed.
  
  
  "All right?" I asked her something else.
  
  
  "This is the next compartment," the man said softly, jerking his thumb at the wall.
  
  
  "Fool!" the tall man said through gritted teeth.
  
  
  "Okay, here we go," I said. "To the platform. Come out."
  
  
  The one with the broken nose opened the door and went out into the corridor, and it was pushed by a tall thief. There was no one in the hallway, so the Luger wouldn't let her go.
  
  
  "Move," I ordered, driving the gun into the tall man's ribs.
  
  
  A moment later, we reached the platforms between the cars. Hers was standing behind them and holding the Luger on them. "All right, jump," I ordered.
  
  
  They looked at me intently.
  
  
  "The train is moving very fast," the gunman said.
  
  
  Not as fast as gawking around that gun, ego warned her.
  
  
  Then, after a moment's hesitation, the thug with the broken nose opened the door and jumped in. In the next instant, a tall man lunged frantically at me.
  
  
  Her attack was met with a luger barrel, hitting Ego hard in the stomach. He groaned and fell heavily to the metal floor at my feet, unconscious. The Luger holstered it, dragged Ego to the open door, and threw him off the train.
  
  
  Hers, saw his limp body hit the gravel and then disappear out of sight into the tall grass. The emu was probably better off than if it was conscious, but in any case it wouldn't have stahl spend a lot of vaults on it. After all, he was trying to blow me into small pieces.
  
  
  Now it was Richter's. He was on this train, and I needed to find him. I was looking forward to it.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  There was no choice. Soon the train will reach Dimitrovgrad and enter Bulgaria, and then my work will become much more difficult. I couldn't just sit there and put my hands together and wait for Richter to show up. I had to search the sleeping compartments methodically, knocking all day. This tactic might cause me problems with the porter, but I had to take the risk.
  
  
  Her decided to go to the farthest thread of the first sleeping car, the one that licks, to the front of the train. He would start looking for her from the far end of the train and then make his way back through both cars. But this plan suddenly became completely unnecessary. When I got to a point about halfway across the first sleeping car, the compartment door opened and Hans Richter was standing in the corridor just a few feet away, staring at me like I was a ghost.
  
  
  "You!" "Stop it!" he hissed.
  
  
  Her, noticed that he was carrying a radio.
  
  
  "Go, Richter," he warned her. "You won't get to travel, photos, music now."
  
  
  But Richter had other ideas. He muttered something under his breath in German, then turned and ran down the hall away from me.
  
  
  He was heading for the sleeping car that had just left her, toward the end of the train. The train was too crowded to attempt a shot. Instead, he gave chase.
  
  
  Moments later, Richter was on the back platform of the train. He went as far as he could in that direction. When I approached him with a gun, he was waiting for me. The door slammed shut in front of me as I tried to pass through its opening on the platform. He almost lost his balance as the door slammed into my chest and arm. Richter pushed her hard. He stepped cautiously through the doorway and watched Richter disappear down the stairs to the roof of the car.
  
  
  "Give up, Richter!" he shouted over the noise of the train. But he disappeared through the fields of vision.
  
  
  It seemed that there was nothing to do but follow him.
  
  
  I leaned over the rail, looking up the stairs, and just in time saw Richter pointing a small Belgian revolver at my head. He fired, his ducked back, and gawked at the rushing ground under the wheels. Richter then moved across the roof of the car to the front of the train.
  
  
  He quickly climbed the ladder and climbed to the top of the car. Richter was already at the far end, hopping over the dining car to the last sleeping car. He lost his balance for a moment, landing on the roof of the next car, but held on.
  
  
  He ran after him across the roof of the dining car. When he reached both ends, he jumped the distance between him and the sleeping car without stopping and continued running.
  
  
  Richter turned and fired two more shots at me. I saw him take aim, and ducked. Both shots went mimmo, although the second one ripped through the roof of the car under my feet. Hers returned fire with a Luger, but as the train moved beneath us, hers also failed to aim, and the gawking innocent flew mimmo over Richter's head. Then he started running again.
  
  
  Richter jumped another seat between the cars. He was getting better at it. Hers followed; we ran and jumped over a few more cars. Richter was approaching the front of the train.
  
  
  When Richter made another jump between the cars, the train swerved, and he fell on one of every tribe. When he turned and saw me coming toward him, he aimed the small revolver again and fired two more shots. It crashed into the roof of the next car, and bullets tore through the wood in the superstructure next to my head and arm. Richter pulled the trigger of his revolver a third time, but nothing happened. Then he threw the gun at me angrily. It bounced off the roof of the car and disappeared over the edge.
  
  
  Richter turned and ran again. I got up, holstered my luger ,and followed him. Then she saw the loom ahead, on the mountainside, and the black tunnel opening in the nen. The train crashed into a tunnel, and Richter bench-pressed just in time as his carriage disappeared into the darkness. Hers was also thrown face down, and then hers was plunged into darkness. After a moment, I saw her growing up in the world
  
  
  at the other end, I went out again along the black pipe to the daytime Brylev.
  
  
  Richter was already approaching the engine. I got up and ran after him. Her task is to prevent emu from getting back on the train. He jumped into the first car behind the engine and continued driving. When her father jumped off, the train swayed on a sharp bend in the track. He fell to the right and almost slid off the roof of the car.
  
  
  He waited until the rails straightened again. Then hers, moving toward Richter. The train lurched again on the rough road as Richter approached the front of the van. He fell and dropped the radio. It slid to the edge of the car's roof, but Richter grabbed it before it could fall .
  
  
  Richter was now in the front of the car. He watched the engine as it approached to close the short distance between us. He decided not to jump to the engine, and instead went to the stairs leading over the side of the car. It got to him as soon as he stepped on it.
  
  
  Ego grabbed her with all his strength and dragged her to the roof of the car. He glared at me, trying to break free.
  
  
  "Let me go!" he shouted. "Do you also think that I created all this for nothing?"
  
  
  Ego's words were almost blown away before she could catch what he was saying. But the ego's eyes told me everything. He had succeeded where everyone else had failed, and Hans Richter was trapped in the end. In a few short days, her stahl ego was the enemy.
  
  
  He punched him in the ego square face and broke the emu's nose.
  
  
  Richter fell onto the roof of a moving car. The countryside slid beneath us at breakneck speed. I grabbed at him again, but he kicked and knocked my legs out from under me, and I fell beside him and rolled to the very edge of the roof.
  
  
  He looked down at the thicket of earth below me, gripping the edge of the roof with his hands and feet. As he slowly walked away from the end, Richter got back on his feet. When I turned to get up, he kicked me in the chest.
  
  
  She dodged the blow, and Richter lost his balance again and fell to his knees. We both struggled to our feet together, but this time I had the advantage. Her ego punched him in the stomach and he doubled over. Then its hard to hit his ego more heads and repeat the kick. He staggered back and almost fell again.
  
  
  It was now between Richter and the front edge of the roof of the cars. With a last desperate effort, he made a radio at my head. This time I saw him coming, and I stepped back as Richter approached me. The ego attack impulse carried the mimmo ego of me to the end of the car and over it. As he passed, he grabbed the walkie-talkie and snatched it out of his hands. Richter collapsed into the open space between the car and the engine.
  
  
  I didn't have a chance to save him. He almost rolled over when he grabbed the radio. At another point, Richter fell between the car and the engine, and then hit the sleepers below. For Dolly seconds, the cars rolled over the ego-crumpled figure.
  
  
  It wasn't a pleasant sight. Richter didn't even have time to shout. The body disappeared under a moving car. Then, when I looked back, I saw her leg torn off, and another part of her body that couldn't be identified had fallen off the track. The Belgrade butcher was hacked to death.
  
  
  The train was slowing down. We were clearly approaching Dimitrovgrad, and he couldn't have gotten on that train when it arrived. Hers, went down the ladder that Richter had tried to use earlier, and when the train slowed down even more, hers, jumped to the rushing ground.
  
  
  I tried to keep my legs under me, but I couldn't. She rolled over twice, scraping flesh and tearing cloth as she rolled. Then, by a miracle, he was on his back at the foot of a small embankment and saw the train's observation deck receding along the tracks.
  
  
  I felt for her broken bones, but couldn't find them. The radio had lost it, but it was fifteen feet away. In the late afternoon sun, he opened the ego from behind and looked inside. Vote it, as I came to the conclusion, has a built-in radio, so it looked like part of fold paper-a satellite monitoring device.
  
  
  He closed it and shook his head. My left hand and cue stick were burning where they had been rubbed with gravel along the path. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and looked at the tracks in the direction of where Richter had fallen from the train. There was a good mile or so and she couldn't see anything.
  
  
  About thirty yards away there was a line of parallel tracks, and a slow train was coming along them. He fired the projectile in the direction from which it had just come, towards the Yelin Pass. Somewhere ahead, this train will switch to the main track.
  
  
  It was a great success for me,
  
  
  because it will drag me around the area in a hurry and in a way that I can avoid the authorities. Its quickly moved on to other paths. A moment later, the train was moving mimmo of me, gradually increasing its slow speed. He waited for the last car to arrive, almost all around a few second-class cars, and then started running as fast as he could. I grabbed the railing of the steps on the back platform and held on, and the train yanked my legs out from under me. A moment later, he was standing on the platform with a Hans Richter radio in his hand, watching the landscape around Dimitrovgrad slide away into the distance.
  
  
  In less than five minutes, the train passed the place where the Butcher met a suitable death. He saw what looked like a pile of old clothes lying between the tracks, but the pieces were not identified as a person. The rest of Richter lay somewhere on the other side of the tracks. Her eyes stared thoughtfully at the pile for a long time, and then it disappeared from sight.
  
  
  Ursula will be annoyed that Richter wasn't brought to Bonn for trial. But at the end of the ego of an ugly career, there was a kind of justice-a kind of cruel reckoning.
  
  
  Ursula and I will spend the night in a small room in Crveni Krst. Her, touching her body, and we only thought about those warm moments together.
  
  
  We were given the right to do so.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  The Murder Squad
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  When the phone rang in the gray hours before dawn, I knew there was only one person on the other end of the line - Hawk, my boss at AX.
  
  
  The phone was on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed, so I had to crawl over Maria von Alder, who was sleeping next to me, to get to it. Maria stirred in her sleep, pulling one leg up slightly so that her transparent pink nightgown rose above her thighs as the phone picked her up.
  
  
  "You need to get back here immediately," Hawk said as soon as he recognized my voice. Ego's words were sharp and insistent. "We are working on a new deal. Be ready to leave in thirty minutes."
  
  
  "In thirty minutes?" I asked her. "How? You seem to have forgotten where I am.
  
  
  Hers was on Whiskey Cay, a tiny island off the Bahamas that Hawke himself sent me to visit. I needed to arrange for a boat to pick me up and take Odin around the big islands so he could catch a plane back to the States.
  
  
  Hawke couldn't wait to hear my rheumatism. "Be ready to leave in thirty minutes," he repeated icily. "Mr. James provides your transportation."
  
  
  Her silently nodded. James " is the code name of the President of the United States of America.
  
  
  "Okay," Hawk said, as if he saw me nod. "A boat will pick you up from main at Whiskey Cay Rivne in twenty-seven minutes." He hung up. When I hung up, I saw that Maria had opened her eyes and was looking at me.
  
  
  "It was my office in New York," her husband said. "I'm afraid I need to go back. The company sends the boat.
  
  
  Maria thought it was a millionaire named Tony Dawes, the cover she was using on my current assignment at AX. Even if she had overheard my conversation with Hawk, Nah would still have no reason to doubt my cover.
  
  
  But she grimaced, her ripe red lips exploding. "Do you need to go back today?"
  
  
  "Yes, I'm afraid so," I said cheerfully, getting up from the bed. "And not only today, but also openly now. I just have time to get dressed before the boat gets here.
  
  
  But before I could get up from the trash, Maria raised her hand and playfully tugged on my arm, pulling me towards her.
  
  
  "You don't have to be in such a hurry," she said hoarsely.
  
  
  There was no doubt about it, Maria von Alder was a beautiful creature, a long-legged, slender blonde with a perfectly formed golden body and full, smooth breasts, the pink tips of which rested on the bodice of her transparent dress. She was looking at my body, and she could see what the sight of her was doing to me. She slid off the bed on her back, lifting her hips slightly, offering me her silky body like a glass of love waiting to be filled.
  
  
  With all the willpower he could muster, he whispered to her,"There will be other times." He brushed his lips across her cheek and headed for the shower.
  
  
  He couldn't complain that the last five days on Whiskey Cay hadn't been very pleasant. The island was a playground for the very rich. There was luxury everywhere we looked - clean, washed sea yachts anchored in sparkling blue waters; acres of expensive landscaped lawns ablaze with bright fiery flowers stretching out to the sea; clusters of luxury villas, brightly painted as if they had been drawn with children's crayons, towering over the Atlantic Ocean. I've been enjoying everything, including Maria von Alder, for the last five days.
  
  
  But my visit to Whiskey Cay was still disappointing; it was there on business and was no closer to solving my current problem than on the day Hawke first briefed me at AX headquarters in Washington.
  
  
  Hawke opened the conversation with an unusual monologue about the dangers of this particular mission, the incredible odds, and the vital importance of success.
  
  
  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering what else was new. He half expected to see the lines around the ego-thin lips turn into a smile. It wasn't often that Hawke, a reserved New Englander, tried to make jokes. But I saw that those wrinkles around rta's ego and piercing eyes only got worse, and I knew he was serious.
  
  
  He shuffled the papers on his desk and frowned. "We have just been informed-this is, of course, top secret - that six hours ago the Prime Minister of England was threatened with the murder of the ego of a long-time friend, a member of Parliament. The two men were in the Prime Minister's country house when the other suddenly pulled out a rifle, pointed it at the Prime Minister, and then, quite inexplicably, pointed the rifle at himself and blew his brains out. No one else was there at the time, so we can give the public a fake story. But the real consequences of the accident are terrible ."
  
  
  He nodded to her. It was stranger than she'd expected, and even after Hawke's opening speech.
  
  
  "The official British version describes it as an accident," Hawke continued. "Misfire when another was inspecting the rifle. Of course it won't
  
  
  
  
  He mentioned that at first the weapons were directed against the Prime Minister."
  
  
  "Are you going to lend me to the British to help with the investigation?"
  
  
  Hawk shook his head. "Trouble licks to the house. Similar cases were reported in China, France, Japan and Germany. In each case, the potential killer had the power to kill his victim, but instead killed himself.
  
  
  "You can imagine the impact these reports had on the president. He could easily be the next target. And he's not going to wait for a member of this assassination team to make it to the White House, even if the killer ends up killing only himself. Our task this time is to search for and destroy - preventive measures ."
  
  
  "Do we have any leads?"
  
  
  "Not much," Hawk admitted. He lit one around his cheap cigars and puffed in silence for a minute. "I have all the files of investigations of various special services, each with its own countries, as well as Interpol. Want to know what they found? "
  
  
  He noted the facts on his fingers. "First of all, all the dead killers were complete. Second, everyone was obsessed with their excess weight and spent a lot of time trying to get rid of it. Three-three, around them were close with the Von Alder sisters."
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow at her. "Amazing. I'm looking for fat men on a diet who like beautiful girls. You're not exactly making it easy."
  
  
  "I know," Hawke said. "I'm sorry." From the way he said it, it looked like she was almost entrusted to emu. But then he became decidedly businesslike again.
  
  
  "We start with the von Alder sisters, that is, with you. This is the web-based real clue we got ."
  
  
  The von Alder girls were a bit odd themselves. Maria, Helga and Elsa are identical blonde triplets, well-known to any newspaper reader or TV viewer. They were in their twenties, and they were beautiful. They came to the United States via Germany after the outbreak of World War II with their mother Ursula. They specialized in millionaire husbands and lovers who made ih rich with gifts in the form of houses scattered around an outdoor pool, yachts, jewelry, and even private jets.
  
  
  On second thought, I decided that getting close to the background of Alders was probably one of the most enjoyable ways I'd ever gotten her started on a mission.
  
  
  It was easy enough for AX to provide me with a cover story - Tony Dawes, a wealthy businessman who had inherited a thriving export-import business with headquarters in New York. Soon, while Hawk was pulling the right strings backstage, I was invited to several parties, as were the Von Alder girls. Once her siblings met her, it was quite easy, with generous displays of gifts and attention, to become a part of the ih social network.
  
  
  Maria was the first von Alder I "explored". I took her to Whiskey Cay, where we spent five happy days in luxury. But by the morning Hawke ordered me back to the United States, he had found no other leads.
  
  
  Two
  
  
  Less than twenty minutes later, after Hawke's call to her, he headed for the main wharf at Whiskey Cay. Maria von Alder came with me, clinging to my arm. A boat was waiting there, a forty-foot cruiser, most of the flowers peeling and rusting, two diesel engines idling. There were four people on deck.
  
  
  One of the men, wearing a faded baseball cap, shouted, " We're ready to push off, Mr. Dawes."
  
  
  "Be with you," I said. I turned to say goodbye to Maria, and she gave me a long, demanding kiss.
  
  
  "Remember, Dumplink, "she said - all the von Alder sisters called their men 'Dumplink' - " stay away from these sisters of mine, or I'll scratch their eyes out."
  
  
  "Mine or well?" he asked her.
  
  
  "All eyes," she said.
  
  
  She gave me a quick kiss, and I jumped on the deck of the cruiser. The man in the faded baseball cap immediately ran away. As the cruiser's powerful twin diesels came to life, he saw the second boat hurtling toward the dock. He suddenly turned and headed for my cruiser, which was rapidly approaching the open sea, its nose slicing through the water, its nose making a rooster's tail around the spray. Soon, Maria von Alder, still standing at the end of the port bar, shrank to the size of a doll, and then completely disappeared. A few minutes later, the island itself disappeared from view.
  
  
  Suddenly I realized that another boat was following us. A familiar chill ran down my spine. Someone had made a serious mistake - could it have been him?
  
  
  He tried to figure it out, and quickly. Either the other boat was an enemy ship trying to reach me, or it wasn't on the boat that let it pick itself up, and the other boat was the one Hawk had sent to Whiskey Cay. Before I had a chance to work on it any further, the man in the baseball cap told me what I needed to know.
  
  
  "Please don't do anything stupid, Mr. Dawes," he said. He threw a piece of canvas back on the deck and grabbed the sawn-off shotgun that lay under it. It was aimed at my chest.
  
  
  At least he didn't know my real name. But her still couldn't explain how he knew I'd be waiting for him to get up from the port bar in Whiskey Cay.
  
  
  
  
  
  T. Either someone was listening in on Hawke's call, or Maria von Alder gave me away.
  
  
  There was a shout from the man at the wheel of the cruiser, and the boat turned to the right with a sudden lurch that nearly knocked us all off our feet. Then we saw what the problem was - an ominous silver object piercing the water almost openly above our bows. The boat that was chasing us fired a torpedo, but the missile missed us and flew out to sea.
  
  
  But that brief moment, when all hands on board the cruiser lost their balance, gave me the opportunity I needed to pull out the Wilhelmina, my modified three-inch-barrel Sled. While I was with Maria at Whiskey Cay, I hid her ego in a secret compartment in my luggage. But before leaving our room, on the morning when Maria was in the other room, Ego had the foresight to shove her into the crotch holster that hers was wearing in his trousers, so that he could reach for the gun and unbutton his fly.
  
  
  While the man with the shotgun was still lying on the railing, he crouched down, unzipped it, and pulled out the luger . I could see the amazement on the man's ego when the Luger popped up my fly. He yelled and swung the muzzle of the gun up, his finger tightening on the trigger. We fired simultaneously. Wilhelmina's 9-millimeter gawk closed the gap between us by half a second faster. Gawking took the man's face off and threw his ego over the railing into the sea, and the shotgun blast hit the bulkhead behind me.
  
  
  He moved quickly, grabbing the life jacket with one hand and shoving the Luger back into its holster with the other. Then her, jumped over the railing into the sea. I guessed that the men in my second boat were signaling me to try to get out of the boats when they fired the torpedo, and that they were watching me through binoculars.
  
  
  Despite the heat of the day, when it hit and went under, the water was terribly cold. Still clutching the life gillette in his hand, he jumped up almost immediately and swam from the co cruiser to the second boat, which was now rushing toward me. Over her shoulder, he saw the cruiser begin to turn in pursuit.
  
  
  The cruiser was still in mid-flight when the approaching cutter fired another torpedo. A naval missile whizzed past me, only five yards away, and this time it hit the cruiser amidships. There was a hellish explosion, and I was hit by strong shockwaves that spread through the water like an electric current passing through a bare live wire. The cruiser broke apart, sending up a giant geyser of water, debris, and wire.
  
  
  A few seconds later, the pursuing boat pulled up to the side, and help hands lifted me on board. Once on deck, he saw that this boat was an exact replica of the cruiser that had just been destroyed; even with the peeling and rusting paint and the number of people on board. But this time, one of the men showed a postcard with the seal of the United States and the signature of the president.
  
  
  "We apologize for the inconvenience," the man said shortly. "We missed the dock at Whiskey Cay. Someone set up a small diversion on our generators to delay us. When we saw the other boat leave with you, we guessed what had happened."
  
  
  "Thank you," I smiled. "You have recovered well."
  
  
  He didn't want to admit that he was a real professional. Instead, he said: "You might want to change into some dry clothes before we reach our destination. You'll find some clothes in the cabin below.
  
  
  I went downstairs and changed into fresh jeans, a sports shirt, shoes, and socks. It wasn't exactly Swedish Saville Row, but it was clean and dry. My rescuers didn't ask me any questions or offer me any information. It was probably the CIA, but I still had no idea how they planned to get me back to the mainland at the speed Hawk had in mind.
  
  
  When I went back upstairs, the same person who had spoken to me earlier told me that we should reach the transfer point in about six minutes.
  
  
  I nodded, but I still didn't understand what he was talking about. We were out of sight of Whiskey Cay for a while, and from what I knew of that part of the Atlantic Ocean, there was no land for miles to the west except the United States. All I could see were mountain waves of blue dress on all sides. .
  
  
  Five minutes and fifty seconds later, we were in sight of a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier, and the man on deck with me said, "Voice and we're here - click the button."
  
  
  A dozen jet planes with folded wings sat on the carrier like dark birds resting before resuming flight. Some of the crew members dropped the rope ladder as our boat approached the shore. He shook hands with his rescuers, then went up the stairs. The cruiser pulled away and was almost out of sight in the swirling sea before it reached the deck.
  
  
  The ship's captain met me at the top of the ramp, saluted her back, and quickly pulled me toward the jet plane that was waiting on the flight deck. The A-4 Skyhawk engines were already installed
  
  
  
  
  turned on, trying to get up in the air. He shook hands with the pilot, a young red-haired man, put on his flight clothes, and went into the rear cockpit. The pilot gave me a thumbs-up and we catapulted from the deck of the carrier into the sky at breakneck speed. When the President of the United States was your personal travel agent, accommodation was strictly first-class...
  
  
  Three
  
  
  The flight back to the States was quick and uneventful. Our destination was JFK Airport, NY in New York City, and we landed there, on a specially prepared runway. After sun and clear skies on Whiskey Cay, I wasn't prepared for the harsh, harsh January cold of New York.
  
  
  Hawk was waiting at the end of the runway in a long, dark limousine. As soon as he moved from the plane to the car, the red-haired pilot waved his hand, turned the plane around and took off for the aircraft carrier. There were two men in the front of the limo - the driver and, I guessed, another AX agent. I probably knew we were going to face a major crisis, since Hawke almost never reveals the identity of one agent to another. Hawk tapped on the glass partition that separated us from the men in front, and the limo drove through the airport.
  
  
  "Well, N3," Hawk said, looking out the window, " I guess you don't have any new information to report."
  
  
  "I'm afraid not, sir," I said, but I did tell em about the backup cruiser on Whiskey Cay and my rescue. He added: "Of course, it is impossible to prove how they got the information. Maria von Alder may not participate at all."
  
  
  "Hmm," only Hawk said.
  
  
  We drove in silence for a few seconds before Hawk turned and said sullenly, " The head of the Russian Communist Party should be here in New York in, like, six minutes. He will meet some of our people at a secret meeting at the UN before flying back tomorrow. We were given the responsibility of keeping ego safe while he was here. That's why she needed you so urgently.
  
  
  It was my turn to mutter, " Hmm."
  
  
  The limo had slowed down and now stopped at one of the airport runways, where a large crowd of people and cars was waiting for ego. Hawk leaned forward and pointed at the giant turbojet engine descending from the leaden sky. "Our visitor, just in time," he remarked, glancing at the pocket watch he wore on a chain slung across Gillette.
  
  
  As soon as the Russian plane stopped on the runway, the airport staff quickly rolled up the steps to the front of the cabin, and the Soviet party chairman got out. Several other Russian officials were watching him around the huge plane, and when they reached the stairs, the group was immediately surrounded by police and security personnel - both Russian and American - and escorted to a queue around the cars. When the procession led by a group of New York motorcyclists started, our limousine was right behind the car of the Soviet minister. Soon we were entering the gates of the United Nations, a long, stately line of flags fluttering rapidly in the icy wind.
  
  
  Once inside the building, the entire group was quickly moved to one of the private security council rooms. It was a large, windowless room with tiered seats like an amphitheater for spectators, with a podium in the center where the Soviet chairman and ego of the party, as well as the United States security Adviser and ego aides, view their seats. She and Hawk, another AX agent, are seen sitting in the front row next to the Russian security police escorting the Soviet leader out of Moscow. Behind us were city, state, and federal law enforcement agents. The meeting, of course, was closed to the audience.
  
  
  The two men communicated through an interpreter, who whispered from one to the other, so that nothing said could be heard where we were sitting. It was like watching a pantomime show and guessing what the actors were saying by their gestures.
  
  
  At first, it seemed that both men were angry and suspicious. There was a lot of frowning, frowning, and fist-banging. Soon, the anger turned to bewilderment, and then he saw that the two men had become more friendly. Obviously, they were starting to realize that neither side was sitting behind the bizarre incidents.
  
  
  Shortly afterwards, the meeting came to an end, and the Chairman of the Soviet Union and the US Security Adviser stood to shake hands.
  
  
  Then a member of the party of the Soviet premier - who later became aware that he was the Russian ambassador-made a move to the chairman of the Communists. He was holding a grenade around his pocket. The man unhooked the grenade and threw it on the plush carpet directly at the feet of the Russian leader.
  
  
  In the split second of icy terror that followed, our voices were lost in the room. It was seen in the pure horror of a Soviet minister's man as he stared helplessly down at the deadly activated grenade lying on the toes of his ego boots.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instinctively, I pulled my Luger from Wilhelmina's holster, but Hawk grabbed my arm. On the dell itself, as it was faster than me to see that there was nothing I could do. Gawking will only detonate the grenade faster. The Russian leader didn't even have time to move.
  
  
  At that moment, when everyone in the room was paralyzed, the Russian ambassador - the man who dropped the loose grenade-lunged at the explosives. There was a muffled explosion; the deadly power of the grenade was suppressed by the man's body. Ego body shattered, target torn from torso.
  
  
  The effects of the explosion shocked the chairman of the Council and others present at the podium, but otherwise they were unharmed. Hawk and I immediately moved the Russian and American delegations around the room to a limousine waiting outside. Arrangements were hastily made for the US Security Adviser and his staff to return to Washington, while the Russian side went to the Soviet embassy and stayed there until leaving for Moscow.
  
  
  Meanwhile, police ambulances and N. Y. P. D. sappers with a contingent of newspaper reporters and photographers began arriving at the UN. The private security council room was blocked off by UN police, but Hawke and I were allowed to return inside, where the remains of the Russian ambassador were being loaded on a stretcher, covered with tarpaulins. Already, Russian security police and U.S. agents are preparing to track the ambassador's recent movements.
  
  
  A call was made to the White House, and the president was informed of this by Della Street. Before this conversation ended, Hawk was called to the phone to speak with the president. When he returned, the AX chief's face was gray.
  
  
  "It was almost a disaster," he said, shaking his head. "The President has informed me that we will receive a full report on the Soviet ambassador's movements as soon as the investigation finds anything. But we already know one thing."
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "Just two nights ago," Hawke said,"the Soviet ambassador was a guest at a party hosted by Helga von Alder and her mother at Helga's Park Avenue apartment."
  
  
  "Are you sure?" she asked in surprise.
  
  
  Hawk nodded to a different AX agent who accompanied us in the limo than Kennedy, ny. " Agent Z1 was at a party. Since hers, knowing that it was impossible to keep track of all the von Alder women at the same time, was used by ego in this dell. I want you two to get together so he can tell you the details of that night. After that, I want you to work on Helga von Alder. & ..
  
  
  "Yes sir?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the urgency of your mission. There must be some connection between this business and Von Alders. Find him, no matter what it takes."
  
  
  Four
  
  
  Hawk went alone to AX's New York office, leaving Z1 and me to talk together. After spending most of the day on a plane flying down Whiskey Cay and in a car driving down JFK, NY, I finally felt like I needed to work out at the gym. She was invited by Z1 to go to a sports club to play handball while we were talking.
  
  
  None of us, of course, knew the others ' real names. The Z1 itself was about my age, a couple of inches shorter and a few pounds heavier, with straw-colored hair and fair skin. As soon as we changed into our sports uniforms and started the game, he saw that he was a worthy opponent of handball. On the court, he was clumsy, flat-footed, but he hit the ball with deadly force, so he bounced like a gawk with a ricochet, and made me move.
  
  
  "Two nights last night was a real party," he began, and was caught by the faint southern accent in his ego voice, a sort of mid-southern accent. "These von Alders definitely know how to entertain. There were a couple of actors, a Russian ambassador, two British writers, this pop artist who paints nothing but pictures with sports belts, and a dozen other people she never met."
  
  
  "Did anyone around them find the ambassador particularly pleasant?" he asked her as he hit the ball, and with a successful kick, he drove his ego hard into the middle of Z1, which made it impossible for him to return the kick.
  
  
  "Ugh!" he muttered, straightening up with an effort, Ego's face covered in drops of blood. Then, responding to my corkscrew, he said: "It seemed to me that all the guests were very friendly with each other. It was as if they were all members of some exclusive club. If you know what its about?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. "But were Helga or her mother, Ursula, ever alone with the ambassador for any length of time, during the evening?" she asked, racing up and down the landing. I didn't know what information I expected him to give me, but any clue or connection between the dead ambassador and this or that von Alder po might help.
  
  
  "No," Z1 replied, doing his fair share of running. "In fact, the Russian spent most of the time talking to this artist and finally ended the evening by buying two shoes that the guy brought with him..
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had a wild idea. "What would you think if a DOCTOR asked her to perform an autopsy on the brain of a dead Russian?"
  
  
  "An autopsy?" Z1 exclaimed, turning around and looking at me. "What can brain ego research prove?"
  
  
  "I'm just thinking," I said. "I can't get it out of my head how strange the whole situation is. Not just what happened today, but all the previous murders - or suicides, I'd say. These people formed the strangest team of assassins I've ever seen. Maybe they are first asked whether the drug is being used, or hypnotized, or brainwashed. Someone had to make ih behave so equally irrationally. There must be an explanation. Maybe the autopsy will provide some answers, help us understand the reasons for this case."
  
  
  "I guess it's worth a try." Z1 shrugged.
  
  
  "Hawk wants her moved in with Helga immediately," emu told her. "As soon as we finish the game, I'll call her here and try to set up a date for tonight. I think you'd better tell Hawke at headquarters." Be sure to tell em that I want to perform an autopsy on the Russian."
  
  
  "Of course," he said, missing the chance and losing the game to me.
  
  
  After showering and getting dressed, we went to the bar and had a couple of chilled martinis, and Helge von Alder called her from the phone booth.
  
  
  "Dumpling!" she squealed with delight as soon as she heard my voice. "You're back. My stupid sister let you go. See you tonight?"
  
  
  "Exactly what I meant," her father said. "I'll pick you up around eight."
  
  
  When her call ended, Agent Z1 and I broke up. I went to the luxury apartment in Sutton Place that I had rented for me - or rather, for Tony Dawes .
  
  
  One of the advantages of working undercover for AX was that the organization spared no expense in creating a reliable disguise for its agents. Tony Dawes ' hotel rooms were a good example. It was an elegant, elegant bachelor pad with all the seduction paraphernalia that such a man could provide for himself. Soundproofed from the outside, high enough to offer views of the city and privacy, and equipped with all the latest electronic equipment from indoor lighting to quadraphonic sound. My only requests were a small gym and sauna. I spent the rest of the day on a punching bag and uneven bars, and finished with a sauna. It was seven thirty-five when I went to see Helga von Alder in my tuxedo.
  
  
  Helga's apartment was a penthouse on Park Avenue in the eighties, in a royal building that looked more like a private club than a residence. I expected her to be alone, but when I arrived her, her, I saw that Ursula was there with a gray-haired gentleman whose face looked vaguely familiar, though his name escaped me for a moment.
  
  
  "But Dumplink," Helga greeted me, giving me the usual open-mouthed von Alder kiss on the lips and pulling me inside, "say hi to Ursi" - the von Alder daughters called their mother Ursi - "and her escort, Byron Timmons. "Then I recognized this man as one of the country's top oil magnates. Ursula von Alder also gave me a kiss on the lips, which was far from maternal, and Timmons gave me a firm handshake.
  
  
  "Ursy and Byron were just leaving," Helga added with a cherubic smile.
  
  
  Byron Timmons muttered, " Oh, yes," and began helping Ursula into her mink coat.
  
  
  "We were talking about poor Vladimir Kolchak's terrible accident," Helga said. "Did you hear that on the news?"
  
  
  "No, I told her. "I'm not afraid."
  
  
  "It wasn't like ego was killed at the UN today," Helga said sadly, " like a cauldron exploding."
  
  
  "Terrible," he said, wondering if Hawk had made up "boiler explosion" for the press by Sam.
  
  
  "Poor Vladdy," Helga said, " he was always full of life. I'm going to miss him.
  
  
  "Did you know ego?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Oh, yes," Helga said. "He was an old friend of Ursi's. He was here at the house, at a party, just two nights ago.
  
  
  "We'll all miss our egos," Ursula confirmed, kissing Helga on the cheek, brushing her lips against mine, and heading for the door. Byron Timmons followed, giving me another firm handshake.
  
  
  As soon as Helga closed the door behind the departing couple, she fell into my arms with a suppressed giggle and whispered, " Oh, Dumplink, Byron Timmons is terribly mad at me - and at you. When her date was set for you today no way when, her completely forgot that tonight her was supposed to go to the theater with him. When I remembered her, I had to do some desperate reshuffling and call in Ursi to replace her. I told Byron that you were an old, different man I hadn't seen in years, and you were only in town for the night.
  
  
  "I knew he wasn't happy about something. I understand it now.
  
  
  Helga pulled away, shaking her head. "I can be so naughty sometimes. But she needs to be with you."
  
  
  "I'm pleased," Hi told her, " and flattered. Where do you want her to take you?"
  
  
  "It's such an unpleasant night," Helga said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Its calmly said: "I thought maybe you'd better stay here and be cozy. If you don't mind something simple like champagne and caviar. I'm afraid that's all we have in the house, and it's the servants ' day off.
  
  
  "I can't think of a better way to spend the evening."
  
  
  She's me she's free. She was wearing a tight white evening dress, her blonde hair was carefully styled, and a diamond necklace hung around her neck with matching diamond pendants hanging around her earlobes. She was ready to spend the night in the city. But then I realized that the Von Alder women probably only dressed like this to loaf around the house in the evening.
  
  
  Helga turned on the music and turned off brylev. Soon she brought champagne and caviar, and we played this game side by side on a leopard-print chaise longue in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, around which we watched the city lights and the snowy darkness.
  
  
  "You know, Tony," Helga said softly, turning to me as we both sipped chilled champagne, " you're not like the other men I've known in my life. Usually ih can understand her quite easily, understand what they want from a woman. I'm not sure about you, even though I've known you for a long time. And that's the problem. I'm interested, and I think all the other Von Alder women, including Ursi, are too. She suddenly sat up straight. "Did you enjoy being with Maria?"
  
  
  Her father nodded honestly. "She's wonderful. But then all of you. You're identical triplets, after all.
  
  
  "Not completely identical." I saw her smile in the dim light. She handed me a mug of champagne and slid into the chair, pressing her body against mine. He could feel the warmth of her body through her dress. The exotic scent of ee woodwind thrilled my loins. Her finger slid under the strap of her dress and stopped.
  
  
  "Helga," I said.
  
  
  "Hmm?"
  
  
  "This guy, Kolchak or Vladdy, as you used to call him-have you seen any ego parts lately?"
  
  
  She misunderstood my corkscrew. "You don't need to be ego-jealous, Dumplink." She leaned forward to lick me, so that our thighs were touching.
  
  
  "No, but I'm curious," I insisted. "Has he visited you or your family often in the past few weeks?"
  
  
  She shrugged, still clinging to me. "Vladdi was one of those people who were always or always were close to my friends. You noticed him when he was there, you didn't miss him when he was away." She stirred impatiently. "But this past is the present. The present is always more important."
  
  
  I knew that was all she was going to say. Perhaps she was trying to hide something, or maybe she just really had nothing to say about Kolchak. In any case, he felt that he had fulfilled his duties for the time being.
  
  
  Now it was her responsibility to not let this opportunity slip through my fingers. With these fingers, she loosened the strap of Helga's dress. She slid both straps off her hands, and the soft white cloth fell around her waist.
  
  
  She wasn't wearing a bra. As she leaned back, her full, slender breasts rose, her pink-tipped nipples standing on end. She wriggled forward to meet my face, so that my mouth filled with one and then another melon-like mound. Her body shook violently as she was caressed by her nipples with the tip of her tongue, until finally, with a shuddering sigh, she took my head in both hands and brought my lips to hers. As we kissed, she ran the fingers of one hand down my thigh until she found evidence of my arousal. Her hand lingered there for a moment.
  
  
  "Wonderful, Dumplink, wonderful," she whispered breathlessly, and pressed her lips to my ear.
  
  
  He picked her up and carried her through the living room, through the foyer, and into the bedroom. In the center of the room was a huge round bed. I put her down on the nah and she took off her dress, stockings, and lacy bikini bottoms. As I lay on the satin sheets, she impatiently held out her hands to help me take off my clothes.
  
  
  Her, felt the blood flow in my blood as my eyes devoured her gorgeous body. She was an exact replica of her sister Maria, with perfectly defined, bulging breasts and gently arched thighs to a small golden triangle in the center of her body. She pulled me into her arms, and when our bodies touched, she turned her head to the side and said softly, " I'm sorry.: "Listen, Dumplink, wherever you turn, you can see us making love."
  
  
  I hadn't noticed before that the three walls of the room, at the head of the bed on either side, were completely mirrored. As Helga's body clenched and spun with mine, like some perfectly programmed but subtle instrument of sensuality, the mirrors reflected the sensual movements as if we were in the middle of a huge orgy in which we were the entire group of participants.
  
  
  She was discovered, Helga told me, that she and her sister Maria are not completely identical. There was a big difference in the way they made love. Both women made love with infinite imagination and great open pleasure. But the similarity ended there. While Maria was silent and tense, her movements
  
  
  
  
  
  
  they were exquisitely thin, Helga was wild and abandoned, her hands, thighs and mouth constantly exploring my body, exchanging pleasant sensations for each one she received. Her whole being was constantly writhing, trembling, and pushing me to greater and greater heights of ecstasy. It was as if - and the mirrored walls added to the effect-I'd made love to a dozen different women, each with a different approach and reaction. Finally, she let out a cry of pure pleasure and fell back on the bed.
  
  
  After a moment, she leaned over me for good. "Do I make you happy?" she asked, covering my face with kisses.
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "Yes, you make me happy."
  
  
  "I'm happy too," she said. "You're the person they thought you were."
  
  
  She was gently pulled by ee to look at me, our bodies pressed together from head to toe. We lie still, no one speaks to us. After a moment, she let out a small sigh at the flag of permission to perform that was waiting for her.
  
  
  "Shh," her mother whispered.
  
  
  She paused again, but not for long. "Ow!" she exclaimed. "Ouch! Ah, the Damplink! OUCH!" Her body shook convulsively again, until with a long, soft moan of delight, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes.
  
  
  My regular exercise programs for body and mind came in handy again, allowing me to give Helga one last gift of pleasure that she wasn't expecting.
  
  
  5
  
  
  Helga opened her eyes and smiled softly at me as I bent over her head. "It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful," she whispered. She rolled over and crawled out around the trash. "Get some rest, Dumplink," she said, kissing me and walking out through the rooms.
  
  
  A moment later, she returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She filled one of our glasses and handed it to me. "This,"she said," will keep you busy while I shower." She kissed me again and came into the bathroom humming happily. Sprawled luxuriously on the bed, I could hear her taking a shower.
  
  
  I took a sip of my chilled Dom Perignon. Outside, the wind picked up. The fourth wall of the room was covered with drapes, and he knew that behind the curtains were windows to the penthouse garden that surrounded all four sides of the apartment. There was a knock outside the door. He brought a mug of champagne next to the bed, pulled on his trousers, and walked over to the bed. When he pulled part of the curtain aside, he saw that the one around the door was ajar, swaying in the wind. He closed the door and locked it.
  
  
  I was halfway back across the room when that unmistakable sixth sense, a subconscious warning of impending danger, sent me its message. I don't know why, her instinctively raised both hands in front of her throat, her non-stahl act too soon. At the same time, a thin loop of wire was wrapped around my head and the bed around my shoulders. The wire that shouldn't have been stuck in my throat instead dug deep into the skin of my outstretched arms.
  
  
  My attacker let out a heavy growl and a furious rooster tug. He ducked and slammed his shoulder back. I still couldn't see who was behind me, but in that sudden lunge of hers, I caught a glimpse of two struggling images in Helga's groaning mirrors. I looked again and saw myself and the person behind me reflected there. The man was Z1!
  
  
  Ego's face was distorted from the attack, but ego's personality couldn't be changed. It was the same man he had played handball with at the sports club that day.
  
  
  It was impossible to understand why he was trying to kill me now. All I could do was protect myself. And it was an eerie, unsettling feeling to watch someone try to kill me in the same mirrors where, just recently, I'd seen myself and Helga enjoying intense sex.
  
  
  He still hadn't noticed the mirrored wall and didn't know I was watching him through it. He started to lift his leg to rest his knee on my back. She was savagely kicked by his ego with her left foot, hitting the emu in the kneecap and breaking the sl. He choked on the pain and started to fall, dragging me with him. Her tried to wriggle out on the wire roosters, turning her head as she fell. He held stubbornly to the noose, still trying to strangle me. She could see his face clearly now. Ego's eyes were glazed , as if he was hypnotized or drugged.
  
  
  Until now, the ferret was hers, hoping I could protect myself without killing him. But I have seen that this is not possible. He slammed the hard edge of his right hand into the base of the ego's throat, delivering a fatal karate blow. The blow was strong and clean. Ego's neck snapped and he was dead, probably without even knowing that Ego had killed him. Ego's body slumped to the floor, the grotesque target turned sideways. Her, got up and stood up, straddling the ego, the body.
  
  
  Hers, I could hear the shower in the bathroom. The deep-pile carpeting on the bedroom floor drowned out the sounds of our struggle. At the time, it seemed obvious that Helga von Alder had lured me into the bedroom, and I knew that Agent Z1 was planning to make an attempt on my life. No matter how good she was with me in the trash, I never could have
  
  
  
  
  
  I forget that she and her sisters were experienced actresses.
  
  
  On the other hand, he denied the media reports about her, there is still a possibility that she is innocent. Z1 knew I was meeting Helga tonight and could have followed me to my apartment. If, as I now suspected, he had received orders to kill me, he might have slipped into the room from the terrace while Helga and I were making love, and she wouldn't know any more about it than she did.
  
  
  If that were true, he couldn't let Helga show up to his liking and find the man she'd killed lying on her carpet. There can't be any explanation that would satisfy her if she hadn't blown my cover. If he did, the web lead he already had on the case, Von Alders, would be useless. There was only one thing he could do, and that was to turn the body over to Hawke, who had every means at his disposal to dispose of it without anyone noticing.
  
  
  Her, bent down, lifted the corpse on the armrests, dragged ego across the room, across the day, and threw it out on the street. Then he hurried to the bedside phone to call Hawke. I had to talk without a scrambler.
  
  
  "This is serious business," I said as soon as he answered. In short, he told Emu exactly what happened, improvising the code as he went along. In conclusion, he said: "My friend and I will leave here soon. Can you handle the sweep? »
  
  
  Hawk understood. "Leave all the arrangements to me," he said, " but come and see me tonight."
  
  
  "I'm planning on it," I said, and cut the conversation short when I heard Helga turn off the shower in the bathroom.
  
  
  A few minutes later, Helga entered the room in a sheer black negligee that revealed every detail of her body. He was sprawled out on the big bed again, sipping champagne around a glass. Fortunately, Agent Z1's death was bloodless, and there was nothing in the room to indicate the fight that had already taken place there just a few minutes ago. If Helga was part of the plot and came back expecting to find me a dead body, she didn't give any indication. Instead, she snuggled up next to me on the bed while Ay poured her a glass of champagne.
  
  
  "A amore," she said, touching my glass with hers.
  
  
  "A amore," I agreed.
  
  
  After we got drunk, he swung his legs out of bed and said, " Go on, Dumpling, I'm going to invite you to dinner. Man lives not only by love. At least not this man.
  
  
  We chose a restaurant in a small, dimly lit French place, not far from Helga's apartment. It was still snowing outside, but the restaurant was warm and fun, and the service and eda were excellent. But hers really wasn't hungry, as throughout the meal, hers kept imagining the gruesome scene that would later take place in Helga's apartment as Hawk cleans up the body of a dead AX agent.
  
  
  Helga didn't seem to notice my concern and ate heartily, chatting animatedly throughout the meal. Once, she pretended to pout - the same gesture Maria had made when she'd left her at Whiskey Cay - and said, " Dumplink, let's go somewhere for the weekend so we can be alone. You left with Maria. It's my turn now."
  
  
  I was amused by this playful competition that already existed among the girls. "What was on your mind?" I asked her.
  
  
  She made a vague gesture with her hand in the air. "Mexico. Maybe Spain. South of France. After all, a jet plane is just sitting idle on a hanger. We could take advantage of that." She offered it as casually as if she were talking about a taxi ride across town. And I could see that she was serious.
  
  
  "Well," I said, leaving my options open, because I didn't yet know what complications there would be after Agent AX's death.
  
  
  Helga nodded, and she surprised me by suddenly looking serious. This was not the mood she had expected from the giddy von Alders.
  
  
  "I'll tell you something, Tony," she whispered, her fingers entwined with mine as we sipped our cognac. "I receive vibrations from you, vibrations of great power. This is what I've always wanted in a man. The gentleness of a caring lover and the strength of an authoritative person. Sometimes you find one or the other. But both-never! It is very good. She frowned and slowly made up her mind: "I once tried to explain what I wanted to her to a man I knew. He was gentle but not strong, and he said I felt the same way because I never knew my father. He said I was looking for a lover and a father all rolled into one. Do you believe that?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "I never think about such things, the reasons for my feelings. The feelings themselves are important ."
  
  
  "I think so, too," she agreed. "But I do think about my father sometimes, and I know that Maria and Elsa think too, even though we never talk about nen."
  
  
  "Don't you remember ego at all?" I asked her.
  
  
  “no. Just what Ursi told us. He was killed in Berlin during one of the Allied bombing campaigns at the outbreak of World War II. My sisters and I were very young then, and it was only by a miracle that Ursi saved us alive.
  
  
  She smiled and beamed again. "Boo
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "With them, the ferret's life became good," she said.
  
  
  Later, when he took Helga back to her apartment, he stayed long enough to make sure that Hawk had removed the body from the terrace. Of course, he took care of it. When I left Helga's house, she reminded me again that she wanted us to go together for the weekend. They promised to let you know. Then hers, went downstairs and took a taxi to the AX headquarters.
  
  
  Six
  
  
  TOPOR's New York office was located on the city's Lower West Side, in a warehouse in the panel district. The taxi driver wasn't happy when he heard the address. I think he thought I was going to rob ego on the way, because I heard him sigh with relief as we pulled up to the house. Ego turned her over and got out. As she started to cross the sidewalk, he leaned out of the windows and asked, " What's the matter?": "Are you sure this is the right place for you, buddy?"
  
  
  He waved it away. The ego's feelings were understandable. The entire embankment was dark and deserted. The building that housed the AX headquarters was darkened, except for one lighted room at the front of the building. The taxi driver had no way of knowing that all the other dark windows in the building were painted over to hide the commotion that usually went on inside twenty-four hours a day, and that people with powerful infrared telescopes were constantly watching the street. As a matter of fact, a taxi driver can't be safer anywhere in the city than being outspoken there, outside the most powerful counterintelligence agency in the world.
  
  
  The night guard on duty in the lighted front office, which looked like a normal storage area, pressed the bell button under his desk, and her, went through the iron door to the elevator with people. Sentries with telescopes in the windows above had already cleared me with both men when it was still approaching the building.
  
  
  "Hawk left orders to take you to the basement as soon as you enter," the elevator operator said. The car descended.
  
  
  The basement meant that Hawk was waiting for me in the agency morgue. Like most top-secret intelligence organizations, AX had to have its own morgue on site to handle corpses that couldn't be immediately handed over to the police. However, most of the bodies were eventually turned over to local law enforcement after the road was cleared, so there were no embarrassing questions.
  
  
  She was found by Hawka standing next to Z1's covered body. The AX medical examiner, Dr. Kristoffer, was with him.
  
  
  Hawk nodded at me, and the medical examiner, whom we called Dr. Tom, said, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.: "I've done a preliminary autopsy, Nick. This is consistent with what you've told us. Ego, the death was caused by a broken neck."
  
  
  "Did you find anything else?" I asked her.
  
  
  Dr. Tom shook his head. "Nothing yet. Why not?"
  
  
  Instead of answering emu, he spoke to Hawk. "Agent Z1 reported to you today with my suggestion to perform an autopsy on Ambassador Kolchak's brain?"
  
  
  "No, I didn't," Hawke said. "He came back here to HQ and told me that you had contacted Helga von Alder. Then her ego didn't see it. There was no mention of an autopsy. Is this important? »
  
  
  "Maybe," I said slowly. "It could give us a possible motive for an ego attack on me."
  
  
  Hawk frowned. "I'm not following you."
  
  
  Her, knew that talking in front of Dr. Tom, who had the highest level, was allowed for all actions, and therefore safe. "Well, when he attacked me in Helga's apartment, he looked dazed - like a man who couldn't control himself - but his physical actions were perfectly coordinated."
  
  
  "You mean," Hawk interrupted, " you think he was a member of the murder squad?" As much as I don't like the idea that Odina, through our agents, might be under the influence of this - this force, or something else, her power."
  
  
  "But that doesn't necessarily explain why he tried to kill me," I continued, " unless he said or did something to her that threatened what we're fighting. The only thing I can think of is my suggestion for an autopsy. Since he didn't pass on the offer to you, but tried to kill me, it looks like it was a connection.
  
  
  "What exactly do you think the ambassador's brain test will show?" asked Dr. Tom.
  
  
  "I don't know," I said. "But we reputed that the people involved in these incidents were somehow brainwashed. So the Russian's autopsy was a blow to the proof of the "brainwashing" theory. We may not find anything, but then we have nothing to lose if we try."
  
  
  "Yes, I see," said Dr. Tom. He looked at the corpse lying on the slab of the AX dump. He glanced at Hawke. "How about this, boss?"
  
  
  Hawk hesitated for only a split second. "Go," he said, nodding.
  
  
  Dr. Tom pulled the sheet up over his rigid features. "This will take me a couple of days," he said thoughtfully, " and I'll send you a report as soon as I get the results."
  
  
  Hawk and I walked out of the dump in silence and took the elevator to the first-second floor of the building. This city was a nerve center
  
  
  
  
  
  
  headquarters in New York. A staff of more than fifty people worked there twenty-four hours a day on teletypes, radios, and closed-circuit television systems that kept in touch with the offices of the world's police forces. The hallway that led to Hawke's office was next to a large room. There were one-way glass windows on the walls, so they who were in the hallway could see the room, but they who were in the room couldn't see ih. This made it impossible for other AX employees to observe the secret agents who showed up at Hawk's office.
  
  
  Once we were in Hawke's office, the AX chief settled wearily in his desk chair, rummaging through his pockets until he found a chewed cigar and stuck it unlit in his mouth.
  
  
  "I must admit, Nick," he said, " that this case has bothered me. What do you think of die Von Alders?
  
  
  "It's hard to say," I said, choosing my words carefully. "As far as I was able to determine, they are exactly what they seem on the surface. But it's hard to discount the fact that every time new developments appear in dell, they are somehow connected."
  
  
  "Speaking of new developments," Hawk said, " I didn't have time to tell you about Monte Carlo. We just received a message from Interpol today.
  
  
  "Monte Carlo?" I asked her.
  
  
  “yeah. There's a casino there. A man named Tregor, a Belgian, breaks a bank. Tregor's brother-in-law tried to stab the German Chancellor with a knife a few weeks ago, but instead stuck the knife in his throat. We don't have anything on Tregor, but you'd better go check it out anyway.
  
  
  "The casino management temporarily stopped the game," Hawke said. "But they agreed to renew the ego in a day. Her hotel would like you to be there when the casino reopens, but I don't want you to lose contact with Von Alders. Can you handle both of them? "
  
  
  "It's not a problem," emu told her. "Earlier this evening, Helga begged me to go to Mexico with her. She said we could use her private jet."
  
  
  "And you think she'll agree to a Monte Carlo?" "You have to invest a lot in your work."
  
  
  "It has its rewards." "I can well imagine," he replied, waving me away around his office.
  
  
  Seven
  
  
  It was early, just before eight o'clock the next morning, when she got a call from Helga's apartment. I knew she wouldn't be up so early, but I couldn't put it off any longer if we were going to fly to Monte Carlo that day.
  
  
  The voice that answered was sleepier than the vaults. "Hello there. Hello there?"
  
  
  "Helga,"I said," this is Tony Dawes."
  
  
  "WHO?" she asked, still half asleep. "Hello?"
  
  
  "My God," I said, laughing, " don't tell me you forgot me so soon after last night. This is Tony.
  
  
  "A... Tony, Dumplink " - now rheumatism was full of life.
  
  
  "The reason she called you so early was because she wanted to invite you on a little trip - just the two of us. But instead of Spain, France, or Mexico, let's do Monte Carlo. How does that sound?"
  
  
  "Divine," she said. "When do you want to go?"
  
  
  "Sincerely now," Hi told her, " this morning, as soon as possible. You said the plane was ready.
  
  
  "Of course," she said. "But why Monte Carlo?"
  
  
  I've already decided to explain my real reason for choosing Monte Carlo. That morning, TV, radio, and newspapers were all talking about the casino escape.
  
  
  "You probably haven't heard of the Barents Sea territory," I said. There is a lot of money in the casino. Last night, the management suspended the game for a day. Her hotel would be there when it starts again."
  
  
  I thought it would be just what Von Alder would like. I knew I'd guessed right when I heard her squeal of delight.
  
  
  "Let's go," she exclaimed without hesitation. "How soon will you be ready for takeoff? Do you want him to pick you up on Long Island?"
  
  
  The Von Alders kept their plane at their Long Island estate on the North Shore. Hers was at the manor a couple of times with them ferret as met the family. So, since her knew where it was coming from in the hall, her told hey I'd meet her there in two hours.
  
  
  I gave it to Hawke and then worked out a little at the small gym in my apartment before getting dressed and packing my bag. Hawk sent a car with a driver to take me to Long Island, and when we got there, hers, he found Helga waiting and already preparing the plane for Von Alder's private airstrip.
  
  
  Less than two hours after Helge called her, we took off in a Lear jet and flew over the Atlantic. Helga and I played this game on the seats in the back of the spacious cabin, which had all the amenities - chaise lounges, a sofa bed, a bar, and even a crystal chandelier - of a comfortable living room.
  
  
  It was a perfect day for the field; the sky was blue and cloudless, from horizon to horizon - a welcome change from last night's overcast weather. The sea below us was a smooth blue carpet.
  
  
  Helga led me into the cockpit to meet the pilot, Captain Dirk Aubrey, and co-pilot Douglas Roberts. Aubrey was a tall, stocky guy with a pencil-thin black mustache. Roberts was a slender young man, probably,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  he was in his early twenties, with blond hair and a freckled moon face.
  
  
  "She's on course," Aubrey said, nodding toward the dashboard,"and the weather is clear, and it's open at Orly, where we'll refuel."
  
  
  Over the next few hours, Helga and I entertained ourselves by watching a movie, which she showed by simply pressing a couple of buttons, and then playing backgammon. Helga seemed much more subdued than the night before, but she was still good company, and the time passed quickly.
  
  
  We must have been less than fifty miles off the coast of France when, without warning, the plane plummeted nose-first into the sea. Helga shouted. Everything in the cabin that wasn't nailed down, including Helga and me, slid across the sloping cabin floor and hit the closed cabin door hard.
  
  
  Helga was still screaming as he tried to turn on his side to open the cabin door. It was locked. It was Wilhelmina who yanked it out, my Luger in its shoulder holster, and blew the lock. The door swung open, revealing the cabin that was now directly below me.
  
  
  When her father peered into the cockpit, he saw that Captain Aubrey was still at the controls, but the ego, the pose, seemed to have frozen. "Co-pilot Roberts was lying on the floor, dead or unconscious. The plane was still falling toward the ocean.
  
  
  It was called by Aubrey, who turned his head for a moment and looked at me. Then he went back to driving, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Looking at his face, she knew the same blank expression that the agent had seen when he'd tried to kill me in Helga's apartment. Ego's eyes were glazed, as if he was under hypnosis or under the influence of drugs.
  
  
  Up to this point, her fingers were hanging from the side of the cabin for the day. Now he let go of her grip and lunged forward into the cockpit. He reached for the pilot at the controls. Somehow I managed to hook one arm around Ego's neck and lift Ego partially free of the wheel, but he still stubbornly clung to the controls until he yanked on it with all his strength and threw Ego back into the back of the car.
  
  
  The plane continued to fall towards Moscow.
  
  
  He dropped into the pilot's seat and jerked the wheel hard. A strong shiver ran down the jet from nose to tail, but then the nose slowly began to rise. He continued to pull the wheel, straining every muscle in his body, trying to overcome the force of gravity. Finally, the plane leveled off, just a few feet from the Atlantic. I was lucky to have flown enough planes to be able to. I couldn't handle this plane, but it was still a near disaster.
  
  
  For the next few minutes, he was busy checking his instruments as the jet skimmed steadily across the ocean's surface. Everything seemed to be working, so I pushed the wheel forward and we started climbing again. Then Helga called my name down the back of the cab.
  
  
  I turned just in time to see Aubrey approaching me with a wrench. Holding the steering wheel with one hand, he grabbed Wilhelmina again with the other and shot the emu in the right shoulder. He staggered back and fell, letting the wrench slip around his numb fingers. Trying to keep the plane on the rise, her father glanced back at the pilot. He got to his feet again, but rolled back into the rear cab. In the background, I saw Helga curled up in a corner of the hut. I still had Wilhelmina in my hand, but I didn't want to shoot again if Aubrey didn't move us toward Helga, toward us, toward me.
  
  
  He didn't do it. Instead, he drunkenly trudged to the door of the cabin, which Emu managed to open despite the enormous pressure on nah. There was no stopping the ego except by firing - and if I missed it, I'd endanger the entire plane. Aubrey hovered in the open doorway for a moment, then flew headfirst. The plane spun her around so that the door slammed shut. Under the starboard wing, he could see Aubrey's body falling almost in slow motion, his arms and legs spread out to the sides until he hit the water and disappeared under the uneven surface.
  
  
  Helga joined me in the cockpit, while hers focused on the controls of the plane. She tried to revive Roberts, the co-pilot, who was still unconscious on the floor. Hey took a long time to bring ego to his senses, but eventually he muttered, sel hesitantly, and looked around. He was shaking his head. "What happened? What's going on?"
  
  
  This behavior confirmed my suspicions that he was on drugs. When he recovered enough to speak coherently, he told me that the last thing he remembered was the cup of coffee that emu had handed to Aubrey. He was still too stunned to ask about the missing captain, so Emu didn't tell her anything about Aubrey's fate. I'll come up with some explanation later.
  
  
  By then, I had contacted the control tower in Orly, which we were approaching, and we were allowed to land. We landed a little later and the plane stopped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn't say I didn't feel better.
  
  
  When we got off, around the plane, Helga looked at me with a puzzled look in her eyes. "What happened there?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "It's hard to say. It looks like your captain clung to the wheel and flew into a rage of fear when the plane started to fall. He was probably half-mad when he attacked me and then jumped. Roberts, our co-pilot, must have lost consciousness due to gravity. Such things are not uncommon in flight. But let me talk to the authorities so that we don't get caught up in red tape."
  
  
  It was impossible to tell if she really accepted my explanation, but she didn't press me any further.
  
  
  When "we reached the terminal building, accompanied by Roberts, who was still shaking on his feet," the head of the Orla Security Police found her and asked ego to send me an AX agent, a man she knew as Dammlier,and the local chief. Of Interpol. When both men arrived, I told them exactly what had happened, indicating that I suspected the incident was related to my assignment. I told her that Helga and I needed to go to Monte Carlo immediately.
  
  
  "Let me take care of that,"the Interpol man said when he finished. "There won't be any problems. Perhaps your assistant here "- he turned to Dammlier - " can find a reliable pilot and co-pilot to take you to your destination.
  
  
  Dammlier nodded, and the meeting ended. In less than an hour, Helga and I were on our way to Nice, the closest landing site to Monte Carlo. We had two Americans, probably part of the French headquarters, or the CIA, to pilot the plane. Dammlier made arrangements to bring Roberts back to the States, and Helga herself assured him that he would continue to work for Nah and receive a salary while he recovered from his accident. As far as anyone could tell, my explanation - that Roberts had lost consciousness - was accepted by both Helga and the authorities.
  
  
  The flight to Nice was uneventful. We landed licks by the evening, and Helga and I played this game on a limousine at the Hotel de Paris, near the casino in Monte Carlo. Helga arranged for a limousine to meet our plane, and also reserved connecting rooms at the hotel. We were lucky that Helga was well known; we were guaranteed a room, even though Monte Carlo was full of curious tourists from all over the world. The streets were teeming with tourists, giving the city a heady carnival feel, and there was no empty hotel room.
  
  
  As we drove through the streets of Monte Carlo, where the Mediterranean shimmered like a dark, rich wine in the evening shadows, I was reminded of the legendary story of Monaco's origin in 303. According to legend, Corsican. The virgin, Devot, was punished by the governor of Corsica when it was discovered that she was a Christian. The governor sentenced the girl to be tied up and dragged on horseback over rough terrain, and then stretched on a rack to death. At the moment when she died, a white pigeon was spotted above her body. One night, when her body was taken by a monk and advertised in a fisherman's boat, the white pigeon reappeared. The fisherman followed the pigeon as the bird glided down the & nb, leading ego to Monaco, and buried the girl's body there.
  
  
  I wondered if my stay in Monaco would be just as incredible.
  
  
  8
  
  
  My suite was surrounded by stunning views of the sparkling sea and towering cliffs stretching for miles along the curving coastline. As I unpacked my bags, showered, and changed, I could probably hear Helga walking around in her room next door. By the sounds of her movements, I could tell that her actions, for example, duplicated mine.
  
  
  The casino game resumed within a few hours. We would certainly have dined in the hotel's penthouse restaurant with a sliding ceiling that opens up to the sky. But there was still time for lunch. I knew that Helga didn't care about sightseeing, and I thought it would be a shame if we didn't enjoy this time together in more enjoyable activities. Hoping Helga felt the same way, I solved her small but potentially unpleasant problem with the locked door between us by ordering champagne, caviar, and three dozen red roses to be delivered hey, at six. After about a minute, then an hour, she knocked on the door and called me softly.
  
  
  "You're very attentive," she said, holding out a mug of champagne as her host entered her room.
  
  
  As she approached the sea-view windows, she was wearing a delicate pink negligee that accentuated her body in a beautiful silhouette. He paused for a moment to enjoy the view of her body through the thin fabric of her clothes, then joined her at the window. The setting sun disappeared somewhere below the horizon, but left a deep, rich, golden reflection in the clear sky. The waters of the Mediterranean Sea, in turn, reflected the sky, enhancing the sanctity, so that the room seemed alive and dazzling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  like gold.
  
  
  "It's a beautiful view, isn't it?" said Helga, turning to me.
  
  
  "Yes, very nice," I replied, deliberately running my gaze up and down her body until I met her gaze. She ran her tongue over her lips and asked: "Do you like me, Tony?"
  
  
  "Yes, very much."
  
  
  "How much do you like my sisters?" she insisted. This corkscrew surprised me after a night we spent together in New York, but instead of answering hey, candid, her, he held out his hands and said: "You want me to show her to you, how much?"
  
  
  She came toward me in a sensuous, smooth motion, her eyes half-closed and her lips parted. She was kissed by ee, and her entire body responded immediately, gently vibrating up and down towards me. Her legs parted and wrapped around mine, and I could feel her trembling tenant searching for my own aroused, responding body. She moaned softly and rocked back, holding out a mug of champagne. He set his glass down on the nearest chair. When he turned around, he saw that she had slipped off her nightgown.
  
  
  The golden holy Lord turned her naked body into an exquisitely sculpted living bronze statue. I barely had time to take off my clothes before she dragged me into the lounge chair with her.
  
  
  "Quickly!" she whispered pleadingly, lifting her hips. They joined us.
  
  
  "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she muttered while holding her breath. Her hands gripped my shoulders and arms, and her nails dug into my flesh as she urged me on. A few moments later, hers, I felt her body open and contract around me, her target spinning side to side with passion until we reached the peak of a wildly convulsive climax.
  
  
  As we lay side by side on the chaise longue, she turned her head and looked at me. She smiled softly, " Now you know, don't you?"
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  Her knew what the ferret should have guessed with them as we left around New York, but of course, just a few minutes ago, there was no way to tell. The woman lying next to me wasn't Helga, because I was familiar with her particular way of making love. And not Maria, whom he also knew intimately.
  
  
  "You're Elsa."
  
  
  "Yes," she admitted. "You're not sorry, are you?"
  
  
  "How can you ask such a spin? After what we just shared? "
  
  
  She laughed happily. "Helga will be furious when she finds out what I've done. I was spending the night at her apartment when you called me this morning. She was still asleep and couldn't hear anything. When you suggested a trip to Monte Carlo, its just decided to pack up and go and let you think its Helga. It doesn't make much sense to have so much fun. Besides, you've already spent enough time with my two sisters. My turn."
  
  
  Listening to her words, her father thought that this was exactly the kind of trick that the von Alder women were capable of. But even though her explanation seemed plausible enough, she had to remind herself that the von Alders were suspected of the crime he was trying to reveal to her, and that there might be something sinister about Elsa replacing Helga.
  
  
  But at that moment, there was nothing I could do. She was lightly slapped by ee on her pretty little buttocks and told ee to get dressed.
  
  
  When we arrived at the casino after lunch, we found it stuck. The huge crowd sat in a tight circle around one roulette wheel, waiting in silence. Inside the circle were three men: the croupier, a second man in a tuxedo and dark glasses-obviously Odina Poe - and a Belgian named Tregor, the man who robbed the bank.
  
  
  Elsa and I managed to squeeze through the crowd to a spot just a few feet away from the three men. As soon as we arrived, the spinning roulette wheel clicked to a stop, and the watching crowd moved forward and gasped. The croupier shoved a huge stack of chips across the chair to Tregor, who calmly placed ih next to another huge stack in front of him.
  
  
  "Oh my God!" The woman next to me whispered excitedly. "He just won half a million dollars! What will he do now?
  
  
  Tregor seemed oblivious to the people around Ego. He was a giant, imposing man with a big belly, who was drinking a glass of mineral water, which he filled around a bottle standing at ego's elbow. Dark circles covered Ego's eyes, but his face, I noticed, was a completely blank mask.
  
  
  All eyes in the room were on him, waiting to see what he would do next. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the fist cupped with his right hand, as if he was meditating, and remained in this position for a few seconds. At that moment, he was probably the only one in the crowd who looked at the director standing across from him. He was almost in the same position as Tregor! It was as if they were silently communicating with each other!
  
  
  A second later, both men look up at the same time, and with a firm hand, Tregor confidently places his entire stack of chips on the red square in front of him.
  
  
  Elsa grabbed my arm. "He'll bet on all his winnings!" she whispered incredulously. "A million dollars!"
  
  
  Tregor leaned back in his chair, and the croupier raised his hand and started the wheel again. It was spinning
  
  
  
  
  
  
  dizzy for a second or two. As it began to slow down, the onlookers began chanting in unison, "Red, red, red" - Tregor's level. Finally, the wheel stopped. The Belgian won again. The croupier pushed another stack of chips to Tregor's original stack. Two million dollars! The director then stepped forward and announced in a low voice, " The wheel is closed for the night."
  
  
  The crowd retreated as Tregor collected his chips with the help of several casino employees and made his way to the cashier. Her, noticed that at least twelve secret agents around the various foreign affairs states, all of whom she became aware of, were stalking him. Tregor couldn't, he couldn't go anywhere without them agents watching him. The world governments did not allow him to slip around the city easily.
  
  
  I took a look at all the modes of transport in and around Monte Carlo. There were only three roads leading around the city, and they were easy to observe. The city authorities kept all boats in the harbor under constant surveillance, and they had the fastest boat in the Mediterranean. No one could fly away by air, because Monte Carlo does not have a level surface sufficient to create an airfield. These factors did not allow Tregor to escape the agents who followed him to find out where he got the money he won. There was no need for me to follow.
  
  
  I was interested in the director and the croupier, who now understand that the roulette wheel is a common practice at the end of the game when the house has suffered such huge losses. The wheel will be moved to the basement of the casino, where all the casino wheels made around the rosewood are produced. He knew that each wheel was balanced to the nearest thousandth of an inch, and that it moved over the precious stones as precisely as a clock.
  
  
  But the wheel could be repaired. That's why her hotel took a closer look at this particular one and why her followed the director and croupier when they went through the next door. As I watched them disappear through the doorway, I told Elsa to go back to the hotel and wait for me there.
  
  
  It was dark on the stairs leading to the basement, but the holy light was burning at the bottom. I was halfway down the stairs when the door slammed behind me. At the same time, a blinding brylev flashed on. Then I heard a high-pitched scream. I quickly turned around and saw that Elsa had followed me, contrary to my instructions. The man, probably the one who slammed the door shut, grabbed it tightly and pointed a gun at me.
  
  
  I turned toward the basement and saw the casino director and the croupier coming up the stairs toward me. Both were armed with rifles, and the croupier also held a piece of pipe in his hand. When the two men reached the step below me, the director removed his dark glasses. Ego's eyes were glazed, as if he was under hypnosis or under the influence of drugs. "Take care of nen," he ordered. The croupier picked up the iron tube, and everything went black.
  
  
  Consciousness returned slowly, and even when I could see and hear her again, I felt as if I were looking at my surroundings from a distance and through a foggy filter. My body and limbs felt heavy and limp. Even though the rough hands were pushing me, he barely felt anything. Gradually, she began to feel the symptoms of her lethargic state. While I was unconscious, I was heavily drugged. It must have been one of those powerful central nervous system depressants.
  
  
  Her struggled hard to overcome the effects of drugs, but even if hers, was in excellent physical shape, hers was only a partial success. I could see everything that was happening around me, but I couldn't move. The croupier and the director put me behind the wheel in the front seat of the car. I saw Elsa, drugged and unconscious, sprawled on the seat next to me, and men were standing inside both open doors. The Mercedes ' engine was racing, but the car wasn't moving.
  
  
  Then I noticed that one of the men was adjusting something on the floorboards under my feet. Soon after, he slid out around the car and I heard him say, " Okay, it's ready to take off."
  
  
  All the cars slammed shut. The engine was still running. My befuddled brain couldn't make sense of what was happening. Dimly, as if I was in a fog, I saw a hand reach through the open window next to me and turn on the Mercedes. The car lurched forward.
  
  
  Then I realized that I was going to put Elsa and me in the Mercedes, pressing the accelerator to the floorboards. Now we were racing through the dark, deserted roads of Monaco at over a hundred miles an hour. At this accelerated speed, the Mercedes will collapse before we go too far, and we will both be killed. When our bodies were discovered, it looked as if we had died as a result of a drug overdose. There would be no sign of murder.
  
  
  Desperately, he tried to gain control of his body.
  
  
  So far, we've been lucky, and the car was in the middle of the road. But there will be hills and twists ahead,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  and if I don't start driving the car, we'll soon be off the road. I tried to lift my hands, but they felt heavy. I tried it again. Both hands rose heavily, wavered, fell, and slowly rose again. She could see the dark landscape passing by mimmo in the blinding fog around the car window. I was sweating as I tried to raise my hands a few inches toward the steering wheel. Then a couple of signs showed up ahead of her. I saw my fingers close around the steering wheel, but I couldn't feel the wheel under them. Somehow I managed to turn the ego a few degrees to the right as the car entered an S-curve. That was enough to keep us going. The car spun around a bend at breakneck speed and ejected down a steep incline.
  
  
  The road continued to climb. I could see through the car windows that we were on the edge of a cliff that sloped down almost openly to the sea from the end of the sidewalk. The car soared to the top of the cliff and then raced down the steep slope toward the road like a metal shell around guns. Tires screeched on the sidewalk. Still discouraged by the drugs, I tried to concentrate on our only chance of survival: somehow I had to keep the car upright and on the road until it finally ran out of gas.
  
  
  It seemed that the subsequent nightmare would not have both ends. Mile after mile, the Mercedes roared past darkened villas and cottages, up and down the twisting, twisting roads of the Cote d'Azur. Monaco was far behind us. We raced along the cornices, the highway connecting Monaco to Nice, and then through Nice itself, quiet and closed for the night.
  
  
  The highway for Nice was level with the sea-wet, slippery, and dangerous. The back of the Mercedes slid from side to side. If we had skidded, we would have landed in the sea. But the Mercedes sped through Antibes. Finally, somewhere between Antibes and Cannes, it began to lose speed and rolled through Paris elements and elements. With a huge effort, I turned the steering wheel, the car flew to the side of the road and stopped. The engine stalled. Elsa, who was still sitting next to me, didn't move once.
  
  
  Nine
  
  
  The sun was shining in my eyes. Sell moaned, too, biting the back of her neck. The Mercedes was still parked on the side of the road. The first thing I saw was that Elsa was wearing makeup. Then I saw a crowd of children outside the window on Elsa's side, pressed up against the glass and staring at Nah with wide eyes as she powdered her nose. She looked gorgeous , as if she'd just woken up from a refreshing nap. Trucks and cars sped by on the highway, and I noticed that most of the passengers inside craned their necks to get a better look at us.
  
  
  Elsa noticed me sitting down, put away her CD and lipstick, and smiled.
  
  
  "Did we have fun last night?" she asked cheerfully.
  
  
  I didn't know what she knew or remembered about last night, when we were interrupted on the basement stairs of the casino. The whole night was a nightmare for me, but I have to give the von Alder women credit for one thing-they were resilient.
  
  
  "Come on," I said, leaning over mimmo nah to open the door on her side. She got out, around the car, and I followed her. "We need to get back to Monte Carlo. This car ran out of gas."
  
  
  "But how do we get there?"
  
  
  "Leave it to me," I said, pulling her up beside me on the edge of the highway. The children were still gathering around us. He placed Elsa in front of him so that she could be easily seen by passing traffic, and gave a thumbs-up sign to the international hitchhiker. The first passing car braked, and the driver opened the door, rattling in French.
  
  
  "Monte Carlo," I said.
  
  
  "Oi," he said. Elsa and her, who were driving in front with the driver, returned to Monte Carlo in a truck filled with eggplants. The doorman at the Hotel de Paris didn't raise an eyebrow as we walked out of the truck, still in our evening clothes, waved and thanked the truck driver, and stormed through the lobby.
  
  
  I left her Elsa at the door of her room, and told her to get some rest. As she entered her rooms, her phone rang. It was the local agent, AX, the man I knew as Chiclet. He said I needed to contact my local AX office immediately to get a call from abroad. Hawk was probably making a scrambler phone call. I hurriedly changed my clothes-even in Monaco, a tuxedo would never attract unwanted attention - and went to the AX office, which was located in a villa not far from the hotel. Chicklet met me at the door and drew me aside. talk. The place was crawling with the same agents he'd seen at the casino, the people assigned to track down Tregor when he'd left with his winnings.
  
  
  Before Chicklet asked her about Tregor, her father told Em what had happened to Elsa and me and asked if we could meet the casino director and the croupier immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Iklet shook his head. "I'm afraid it will be difficult," he said sadly. "Both disappeared with Tregor."
  
  
  "Disappeared?" I asked incredulously. "How could Tregor disappear with all these ego-chasing agents?"
  
  
  "We were faced with a very insidious intelligence," Chiclet explained. "Last night, when Tregor left the casino, he went back to his hotel. We had people watching the place from the front and back. Other agents are looking at positions on roads leading around the city and along the harbor. But Tregor, the casino director, and the croupier all eluded them."
  
  
  "How do they do it?"
  
  
  Chicklet shook his head as if he still didn't believe it. "The Tregor room had a balcony with a sea view. Once, in the early morning, a helicopter flew over the city.
  
  
  It picked up Tregor from the balcony, and apparently picked up the others somewhere else in the city, and flew away. An amazing phenomenon ."
  
  
  Her father agreed.
  
  
  "We may not find anything," Chiclet continued, " but we're checking up and down the coast to see if anyone heard from the helicopter. If so, they might be able to tell us the direction she went in."
  
  
  "And if we don't find anyone who heard the helicopter, we'll go back to where we started," I added. Then she was contradicted by reports in the media that Chicletu had told me that I would get a call from abroad.
  
  
  He nodded. "Hawk wants to talk to you over an encrypted wire. I'll tell the operator to call her back." He led me to the office upstairs, and when Hawke came to the line, he left me alone.
  
  
  "I heard your quarry got away," Hawk said without preamble. "Any further developments?"
  
  
  "No," emu told her before giving emu a full account of my own experience last night.
  
  
  Hawk snorted. "It looks like you had a close call." He paused, and the wires between us buzzed briefly. Then he said, " Something happened here that her hotel is talking about, just so you know. Bet I think -- about the autopsy of the brain Z1 was justified. Dr. Tom did find something - a small microscopic disk embedded at the base of the brain. We don't know what it is or what it means. The lab guys are trying to analyze it now. And Dr. Tom can't figure out how he got there. There are no marks or signs of surgery on the skull."
  
  
  "Still, it must mean something," I said.
  
  
  "Maybe," Hawk said vaguely. "When we find more, if we do, I'll let you know. What are your plans now? "
  
  
  "I want to try to find the helicopter and the money after that," emu told her. "Both are probably still somewhere in the area. Money can lead me to someone who is at the source of all this. Either way, this is the only promising lead I've had so far ferret."
  
  
  "Yes, well, good hunting," Hawk said , and hung up.
  
  
  Chiclet was waiting for me in a downstairs room filled with men who were talking rapidly on the phone in French and Italian. One wall was covered with a large map showing Monaco and the surrounding Ego lands from the Gulf of Lyon, on the French coast in the west, to the Gulf of Genoa on the Italian coast in the east. Colored pins were attached to the map at various locations outside of Monaco.
  
  
  "My agents are making some progress," Chiclet said, nodding toward the people on the phone. "You see," he pointed to the map on moan, " we've been contacting authorities in towns along the coast in both directions to ask local residents if they heard by helicopter during the night. Now we're starting to get back calls with results ."
  
  
  "Any positive responses?"
  
  
  "Fortunately, yes," Chicklet said, leading me to a wall map. He pointed to the pins. "So far the ferret we have had reports from Saint-Raphael and Frejus that was heard by a helicopter. Reports from the east, across Italy, are negative. Apparently, these people were heading west. Now we are concentrating on the coast for Frejus. He smiled. "In the near future, we will be able to tell exactly who, where they went."
  
  
  Her, looked at the map. West of Frejus, along the curving coastline, were Saint-Tropez, Hyeres, La Seine, and beyond that Marseille. But what else caught my attention in the map was a group of islands lying in d'hiere, off the coast, midway between Frejus and Marseille. I started thinking.
  
  
  "Look, Chicklet," I said, " it's very important that I get a helicopter and a pilot right away. Can you arrange that?" »
  
  
  "Of course. It will take some time, but let me make a call."
  
  
  He used one of the phone numbers and came back, nodding. "There will be a helicopter ride here within an hour. The nen will be flown by one through our agents in Nice. He looked at me questioningly. "Do you have a plan?"
  
  
  "As far as she's concerned," I said, " this helicopter didn't go very far - it never planned, it never could. My guess is that it landed somewhere nearby where the ego could be hidden, and that money and people will probably be transferred from there tonight."
  
  
  "Transmitted?" Chicklet asked, puzzled. "For what?"
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "I think yours is as good as mine. But I think they'll use a speedboat."
  
  
  "A fast boat!" exclaimed Chicklet. "Of course. That would be an obvious thing to do. " v? Pointing to the map, he added ," And that makes me think that maybe the noise
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The cutter we're looking for might be hidden somewhere on these islands, in D's lair.'Ersa or on the coast. Wherever it is, it will be easier to detect the ego from another helicopter, which is flying low, than from the ground."
  
  
  Chicklet agreed with my reasoning. While we were waiting for the helicopter to arrive, I called Elsa at the Hotel de Paris and told her that I would be tied up for a while on some business, but I wanted her to wait for me there.
  
  
  "I was going to surprise you," she said, pouting. "I slipped into your room, but you weren't there. Are you sure you're doing business? "
  
  
  "Just stay where you are until I get there. It could be later today or tonight. Then we'll have plenty of time for surprises ."
  
  
  10
  
  
  Since it wasn't practical to attract too much attention in Monaco, Chiclet drove me around the city to a place in the hills where we waited by helicopter. Before we left the office, we received new reports that we had not heard a single helicopter west of Frejus during the night. It looks like he might have guessed - he took cover in a helicopter somewhere nearby.
  
  
  "Now be careful," Chicklet advised anxiously. "You don't know what chances you'll face."
  
  
  He nodded to her. My trusty Luger, Wilhelmina, sat snugly in my shoulder holster, and my Hugo stiletto was in its own scabbard under my coat sleeve, ready to spring into my hand at the slightest movement of my arm. He wasn't particularly worried about the odds.
  
  
  Soon he arrived by helicopter, which we were waiting for. It was a UH-1 Huey helicopter. Chicle introduced me to the pilot, a young Frenchman named Marcel Nome de Clement, a big, thin, disheveled man who smiled easily.
  
  
  Chicklet instructed him to follow my orders and warned him that the job could be dangerous.
  
  
  "I'm not worried about danger, Chicklet," the pilot assured ego. "You know what."
  
  
  He climbed into the chopper, but before we took off, Chicklet made a circuit of the ship to make sure it was in perfect working order in the lounge. Then he waved us off. Marcel was sitting in the nose of the helicopter, and her seat behind him was pushed back so that I could see clearly from below through the powerful binoculars Chiclet had given me.
  
  
  We headed west along the coastline. After we passed Frejus, Marcel flew low-lying, while he and I combed the ground in a hole for any signs of a place where a helicopter might be hidden. We passed a few places with dense foliage, and other places where there were depressions in the rocks - places that could be hidden by helicopter-but I couldn't find anything that would indicate that any of them had a shelter. By then, we had traveled all the way down the coast from Monaco to points far beyond Frejus, where helicopter reports were coming in at night. Cluster of islands Lies-d'Jer was visible to the south.
  
  
  "Let's go make a swing there," he called to Marcel, pointing toward the dress.
  
  
  He nodded and turned the helicopter around. We soon flew over the islands and made another pass at low altitude over the terrain. The binoculars allowed me to get a close-up view of everything below, including some of the island's inhabitants, who farmed Vesely to us, but we saw no sign of the elusive helicopter.
  
  
  "What now?" Marcel asked around the cockpit.
  
  
  "I might as well take us back," I said reluctantly.
  
  
  Marcel turned the helicopter to return to the shore. He was still studying the area with his binoculars when he noticed a small dark speck in the sea. When she focused on nen, she saw another small island, rocky and barren except for a few trees and a sparse undergrowth. It was so small that it wasn't marked on the map in Chicklet's office. However, it was still large enough - anywhere from a mile to a square mile and a half-for a helicopter to land, and was also far enough away with Russian President Vladimir Putin to be a good hiding place.
  
  
  She patted Marcel on the shoulder and pointed to the island. "What is this place? Do you know him?"
  
  
  "It's called' Satan's Rock, '"Marcel said, "'Devil's Rock' - the name given to emu by the French underworld, which used it many years ago as a transit point for weapons and drugs entering the country. The power of the ih press conference activity. With the ferret with them, it was abandoned, except, as I'd heard her say, for a colony of rats infesting the place. They say the rats got there long ago after a shipwreck, and the ferrets bred with them ."
  
  
  "I think we should take a closer look at this," I said.
  
  
  "Do you think our people can hide there?" asked Marcel doubtfully.
  
  
  "It's possible. It's just possible.
  
  
  Marcel turned the helicopter back to the sea. We passed Li d'er again and continued south. As we approached Satan Rock, I could see what a dark and forbidding place it was, with nothing more than a pile of black rocks jutting out from its sides, and what-where - a few scrawny trees and patches of belt ... high brush.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcel lowered the helicopter until we touched down on the treetops to get a slow circular view of the island. As we approached the ground, I saw hundreds of large black rats, startled by the sound of our engine, scurrying around the rocks.
  
  
  "Do you see anything?" Marcel asked.
  
  
  "Rats," I said. "Rat numbers".
  
  
  We had almost completed our circle when he was suddenly spotted through the binoculars. It was a bright flash of light, the reflection of the sun on metal under one of the big rock outcrops in the center of the island. It could have been hidden by helicopter.
  
  
  He told Marcel what he had seen and asked ego to go around the place again.
  
  
  He nodded and tilted the helicopter, and we started walking back to our destination. Marcel flew so low that we almost missed the treetops below. I aimed my binoculars at the spot where I thought I saw something, and I was concentrating so hard that I didn't even think about the danger until Marcel screamed. Suddenly hers, I felt the helicopter sway and shake.
  
  
  In the next second, we were hit by a barrage of bullets that crashed into the helicopter from below, smashed the glass shield of the cockpit, penetrated the metal body of the helicopter, and crashed into the engine. When I crouched down behind the cab, I saw four or five people shooting at us, around the raised submachine guns from the top of the rocks.
  
  
  "Marcel!" he shouted to her, grabbing Ego by the shoulder: "Get us out of here."
  
  
  When he turned to me in his seat, hers, he saw that ego's face was a bloody mask. He tried to say something, but only blood flowed from the rta. Ego's eyes closed and he fell sideways from his seat. She was snatched from her holster by Wilhelmina Po, but before she could aim and fire at the people below, the helicopter's engine exploded in a huge blazing fireball. The car sped towards the sea, accompanied by a giant layer of flames and smoke.
  
  
  The low altitude saved my life. He shoved the luger back into its holster and jumped through the open doorway to avoid the candid fire before the helicopter crashed into the water. The fire and smoke around the helicopter blocked me from being seen by the people who shot us down. When I surfaced, I found myself still hidden from the eyes of those on the island, a flaming helicopter still floating on the surface of the sea, between me and the land.
  
  
  I quickly calculated the distance to the island, dived deep, and swam underwater until I felt my lungs burst. He kept swimming until he finally hit some rocks. Groping his way up the rocks inch by inch, he finally broke through the surface of the water without a sound. Keeping only his head above the water, he pressed himself against the rocks and gulped air. When she was able to breathe normally again, she cautiously raised her head and looked around.
  
  
  Fortunately, as he had hoped, he was well away from the helicopter crash site. From that point on, he could still see the charred remains of the helicopter floating on the ground. He watched as several people who had visited the island set off on rubber rafts and swam to the wreckage. Her, saw them pull out Marcel's body and put Odin's ego on the rafts. The man was then searched in the water around the wreckage. They obviously saw two men in the helicopter, and the kids were hoping to find my body. Its tried to keep to the low-lying B & nb and remain partially sheltered by rocks until they gave up the search.
  
  
  As the men swam back to the island, a smoldering pile of metal that had once been a helicopter sank under the water. He clung to the rocks until the men pulled their rubber rafts ashore and returned to the center of the island. He briefly considered going down the beach to one of the rafts to try to get back to the mainland. But then he remembered the urgency of his assignment. The people on the island, and the money they took from the casino, could lead me to something vital.
  
  
  He waited until the light began to fade, and then tried to cross the island to assess the situation.
  
  
  Around what I observed, it looks like the men were temporarily using the island while waiting for ih to be picked up by a boat at nightfall.
  
  
  11
  
  
  After another hour, the evening sun began to set, and I felt safe crawling over the rocks to dry off in the warm wind that blew in from the south. I had just been set down on the rocks and was sprawling on a narrow ledge when I felt something soft fall on my left leg. I jumped up and found myself staring into the blood-red beady eyes of a large black rat that had apparently fallen from a higher rock. Her ego kicked him, shook him, and tossed him aside, throwing a rock.
  
  
  Then he heard soft squeals all around him. He quickly stood up and saw dozens of bright unblinking eyes. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and my hand instinctively reached for Wilhelmina's Luger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn't care that the shot would lead to people on the island looking for me.
  
  
  But the rats didn't attack. Instead, they darted back and forth nervously, squealing softly as their claws scraped the surface of the rocks. I backed away cautiously, keeping my eyes on the crowd until I felt a hard, round metal object sink into my back between my shoulder blades. A sharp voice snarled: "Just stay open here!"
  
  
  A hand reached out from behind me and took the luger . Then a man - it was the casino croupier po-stepped in front of me. He was holding a snub-nosed .38 in one hand and my Luger in the other. He nodded at me ... "We thought you got out of the helicopter alive. We wanted you. Go, go."
  
  
  He bent down and picked up a piece of wood that had obviously been drenched in gasoline. He lit Odin's ego thread so that it became a flaming torch, and waved it to clear a path through the swarm of rats that were frantically scurrying away into the undergrowth.
  
  
  We climbed higher up the island's cliffs until we reached a large ledge that she had noticed from air sampling. The croupier swung his gun and pushed me forward into a large, hollowed-out cave. Flaming torches were set up in a circle around the entrance to keep out rats, and the holy Lord illuminated the helicopter inside. There were other men - casino directors Tregor and the man who grabbed Elsa on the stairs to the casino basement. He guessed that it must have been the one who piloted the helicopter.
  
  
  The others looked at me without much interest, but the casino director nodded to the croupier: "Search him, tie him up, and keep an eye on him."
  
  
  The croupier, still holding the gun, stepped inside the helicopter and pulled out a couple of lengths of rope. Then he pushed me deeper into the cave. I raised my hands when he started searching me, so he missed the stiletto, Hugo, mounted on a spring in the sleeves in the sleeve of my coat. After the search, he forced me to stretch out on the ground, tying me tightly with a rope.
  
  
  We'll have to wait. At this point, with the croupier standing nearby with a gun and watching me, I was helpless. But I still had Hugo up my sleeve.
  
  
  It was getting dark outside. From time to time, someone around the men would take binoculars and a flashlight and go outside. It didn't take me long to realize that they were waiting for ih to be taken off the island. My initial theory seemed correct - ih was going to pick up the boat.
  
  
  An hour or more passed before one of the watchers shouted, and the others, with the exception of the croupier, who was still guarding me, hurried away. I used the moment when my captor's attention was temporarily distracted to snap the spring in the scabbard. The stiletto instantly slid into my right hand. I had to cut the ropes quickly. I had just managed to cut the ih and free my hands when the three men hurried back to the cave.
  
  
  "He's here," the director shouted. "Well, drop the helicopter and come back for you."
  
  
  "How do I know you're coming back?" the dealer asked suspiciously.
  
  
  The director took a large aluminum suitcase from the helicopter. He laid his ego on the floor of the cave and nodded to the side. "The money will still be here. We'll be back."
  
  
  All the men started pushing the helicopter around the cave. While ih's attention was distracted, hers, I rolled onto my side and arched my body back so that my hands could reach the ropes that bound my legs. Soon it is released and returned to its original position, I lie still, trying to work my arms and legs behind my back to restore blood circulation. By then, people had pushed the helicopter around the cave, and the croupier was back on my side. The other three's voices grew faint from afar.
  
  
  My guardian glanced at me briefly. Then he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit a match. I made a move, jumped to my feet, and ran toward him, stiletto in hand. He flashed the knife at the terrified man's face, then carefully drove the blade into the ego of life, and with his free hand reached for the gun.
  
  
  Instead of obeying me, he foolishly raised his gun to fire. She was stabbed by the emu's stiletto in life, and he doubled over without a sound, the lit cigarette still hanging from his lips. Ego didn't plan to kill her, but he left me no choice.
  
  
  Ego grabbed the .38 and his luger, and quickly ran to the aluminum suitcase. The lock opened and the lid popped open. There, in the wavering torchlight, he looked at the two million dollars inside.
  
  
  Her developed a small plan for this money with them ferrets as the director put the suitcase down and I knew it was there. Ego hastily began to carry it out. He scooped up stacks of bills and filled the bottom of the suitcase with large rocks from the cave floor. Then I put a layer of bills no more than a couple of hundred dollars on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  rocks. Her suitcase slammed shut and left her ego in its original place.
  
  
  He could still hear the voices of other men in the distance as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, stuffed the money inside, and buttoned it up again. The two million dollars on my chest was clumsy, but despite the weight of it, I went back to the dead dealer, grabbed Ego by the collar, and dragged him through the cave and out into the street.
  
  
  The other three men were still working with the helicopter on the other side of a large, flat ledge of rock. He hit it in the opposite direction, dragging the corpse with him until he reached some deep bush where he could hide the ego. Then he crawled back into the rock to the higher ground, where he could watch what was happening below.
  
  
  The full moon lit up the scene clearly. By now, they had pushed the helicopter out into the clearing. One of the men, the pilot, climbed in and set the main rotor blades in motion. The helicopter started to climb, but when it was a few feet off the ground, the man jumped out. The drone helicopter suddenly took off, sped away from the cliff, and plunged into the dark waters below. It sank without a trace.
  
  
  Meanwhile, the casino director returned to the cave. He ran out, carrying a suitcase and shouting. Her clearly heard the voices of men where her was hiding, and heard the headmaster shout, " He's escaped! This guy broke free and ran away! He took Georges with him! "
  
  
  "Money? Money? " shouted Tregor in rheumatism. "Is the money safe?"
  
  
  The director set the suitcase on the ground, and the three of them crowded around it as he opened it.
  
  
  "It's here! He's still here! "What is it?" he exclaimed. As I had hoped, he didn't take the time to examine the money behind the top layer of banknotes, since the weight of the stones was roughly equal to the weight of real banknotes.
  
  
  "Come on!" Tregor shouted. "Let's get off this damned island."
  
  
  Three of them started flashing their flashlights. A response signal came from the end of the island, and a giant searchlight was turned on. Then I saw that instead of a boat, ih would take away a seaplane. He taxied near the rocks and waited there, bouncing up and down. As people began to descend to the plane, I could hear them musing about me.
  
  
  "Where do you think this guy and Georges went?"
  
  
  "He probably made Georges go down Odin around the rafts so that he could get back to the mainland."
  
  
  He stayed where he was, watching until they reached the end of the island, played a game of one around the rafts, and swam toward the plane. He didn't feel safe until they boarded and the plane took off and disappeared to the north.
  
  
  He hoped they wouldn't find out that almost all the money was gone until they got to their destination. By that time, it would have been dangerous for them to return, because they could not be sure that I had not reached out to Russian President Vladimir Putin to return to the authorities. I still wasn't close to solving the case, but at least I managed to thwart ih's plans.
  
  
  Twelve
  
  
  The moon went down shortly after the plane left. It was so dark now that I could barely see my hand in front of my face. He tried to find the croupier's body where he had left it in the bushes, but in the dark it was an impossible task. As much as I hated the idea of spending the night on this rat-infested island, I knew it would be too risky to wade to the edge of the shore in the dark to find Odin around the rubber rafts. He decided to return to the cave, where a couple of torches that the men had set up were still burning.
  
  
  When I got back to the cave, I picked up an armful of dry cyst and took it with me. Her lodges dry brush into the flaming torches until the flames grew faint, while hers crouched at the entrance. It was the only way to keep the swarming rats at bay, but ih could still see her eyes glinting in the firelight beyond the cave. He held his Luger in his hand, and although he was tired, he didn't dare doze off for fear that the rats would get bolder and attack.
  
  
  It seemed like an endless amount of time remained until dawn. He was on his feet and preparing to go down to & nb at first light. She was confirmed that the money was still buttoned up under her shirt, and then, carrying a burning torch to scare away the rats, set off. However, before her, moved down the edge of the island, its checked the brush to find the croupier's body. Her body wasn't found. There was only an ego skeleton with clean bones. The rats worked in the dark.
  
  
  I hurriedly turned away and hurried down through the bushes while the rats scurried out of my way in front of me. He had just reached the end of the island and was looking for Odin around the rafts when he heard a humming sound around the water. When I looked up, I saw a big white cruiser circling about a quarter of a mile away. First her, thought people were around in the night
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He came back to try to find me and the money, but when he calmed down a little, his saw that the cruiser was a police boat around Monaco. He quickly fired several shots into the air from the Luger.
  
  
  The cruiser heard my signal, and immediately turned to the shore. When it dropped anchor, three men lowered the boat and rowed to catch me. Her father was surprised to see that one of the men around her was Chiclet. How did he know where to find me?
  
  
  "Well," Chicklet greeted me, " you're still alive. We almost gave up on you in vain. Tell me, what happened?"
  
  
  Her brief exposed emu events and showed emu the proceeds. Before leaving the island, we climbed up the rocks and lowered the stickman's skeleton onto the boat. Then we sailed away, leaving Satane Roc with its rodent colonies.
  
  
  When we were on board the cruiser and returning to Monaco, Chiclet told me how he found me. "Before you and Marcel took off in the helicopter yesterday," he said, " I put the beeper in the back of the helicopter. Its getting a signal from them ferret as you took off. When you didn't return by nightfall, she was alerted to the police and asked to leave the boat at dawn. We followed the pager signal and it led us to this point, not far from the island, where we found the helicopter underwater. The beep still works. But I have to say, I was afraid you were dead when I realized you'd taken the helicopter out to sea.
  
  
  "I feel very sorry for Marcel," Chicletou told her. "He was a good pilot and a brave man."
  
  
  Chicklet nodded. "I'm sorry too. But he knew the risks, just like the rest of us."
  
  
  When we arrived in Monte Carlo, Chicklet made arrangements to return the casino's money, and hers once again called Hawke abroad via encrypted telegraph at the ego office. I told Hawk what happened and how I got my money back.
  
  
  "Well," Hawk said, more sincerely than I thought, " at least it didn't go against us. If the model continues as it has in the past, a new development is likely to occur in the near future. And the Nickname ...
  
  
  "Yes sir?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I want you to relax for a day or two, get some rest." He paused and added roughly, " This is an order. I'll get back to you."
  
  
  Before she could answer, he hung up.
  
  
  The police had already moved the croupier's remains to the local morgue, and the money was being returned to the casino. I had nothing else to do in the AX office. I told Chicklet I was going back to the hotel to sleep.
  
  
  When I arrived, Elsa was waiting for me in my room. At first, she pretended to be angry with me, but when she noticed how exhausted I looked, her playful irritability turned to sympathetic concern.
  
  
  "Poor Dumplink," she cooed, " you look awful. What are you doing?"
  
  
  "It was an all - night business meeting," Ay told her, taking off his jacket and tie. "Now I need a nice hot shower and a long sleep."
  
  
  "Of course, Dumplink," she said. "You're undressing. I'll prepare it for you later.
  
  
  Before she could protest, she disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
  
  
  By the time I changed into my robe, the bathroom was full of steam. Elsa came out, rosy-cheeked, pushed me into the shower, and closed the door.
  
  
  I wiped every inch of my skin and hair with hot water, then washed it off with an icy shower. Then he tied a fresh towel around her waist and went back to the bedroom. Elsa had pulled the covers down on the bed and was sitting next to her.
  
  
  "Stretch out on your face," she ordered, patting the bed. When I hesitated, she gave me a little push. As her husband stretched out on the bed on his stomach, she shook off the towel and said: "Relax, I'm giving you a massage."
  
  
  She took out a small bottle of lemon-scented lotion she'd brought from her room. Then she took off her dress, straddled my body, and started applying lotion to my back and shoulder blades. It was an astringent solution that first made my skin tingle and then sent a deep, soothing warmth to my muscles.
  
  
  "What is this thing you're using?" I asked, turning my head to look at Elsa, who had already bent over me forever.
  
  
  "It's an old home remedy from Alden," she replied. "Guaranteed to produce positive results."
  
  
  Her caressing hands caressed my flesh like a healing balm, moving up and down as easily as her warm, sweet breath over my entire body. Then Elsa got down on her knees and ordered me to roll over.
  
  
  Her, turned to face her and bench press between her spread legs. She began to lubricate the front of my body, her light finger movements moving from my chest to my stomach, to my groin, to the sides of my legs, to my toes. As she leaned toward me, her soft hair brushed against my naked flesh, and my nostrils filled with an ego-scented fragrance. For a long time, it seemed that she was working with intense concentration, almost hypnotic, but soon she noticed that her breathing was more rapid, and her flesh was wet and trembling.
  
  
  He lifted his head and looked at Nah. Her eyes were wide and her teeth were bared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  they were parted so that the tip of her pink tongue was exposed. He pressed her mouth to his, rolling her under him. Her arched hips tensed. We met and silently joined in, and at the same time, without words, we reached the climax.
  
  
  I was more asleep than awake when our bodies parted. She stood by the bed, holding the robe in her hands. But when she leaned in and kissed me, hers, I felt my body remember again, and it was ready and hungry for more. She laughed softly at my excitement and whispered: "I forgot to tell you, Dumplink, that sometimes this von Alder medicine also works as an aphrodisiac." She kissed me. "Sleep," she whispered.
  
  
  Her sleep lasted twenty-four hours, and might have lasted longer if it hadn't been for my only transmission phone ringing. It was Hawke.
  
  
  "I hope you've had some rest," he said. "I'm in Paris. Meet me here at the office as soon as possible. More bad news, I'm afraid. You might as well let the von Alder woman come with you so you can keep an eye on her. I'll book it for both of you at the George V Hotel."
  
  
  Elsa was overjoyed when I told her that I wanted her to come to Paris with me. Chicletou called her to thank ego and say goodbye, and less than an hour later, Elsa and I were on our way back to Nice to catch a plane.
  
  
  Thirteen
  
  
  When we landed in Orly, it was raining hard. As soon as she checked Elsa in at the George V Hotel, where Hawk had reserved a nearby apartment for us, she was taken by taxi to the AX Paris office, which was located in a cafe on Place Saint-Michel. The offices were located on the top three floors of the building and were soundproofed from the noise below. The owner of the establishment was an AX agent codenamed Bonaparte.
  
  
  He met me at the door and led me to the back stairs leading to the offices above. As we passed through the smoke-filled dining room and bar, I was surprised to see that although there were a lot of customers, there were also about thirty or forty security police officers and AX agents that she had become aware of from previous meetings. I knew something important was going to happen.
  
  
  Hawk met me on the second floor. Ego's face was grim, and he barely nodded as he ushered me into his private office and closed and locked the door.
  
  
  "Looks like it's a no-brainer, both ways," he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to me. He stood with his back to me, looking out the window at the dark rain pounding against the panes as he read the letter in the envelope.
  
  
  The letter was typewritten:
  
  
  A Chinese nuclear missile that disappeared 12 hours ago will be returned in exchange for $ 2 million. IF YOU AGREE, INSERT A PUBLICIZED NOTICE IN LONDON IN THE FIRST TWO DAYS, READ: "ALEXANDER-TERMS ACCEPTED - (SIGNED) KUBLAI KHAN. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS FOLLOW.
  
  
  There was no address on the envelope. Hawk, who had turned away from the window, saw me frowning at the envelope, and explained: "Yesterday morning, the ego was shoved under the door of the Chinese embassy."
  
  
  "Is it true that the Chinese nuclear missile disappeared?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Too much, really," Hawk said bitterly. "This happened a few hours after you returned the money from Satane Roc. You will notice that the amount requested is exactly the same as the amount received from the casino ."
  
  
  "You mean the Chinese nuclear missile really disappeared?" He was incredulous.
  
  
  "Obviously," Hawk remarked, " our enemy's ingenuity is limitless. Shortly after your experience on the island, the Chinese were launching a nuclear missile at a secret test site when the plane simply disappeared. Until this note arrived, the Chinese thought the plane had crashed."
  
  
  "What about the carriage?" "They must have passed the test well before ih was selected for such a task."
  
  
  "Oh, yes," Hawk agreed. "But it may be important to note that just a few weeks ago, a pilot who was one of the most trusted and loyal people in the Chinese Air Force left China for a business trip to Albania. He was not closely observed while he was there, and, in fact, the Chinese cannot explain his actions during the few days of the visit. They're still checking. It is likely that during this time our opponent got to him, who could interfere with the ego brain.
  
  
  "Are the Chinese going to pay the ransom?" I asked, handing the letter back to Hawke.
  
  
  He nodded. "That's why we're meeting here now. Let's go upstairs."
  
  
  On the top floor of the building, four Chinese gentlemen were waiting, looking grim and slightly suspicious. IHRA explained the strict security in the building. Odin around the men was a translator, and through him Hawke introduced me to three others whose names she knows as high-ranking members of the Chinese Communist Party. Each of them gave me a shrewd look as we shook hands. Then the three of them quickly spoke to the interpreter in Chinese.
  
  
  "They say," the interpreter told me, " that it is a great honor for them to have such a respected representative who helped them in the return of the nuclear missile. They also say that
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The party chairman talked to your president and instructed them to cooperate fully with you ."
  
  
  "It's a great honor for me, too," he told her interpreter. "I will try to be worthy of trust in the folk medicine of the Republic."
  
  
  Then I asked him about this formality: "Was it decided to pay two million dollars?"
  
  
  The interpreter conferred with his fellow countrymen again, and then handed me a large leather bag engraved with Chinese characters and equipped with a lock. The interpreter unlocked the ego and opened it, finding the bags of bank notes inside.
  
  
  "Two million dollars," he said. "There will be an announcement in tomorrow's edition of the London Times, written as directed."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Lock up the money again. I want it to remain in your possession until we receive further notice.
  
  
  After the interpreter translated my words, the three men bowed their heads gravely, and we shook hands again. Hawk told me that arrangements have already been made for Chinese representatives to stay in the living quarters, in the office, and in front of them the ferret until there is a response to the London Times ad. This way, the buyback amount will be securely stored until the ferret is due to be paid out.
  
  
  Hawk took a taxi back to the hotel with me. It was dusk. The rain and bleak weather were perfect for our mood.
  
  
  "Whoever's behind this," Hawk muttered, " must be enjoying our predicament. Imagine stealing a nuclear missile and returning it for ransom! "
  
  
  "He chose a few smart names for his ads," I said. "Alexander and Kublai Khan".
  
  
  "He's crazy, but he's very cunning," Hawk said. "What I wouldn't give to have an ego." He looked at me.
  
  
  When we got to the hotel, Hawk dropped me off and headed to the American Embassy, where he was staying in Paris.
  
  
  When hers got to her room, hers was surprised to find a note from Elsa. Nen said that she had been invited to a party in Montmartre and that she was going to. She left me an address so I could join her if I wanted to. Instead, they decided to have a couple of chilled martinis and a nice lunch in their room. Before I went to bed, I called the front desk to get me a copy of the London Times the next morning.
  
  
  Elsa still hadn't returned to the hotel by the time I got my copy of the newspaper early the next morning, and I couldn't tell if there was anything meaningful about her absence that night. However, the ad was in the Times, and the ego wording was exactly as stated in the ransom note. Reading it, her, I imagined how happy "Alexander" also reads it. He could have been in Paris, or London, or Monte Carlo, or, for that matter, Tibet.
  
  
  I really wanted to get to the AX office, which he knew would be the first place to know if further instructions were coming. He was dressed and went out by the numbers when Elsa returned.
  
  
  She was still in her evening dress, with a mink coat slung over her shoulders. She looked sleepy, but she smiled and kissed me, letting her coat fall to the floor. Then she turned to me to unzip the back of her dress.
  
  
  "I missed you at the party, Dumplink," she said. "It was a lot of fun. A lot of French people. It's still going on, if you want to go.
  
  
  "No, thank you," I said. "I have some business to attend to. She's asleep, and I'll call you later.
  
  
  "Business, business, business," she said, patting my face. "Remember, all work and no entertainment makes Tony a boring boy." She stepped out through the dresses and walked to the door leading to her room, looking very desirable in a sheer bra and tights. She paused briefly in the doorway and beckoned to me. When I shook my head, she blew me a kiss and disappeared.
  
  
  14
  
  
  As soon as I reached the cafe in Place Saint-Michel and went upstairs to the AX office, I felt her tension and despondency permeate the whole place. Outside, the sun was shining and there was a false spring in the air, but whatever joyous mood the weather created for us, it disappeared behind the walls of buildings.
  
  
  Hawke was there, looking more haggard than he had the night before, as were the four Chinese men, as well as several dozen AX agents and security guards. We all arrived too early, and our impatience grew as the long hours dragged on. It wasn't until noon that we finally got the message we'd been waiting for. And, of course, in a roundabout way.
  
  
  We got a call from the Interpol Paris office saying that they had received a package from a messenger for the local chief. Opening the package, he found a sealed box and a typewritten note saying that the box should be delivered to the Chinese Embassy immediately. Since the head of Interpol was informed of the crisis, he immediately called Hawke and then hurried to the AX office. Meanwhile, Interpol agents picked up a messenger who was authentic, and when they asked ego about the person who gave em the delivery package, he gave a description that might match
  
  
  
  
  
  a thousand Frenchmen.
  
  
  The box contained a tape recorder. We huddled around while Hawke put the tape in the office car. As the tape rolled, the voice said ," This is Alexander. I have received your message and am now giving you the following instructions. Late in the evening, on the thirtieth, a white-flagged ship with a red dragon etched on the nen will appear in the Adriatic Sea and enter the harbor in Split, Yugoslavia. On the deck of this ship will be a Chinese nuclear missile. One of your ships can approach him with two million dollars. Once the money is transferred to the people on board, the rocket will be returned. If an attempt is made to return the rocket without paying money, it will explode ."
  
  
  The words on the tape didn't tell us anything about the person ih had spoken - or rather, about the people, since all the other sentences were spoken in a different voice, ih accents ranging from British to German to Brooklyn. The brain behind the plot remained invisible.
  
  
  After the film was decoded and copies made, hurried phone calls were made to find a plane that would take us to the Adriatic coast, and to have a large and fast ship waiting for us, near Grech, Yugoslavia. Even when all these preparations were made, Hawk was busy planning the time when the rocket would be found.
  
  
  A little later, Yastreb, the Chinese representatives with the ransom, several agents of AX and her went to Oryol and flew on a plane to die in the Adriatic. The Yugoslav government was contacted through diplomatic channels, and when we arrived, a sleek and fast ship was waiting for us.
  
  
  When we reached the harbor and anchored off the coast at Split, a cold, sharp wind was blowing from the coast. There were no other vessels in sight. As we paced the deck, Hawk began muttering, " I hope this isn't a trick, Nick."
  
  
  After a couple more hours, as the day began to fade into dusk, I started to think that Hawk might have been right. But then, quite unexpectedly, a large white ship with a white flag decorated with a red dragon appeared at the entrance of the harbor. He dropped anchor off the starboard bow of our ship, and a man in a captain's uniform came to the railing, raised a megaphone, and shouted, " Hey, I give you greetings from Alexander. Do you have the money to die? »
  
  
  Hawk handed me a similar megaphone. "This is your show," he said.
  
  
  "We have money," he replied through a megaphone. "We are ready to complete the transaction."
  
  
  "You can come on board," the rheumatoid captain shouted.
  
  
  A couple of our ship's crew members lowered a small motor boat overboard. Two Chinese men, one of them carrying a bag of money around him, and it was transferred to another ship. We were helped up on deck by the captain and a few people around the crew's ego. On the forward deck, there was a huge object covered with a tied tarp. It must have been a rocket, but I was still wary of it. There were a few other people on deck, but the only one who knows him is a Belgian named Tregor.
  
  
  The captain was cordial and ushered us into a large cabin on the main deck, where chilled champagne was waiting for us.
  
  
  "Do you have any money?" he asked.
  
  
  He nodded to the Chinaman, who passed the bag over.
  
  
  "You don't mind us counting before we hand you the rocket, do you?" he asked.
  
  
  "No," I said.
  
  
  "Gentlemen, please have some champagne while you wait," the captain suggested, walking out through the rooms with the money.
  
  
  Not one of the Chinese did not accept a cup of champagne from the steward, but accepted it. It was a good vintage wine, excellent chilled. He drank two glasses while the Chinese shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. When the captain returned, he was smiling and nodding his head.
  
  
  "Very good, gentlemen," he said. "Everything seems to be in order. If you will come on deck with me, we can complete our business."
  
  
  I wasn't too surprised when we were back at the top and saw that the crew members had removed the tarpaulin from the object on the forward deck. It was a nuclear missile already built into the elevator.
  
  
  The two Chinese men suspiciously checked the missile before making sure everything was in order. They nodded gravely to me, and he nodded to the captain.
  
  
  He seemed pleased as he picked up the megaphone again and called out to the waiting Yugoslav ship, telling it to come closer so that the rocket could be lowered onto the deck. The two Chinese and her remained on board while the crew worked on the lift, lifting the giant rocket into the air and then down to the deck of our ship, where we had already prepared a cradle to hold it. He could see the look of relief on Hawke's face as he saw the rocket sitting on the deck and finally safely aboard.
  
  
  After exchanging a brief handshake with the captain of the white ship, her, he returned to our ship with the Chinese.
  
  
  "No problem?" Hawk asked me immediately.
  
  
  "No," I said.
  
  
  "But if I know you," Hawk said, looking at me intently,"something's bothering you."
  
  
  "It was
  
  
  
  
  
  
  it's too simple. "I answered. "They need to know that since we got the rocket safely back, we're not just going to sit here and let them sail away with two million dollars."
  
  
  "They may not have come up with a plan that we will use," Hawke said.
  
  
  "I doubt it."
  
  
  "Well, they're lifting anchor to get away, anyway," Hawk remarked, pointing to the ship turning in the harbor. "I'm putting our plan into practice." In his hand he held a radio transmitter, and he began to speak rapidly into it, alerting all the ships waiting for payouts right outside the harbor - Italian ships, Greek ships, Yugoslav ships, even some Russian cruisers-all of them that were sent to apprehend our enemy.
  
  
  As the white ship sailed toward the harbor entrance, we began to follow it at some distance. Just before reaching the open sea, our ship's armada appeared. They were still far away, and Hawk hadn't yet ordered them to approach. The white ship suddenly stopped in the center of the harbor entrance. Hawk started to speak into the transmitter again, but she was stopped by him.
  
  
  "Wait a minute," I said.
  
  
  "Why not? What is it?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. I didn't know what to say to him, but I knew something was wrong. A few minutes passed and nothing happened. Hawk and I aimed our binoculars at the ship's deck, which was empty. Hawke was still holding the radio transmitter in his hand, and his ego was growing impatient. He was starting to doubt his intuition and was about to tell em to give the order to close when it happened.
  
  
  Suddenly we saw a bright flash of orange flame coming from the white ship. A deafening explosion followed. The sleek white ship broke apart into the sea. It literally broke up into several floating boards for a second. The explosion was so unexpected and so shocking that almost all of us froze for a short time in immobility.
  
  
  However, Hawk quickly recovered and joined the battle, shouting orders over the radio transmitter to all waiting ships to come and try to pick up any possible survivors. At the same time, our boat was rapidly approaching the place where the ship sank. But when we and the other ships approached the area, there were no survivors. There was nothing left on the dell itself but a few charred planks and oil strips. Still, the search continued deep into the night, the water illuminated by giant searchlights from the decks of all the ships. We didn't find anything.
  
  
  "It's a mystery to me," Hawk said slowly, as the search finally stopped and the other ships waited for further instructions from him. "Why would they spend so much effort to raise two million dollars and then blow themselves up - and the money?"
  
  
  "Voice and all," I said sharply when I had an idea. "They didn't blow up the money!"
  
  
  "You didn't blow up the money?" Hawk demanded. "Then where does it come from?"
  
  
  "I don't know," I said. "But it didn't sink with the ship. Somehow they managed to remove the ego before the explosion."
  
  
  "How? How?" Hawk asked impatiently. "We kept the ego under constant surveillance from the moment we first saw it. How can this be removed? »
  
  
  "I don't know yet," I admitted. "But they did it. They always planned to do it this way. They thought we'd have a trap for them after the rocket returned, but that didn't matter. The main thing is money. The rest, the ship and crew, had to be sacrificed ."
  
  
  "But that's crazy," Hawk said.
  
  
  "Sure," her emu said,"just like everything else."
  
  
  "Yes," Hawk agreed, speaking slowly, " you may be right. But how, how did they manage to withdraw the money? "
  
  
  "I don't know yet," I said again, " but I'll probably recognize her. Rheumatism should be somewhere here on the Adriatic coast. Her, I want us to search the ego, inch by inch, until we find evidence that there was a survivor or survivors who got away with the money."
  
  
  Hawk still doubted my opinion, but he agreed to ask the nearby ships to help me search for evidence. They all offered to help. Hawk left me in Split because emu had to come back to die in the United States to report to the president personally.
  
  
  It took us two more days and nights searching the Adriatic coast before we found the evidence that I was sure was out there somewhere. He was notified when the Greek cruiser found ego and rushed to this place - a desolate stretch of barren land north of Sin.
  
  
  There, a small single-seat submarine was abandoned, washed ashore and partially submerged in the sea. But her rheumatism story is about how two million dollars were taken off the ship. Probably shortly after we took the money on board in exchange for the rocket, it was handed over to the submariner, and the single-seat boat was ejected through the ship's hold.
  
  
  It was easy for the tiny submarine to slip around the harbor, make its way along the coast, and land. Later, perhaps on the same night, or even on one of the following days, or
  
  
  
  
  
  
  this person was probably picked up on a plane or other vessel and disappeared with $ 2,000,000. As soon as I managed to get the ship's radio to work, she got a call from Hawke, who was back in New York by then. He told emu what we found, in code form. He took the news more cheerfully than expected, and ordered me to go back to Paris and call em at the AX office, because he might have news for me about new developments.
  
  
  Later that day in Paris, he stopped by his hotel to talk to Elsa before going to the AX office.
  
  
  She grabbed me before hers, walked in the door, covered my face with kisses, and said worriedly: "I didn't know what happened to you, Dumplink. I was ready to report you to the police as a missing person."
  
  
  "Business again," I said. "Sorry, I couldn't leave a message. And I need to go out again. But this time I'll be back soon, and maybe we can spend some time together."
  
  
  At the office, Bonaparte's FATHER put me in touch with Hawke over an encrypted wire.
  
  
  "We have a new lead," Hawke said. "This might be the best around them that we've had so far ferret. Our researchers, who constantly tested the participants in this case, finally found a definite connection between some around them. You'll recall her mentioning earlier that some people had weight problems. Well, we've now discovered that at least four of the people around them were patients at the same weight-loss spa in Switzerland."
  
  
  This must be more than a coincidence, I thought.
  
  
  "We think so too," Hawke said. "A place near Bern, in the mountains. It is called the Rejuvenation Health Spa and is managed by Dr. Frederick Bosch. What do you think?"
  
  
  "I think I'd better fly to Switzerland," I said,"and look around."
  
  
  "Yes, hers, I agree," Hawk said. "What do you say to this woman on von Alder, Elsa?"
  
  
  "I'll tell hey that I have a business in Bern and suggest hey go back to the States."
  
  
  "Yes, well," Hawk said, " I have other men watching the rest of the von Alders. If she comes back, I'll set her on nah man, too. I will contact you when you arrive in Switzerland.
  
  
  When her husband returned to the hotel and knocked on the door of Elsa's room, he found that her hairdresser was doing his hair.
  
  
  "I don't like you seeing me while I'm trying to be beautiful," she said, frowning at the fans.
  
  
  "I had to talk to you," her father said. "I have to leave for Bern today. I got a call from my office, and I need to sort out a case.
  
  
  "Bern!" "No," she said happily. "But, Dumplink, this is wonderful. I'll go with you. Outside of Bern, there is a wonderful spa that Ursi and I love to go to. We'll fly there by plane, and I can relax in the spa while you go about your business."
  
  
  "What is the name," I asked, " of this resort?"
  
  
  "It's called a rejuvenating wellness spa," she said, just as I'd imagined. Again, there was another connection between Von Alders and the case. I didn't see any reason why Elsa shouldn't accompany me to Bern, as it might strengthen the bond, so I accepted her.
  
  
  After Hawke called her again from his room and told em that Elsa was coming to Bern with me, we checked out of the George V. AX Paris office for a trip to Switzerland.
  
  
  Fifteen
  
  
  When we landed in Bern, the weather was cold and clear. Elsa knew a small chalet on the outskirts of town, so we rented connecting rooms there.
  
  
  "We always stay in this place," Elsa explained to me after we checked into our apartment. "It's good to have a place like this when the spa gets too crowded."
  
  
  I liked our place. It was a clean, quiet, cheerful place, with a warm fire burning in every room. The elderly, white-haired, apple-cheeked owner and the ego of a woman enjoyed an excellent reputation. Around the window of my room, Elsa pointed out a health spa that was located on top of a mountain, some distance away. After she left me for her room, I examined her with binoculars.
  
  
  It was a huge complex with a multi-story main building surrounded by several smaller buildings. They were all dazzling white in color, which turned into snowy peaks that jutted out from all directions around them. He could see the winding single-lane road that led directly to this place, and the cable car that was suspended from two trolleybus lines overhead. From this distance, it was impossible to see many details. I was wondering how I could approach-secretly, or as a guest, or perhaps through Elsa. But in the meantime, I will wait in the wings and try to understand the area. Besides, if the von Alders were somehow involved in the plot, Elsa would have made sure I was lured there sooner or later.
  
  
  In the meantime, it would probably be a good idea to contact your local AX agent. I'd never met him, but Hawk had told me his name and where to find him. I knocked on it
  
  
  
  
  
  the door that always connected my room to Elsa's and told hey I was going out for a little while. While I was away, she did her own beauty treatments and waited for me to return.
  
  
  Hans Verblen, the local representative of AX, met me at the door of a modest studio that bore his name, in one of the alleys of Bern. Verblen was waiting for me. He said Hawk had already told em the details of my assignment in a phone call around the States. He was at my disposal.
  
  
  "How can I help her?" A fat, dark-haired man asked.
  
  
  "Basically," emu told her, " her hotel would like to have as much information as possible about the Rejuvenation Health Spa." Have there ever been any problems there? Who controls it? Such information. "
  
  
  Verblin nodded, locked the door to his studio, and led me to the basement. It was a large, soundproofed room with filing cabinets lining the walls. There were cameras, tape recorders, teletypes, and all sorts of weapons everywhere.
  
  
  "This is where I do my real work," Verblen explained with a wave of his hand.
  
  
  "This is a real setup," I said.
  
  
  Verblen walked over to one of the cabinets. "I'm afraid I don't have an extensive spa record. Until Hawke's phone call, I didn't have any special requests for intelligence gathering. What I have is strictly routine, no more than I have in any other institution in the city. As far as I know, there were no problems there. They have a steady stream of visitors from all over the world, most of whom are well-off. I always try to photograph as many arrivals and departures as possible with a camera with a telescopic lens. But, for estestvenno, I'm sure I missed a lot.
  
  
  He tossed the photos onto the chair, and I was amazed to see that there were thousands of them.
  
  
  "You definitely deserve your allowance, Verblen," I said, shaking my head in confirmation of my ego's thoroughness. I flipped through several photos of her and noticed all four von Alders in pictures taken at different times.
  
  
  "Do you think they can help you in any way?" asked Verblen.
  
  
  "I'm afraid not right now," his emu said. "They may come in handy later. What I'm interested in right now is anything you can show me or tell me about the inside of the spa. And about Frederick, Bosch, the doctor who runs it."
  
  
  "There's nothing to show or tell," Verblen replied. I could see that he was disappointed in himself. "You understand that the resort is a very exclusive place. Since there are so many wealthy guests here, security is strict. I've never been inside it myself, so I don't have any photos of the interior. If there was a special request from AX, it would, of course, find a way out."
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her, but what about the doctor?"
  
  
  "You will again be disappointed with the answer," Verblen said. "I don't have any pictures of Dr. Bosch, because he rarely, if ever, goes outside for treatment. Her, I heard he's European. He came here many years ago and opened a spa. At first it was a very modest place, but it always succeeded. Over the years, ego parts have been rebuilt to make it the imposing structure it is today. I don't have a dossier on the doctor, because he never had a problem, either with the Swiss authorities or with any other officials, as far as the Interpol files show. I took precautions and checked it out.
  
  
  "You might try to sneak into the spa without being noticed," Verblenu told her. "If I do decide to try it, I can ask you for help."
  
  
  Verblen inclined his head slightly. "I'm willing to do everything I can to help. I only wish I could provide you with more information."
  
  
  "You may have helped me more than you think," he said with ego-filled surprise. "I, for example, learned from you that Dr. Bosch rarely appears in public for medical purposes. It may not matter, but on the other hand, I'm a little worried about it. Because of his suspicions, I'll be more careful."
  
  
  Verblin took me back upstairs, and left her ego at the door of the ego store and went back to the chalet. The air was crisp and crisp. It was evening, and most of the shops on the street were closed and locked. I enjoyed the walk and was preoccupied with looking at the small shop windows on the street, so I couldn't hear her car when she was driving next to me. The first hint of danger came only when I saw her reflection in the glass window of one of the stores, along with the dark car on the curb next to me and the five men who had jumped out around the open doors and were now rushing towards me. .
  
  
  He spun around, my hand reaching for Wilhelmina in her shoulder holster, but all five of them were on top of me before the luger could pull him out. They pounced on me from all sides, their fists slamming into my body in short, savage blows. Hers offered only token resistance-enough, I hoped, to fool ih-adding that my body went limp, the target swayed from side to side, and my eyes closed in mock unconsciousness.
  
  
  "Okay," said one of the men, " no ego. Get the ego in the car. Quickly!"
  
  
  Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  the men took me by the shoulders, and two others grabbed my legs. They started dragging me down the sidewalk. Her let them lead me about halfway to the car when she was suddenly kicked with both feet, grabbing one around the men carrying me to my feet and then the other openly in the face. They both screamed and staggered back, clutching their faces. At the same time, hers rushed up, and when my legs were free, hers broke free around the arms of the two men holding my shoulders. The suddenness of my movements caught them all off guard. Her, turned to him.
  
  
  The fifth man who had preceded us to the car was kneeling by one of the open doors, a pistol in his hand. He fired, and Gawk chipped off a chunk of pavement about an inch away from me. By then I had Wilhelmina in my hand. This man had a chance to fire one more shot before he secured it, used his luger, and put a bullet in the emu's life. He fell backwards into the car, his legs dangling out onto the street.
  
  
  The other four men rushed to different positions on the street. One ducked through the doorway of a building, the other two turned into an alley, and the fourth lunged at a parked car. Her still wanted a place to hide. Four of them opened fire on me at the same time. She shot at rheumatism, then got down on her knees and aimed at the unprotected legs of the man behind the car. He pulled Wilhelmina's trigger twice, and the man screamed and lunged forward, both legs flying out from under him.
  
  
  Other shots were coming at me from both sides. I was wondering what peace-loving Swiss citizens think about all the shootings in ih, a normally quiet town. The bandits pinned me between my own car and the entrance to the store where I kept it, when ih car approached. I knew I had to get out of the street before they came at me. But I couldn't run after the car because they could have clearly shot me, and the store door behind me was closed and locked.
  
  
  Then I saw three gunmen coming after me, and I had to move. I fired a couple of shots at her to hold her back for a while. There was only one thing that could be done. Lowering my head and wrapping my arms around it to protect my face, I ran down the sidewalk and ducked through the glass window of the store behind me. The glass shattered into huge shards and fell onto the street outside, but I was inside and out of immediate danger.
  
  
  The store was a small toy store with games and dolls. It was obviously abandoned. I ran through it and found the back door, which didn't open. Her escaped into an alley. I ducked over the edge of the Rivnenskaya building just enough to see the men who had tried to ambush me rushing to their parked car. The three around them dragged the other two into the car and sped off. By then, she could hear the approaching blare of horns. The police were on their way. He headed back to his hotel and walked through the back streets until he got out around the area.
  
  
  When I finally entered the chalet, no one paid any attention to me. He could still hear the whine of police cars in the distance, and the sound continued for a long time.
  
  
  As soon as he entered his room, he grabbed his binoculars and went to the window. I aimed my binoculars at the road leading up to spa and had no trouble finding the dark car. I was sure that people had come from that place, and what I saw confirmed that fact.
  
  
  Well, I thought, OK, take her to the hotel, go to the spa, but not like this.
  
  
  This incident showed that someone knew I was interested in the spa-either the hotel would take me there by force, or make sure I didn't get there alive. How did the living men - presumably around the resort-know I was in Bern? Through Elsa? Maybe. But I also talked to Verblen, the Swiss agent for AX. Could he be the one? As I knew her all too well from past experience, anything is possible.
  
  
  Sixteen
  
  
  "Dumplink," Elsa greeted me as she walked through the door of her room a while later. "I didn't hear you come back."
  
  
  Her changed clothes. As far as she could tell, hers looked as worn as ever.
  
  
  "I only came in a few minutes ago."
  
  
  "I have the most wonderful surprise for you, Dumplink," she laughed, twirling around. She was wearing a pink negligee with ruffles. She turned slightly on tiptoe, pointed to the open door of her room, and called out.
  
  
  The other two Von Alder sisters came through the door, followed by ih mother Ursi. Both sisters were wearing pink negligees, just like Elsa's-or was it Elsa? "I did. Ursi had a home-made quilted coat. Looking at the three sisters standing side by side was like looking into three mirrors reflecting the same image.
  
  
  One of the girls laughed and said: "You were a naughty boy who ran off with Elsa. Did you really think that you could escape from the others around us so easily? Now you will pay for it, because we will not tell you who is around us, what is there ."
  
  
  "Since you are all equally beautiful and charming," I replied, " this is a very good idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  It doesn't matter. My pleasure has tripled."
  
  
  It was all good-natured and certainly around the sort of things that the von Alders would love to do. But I couldn't help but wonder if it was just a joke that engaged ih joins here in Bern, or if it was because I was so close to the spa and they either had hotels find a way to keep me away or a way to get me on the spot. Time will show.
  
  
  The Von Alders decided that I should invite ih to lunch in the dining room of the chalet, which they told me was famous for its excellent cuisine. She was assented to, and the four women disappeared through the door, locking it behind them. Ih heard her laugh. Is it because they tricked me?
  
  
  Later, when the five of us went down to the dining room, I discovered how popular this chalet was. The dining hall was packed with guests and locals alike. Of course, the von Alders were soon surrounded by people they knew, which was almost always the case when they were out in public. Our five-person chair quickly became a chair, around a dozen or more. I was introduced to each of the new arrivals, most of whom were members of foreign affairs embassies, etc. The Von Alders did not associate with the common people.
  
  
  For example, in the middle of our dinner of chatter and laughter, the chatter and laughter suddenly stopped abruptly, and all the male heads in the room, including mine, turned to look at the most beautiful girl who had just entered and sat down alone at a table by the window. It was a bright, lithe redhead in a low-cut dress that hugged her perfectly formed body as if it had been painted with a brush.
  
  
  Odin whistled cautiously around the men at our table. "Who is she?"
  
  
  One of the triplets snorted and said, " Oh, she's just a sanitarium worker. Her, saw her everywhere when we were there.
  
  
  The von Alder women were too experienced to allow male attention to be diverted from them for long, and I soon noticed that the men gathered around our chair ignored the redhead, except for the occasional glance in her direction. Her, however, did not look in. I thought that an escort would join her, but she continued to eat alone.
  
  
  When we finished our meal, Odin poe invited the men at our table to a big party that night at one of the embassy offices. The Von Alders were happy and accepted, as were the others at the table. I apologized, saying that I needed to catch up and that I would be staying at the chalet. In fact, her hotel has some more to think about the spa, and she's even considered trying to sneak up there. Of course, it would be easier for me to work with the background of Alders, which would otherwise be busy. The ih triplets ' mother really wanted to go to the party, so we said good night.
  
  
  I ordered him another cognac. When the waiter brought the liquor, he handed me a note and pointed to the redhead, who was still sitting alone. He was surprised. In the confusion caused by the departure of the other guests at our table, her completely forgot about the girl who engaged earlier caught my attention.
  
  
  I opened the note and read, " PLEASE DON'T JOIN me? URGENT TO TALK TO YOU. I asked her why the word IN ACCORDANCE was underlined. I looked back and saw that the girl was looking at me seriously, and I nodded.
  
  
  "Mr. Dawes, "the girl said in a soft, husky voice, holding out a thin, slender hand to me," her name is Susannah Henley. Nah had a difficult accent - they call it Mid-Atlantic-but a very strong British tone caught up with her. She paused until the waiter left and I sat down, then added in general, " Please don't get me wrong, I'm not used to taking men. But there is an important corkscrew who should discuss it with you. She looked around the dining room searchingly, then back at me. "We can't discuss this here. I do not know who can watch. Is there a place where we can talk in private? "
  
  
  "Well, there's my room upstairs," I suggested. "It should be private enough if it doesn't bother you."
  
  
  "I'm sure you're a gentleman, Mr. Dawes," she replied. "Yes, your room will be fine. Go upstairs and I'll follow you in a few minutes."
  
  
  He gave Hey his room number and got up to leave. When the waiter came back to the table to push my chair back, she held out her hand and said: "It's so nice to see you again, and I'll call you if I'm ever in the States."
  
  
  Her went upstairs to her room, wondering what this latest event signposts might mean. Ten or fifteen minutes passed before there was a knock on my door. Ego opened it, and Susannah Henley stepped quickly inside. I closed it and locked the door. For the first few moments, she seemed nervous and awkward. She wandered restlessly around the room, looked out the window, and saw a spa with lights twinkling in the night.
  
  
  "Oh, look where I work," she exclaimed. She spotted the binoculars on the windowsill, raised her ego, and focused on the resort complex of buildings. "It's a very good view of the resort from here," she said, lowering the binoculars and turning back to me.
  
  
  "Miss Henley, what kind of conversation is this
  
  
  
  
  
  about what? And please sit down.
  
  
  She sat down in the chair across from me and thought for a moment before starting. "I'm not sure what this is all about, Mr. Dawes, but I've heard rumors about you at the spa. And he was worried. Its really not know you, and I dont know what you are interested in in this place, but ... well, its just not felt right in that regard. I thought I'd tell you, but that's all. She stopped and shook her head helplessly.
  
  
  Her said as gently as possible, "You understand, Miss Henley, her really don't understand what you're trying to tell me."
  
  
  She took a deep breath and finally leaned back in her chair. "I should have explained," she said, " that I've been working at a spa for a few years now. Her dietitian is there. But for a while I didn't like the atmosphere. It seems ... well ... ominous.
  
  
  "What do you mean, sinister?" I insisted.
  
  
  "I really don't know," she said. "It's just that there's a lot of whispering and secrecy here. And I can hear it when people come and go in the dead of night. There are guards everywhere, but the guests don't know it. Guests think they're just employees. But they are very cool-looking men. I can't remember when and at night I hear her whisper, and I remember your name, Dawes. He guessed that there was a problem when today, not when, the five security guards returned to the resort by car. I just happened to see her by accident. The injured couple. And I heard your name mentioned again. I called her before I found you here. That's why she came here for dinner. I asked the waiter who Mr. Dawes was , and he pointed to you. She was just asked to warn you to stay away."
  
  
  When I questioned her further, her answers seemed simple enough, but she didn't know anything related to this case, even though we talked for quite some time. She may be on a level, or she may be a decoy sent to try to dissuade me from following her.
  
  
  It was quite late when we finished talking, and she suddenly glanced at her watch and gasped, " Oh, I have a real problem right now. It's after midnight. The curfew for employees is long gone. I can't go back there tonight. They will demand a detailed explanation of where he was. I'll need to find a place to stay and come back in the morning."
  
  
  She was on her feet, very excited, and headed for the door. She stopped in mid-stride and shuddered. "If anyone at the spa sees me on the street, they'll pick me up and question me."
  
  
  "This place is like a prison."
  
  
  She nodded. "Yes, exactly. That's what I was trying to tell you.
  
  
  She opened the door and started to leave. Ee grabbed her arm, pulled her back, closed and locked the door again.
  
  
  "If it's so dangerous for you," I said, " maybe you should spend the night here. You'll be safe.
  
  
  She looked at me thoughtfully for a long time, probably considering the implications of my invitation. I really didn't have any ulterior motives to make this offer, other than saying that its a hotel and help out. But if something else happens...
  
  
  "Are you sure you won't be inconvenienced by this?" she asked.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. There were two single beds, as she could clearly see. "You can take one bed," I said, " and I'll just stretch out on the other until morning. You'll be perfectly safe. Her meant it the way she said.
  
  
  "Okay," she said slowly, nodding her head.
  
  
  She went to the bathroom. I checked the locks on the doors and Sergey turned them off in the room. Then she took off her shoes and did a bench press around the beds. The room was still bright from the reflection of the moon on the snow outside. She came back a few minutes later, wearing only a slip. As she crossed the bathroom to the bed, her body was outlined in the light around the window, and I could see that there was nothing else underneath.
  
  
  She got into bed and pulled the covers over her. "Good night, Mr. Dawes. And thank you."
  
  
  "Good night," I said. "Go to sleep now."
  
  
  I confess that for a short time the thought of that beautiful body lying so close to me distracted me from the vault. But she didn't offer an invitation. He soon fell asleep. I don't think I slept very long when I was woken up by soft screams over ee garbage.
  
  
  Her sel and leaned towards the bed. "Suzanne? Miss Henley? Are you all right?"
  
  
  She continued to cry softly, and I thought maybe I was just having a nightmare. He walked over to her, sat down on the edge of the bed, and shook her lightly by the shoulders.
  
  
  "It's okay," I whispered. "Wake up! It's all right. You're only having a bad dream.
  
  
  Her arms suddenly came up, wrapped around my neck, and pulled me in line. Her eyes were still closed, and she began to frantically cover my face with kisses. "Hold me. Hold me!" He loves me!"
  
  
  It was still hard to tell if she was asleep or not, but her hand moved to my body, fiddling with my pants as she continued to kiss me. She was quickly stripped of her clothes and bench-pressed with her into bed.
  
  
  "Susannah,"he asked her again," are you awake?"
  
  
  "He loves me, please," she confirmed. Hey obliged her.
  
  
  She responded as if she was preparing for an act of love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  all my life, but never before have mistletoe decided to practice this. Her hunger was enormous, and she forced her to experience one erotic arousal after another until we were both exhausted by repeated orgasms. Never before had I known a woman who responded so fully to every emotion, every nerve in her being. Over and over, her body thrashing wildly on the bed, she turned her head to muffle her screams so they wouldn't echo through the entire chalet.
  
  
  Then, as we lay side by side, she finally opened her eyes and smiled at me. "At first," she said softly, " I thought it was just a dream. But it wasn't a dream, and it was much better."
  
  
  "Yes," I agreed. "It was."
  
  
  As I started to roll away from nah her, I felt her hand touch the inside of my left thigh. There was a ring on her finger, and he could feel it lightly scratching my flesh. I barely felt the scratch, but almost immediately a warm, soothing sensation spread through my entire body. My first thought was that it was just a consequence of our long lovemaking. The truth hit me a moment later, when that feeling gave way to a violent choking sensation. It happened again - I was drugged. Susannah Henley injected some substance around her ring into my body.
  
  
  This time, I knew that it was a powerful medicine that I couldn't resist. Darkness quickly descended. My brain was racing into a black void.
  
  
  Seventeen
  
  
  My vision was blurred by the blinding white light that shone directly into my eyes. He must have been unconscious for a long time. Her, I thought I was paralyzed. She can't move her arms or legs. Gradually, as my vision cleared, I saw that I was in a completely white room, like a hospital room, and that a blinding holy light was coming from a lamp set on the ceiling candid above me. I was lying on my back, and my arms and legs were securely tied with leather straps.
  
  
  He opened his mouth and tried to shout at the top of his lungs, but only hoarsely hoarsely. Even so, my sound attracted four burly men in the white jackets worn by hospital attendants and surrounded me. They raised the top of my bed so that I sat up straight.
  
  
  From his new position, he could see two other people in the room, in addition to the four "orderlies". One was my companion last night. Suzanne Henley, with her flaming red hair, looked beautiful in a white nurse's uniform and white low-heeled shoes. The other was a gray-haired man in his sixties, wearing a white lab coat, white trousers, white ballet slippers, and white gloves. He was in a wheelchair. I knew instinctively that I was currently at the Rejuvenation Health Spa, and that this person was Dr. Frederick Bosch.
  
  
  The doctor pulled a wheelchair lick up to my bed and gave me an icy, thin-lipped smile. Susannah Henley looked at me expressionlessly and then turned away.
  
  
  "Welcome to our spa, "the doctor said in a hoarse voice with a German accent," although I'm afraid this visit won't improve your health." He paused, then added, " Nick Carter."
  
  
  The ego's recognition of me gave me a boost, and for a while it struggled in vain against the bonds that held me tight.
  
  
  The doctor waved a hand. "There's no point in fighting, Mr. Carter. You are powerless here. Besides, why are you so eager to leave if you're so eager to come here? "
  
  
  He turned around in his wheelchair and ordered four white-coated assistants to take me upstairs.
  
  
  The men quickly rolled me, still strapped to the bed, across room k to the special elevator, which appeared immediately when one around them pressed the button. They shoved me into the elevator, and Susannah Henley and the doctor in the ego wheelchair joined us. No one answered as the elevator rose silently. We went up several floors before the elevator stopped, the doors opened, and I was ushered into a huge open room.
  
  
  Looking around the room, I saw that it was the size of a square city block and was glazed from floor to ceiling on all four sides. We were at the top of the spa, and because it was on the top of a high mountain, the glass wall gave us a view of the deep valleys on all sides. It was a spectacular sight, especially in daylight when the sun shone on the snow.
  
  
  But the room was a stunning sight - a huge humming, humming computer in the center, taking up most of the space. The computer's lights kept flashing and flashing, and the machine made a steady, quiet whirring sound. Otherwise, since the room was obviously soundproofed, it was eerily quiet. The doctor made a motion with his hand, and four men pulled my bed licks up to the machine. When she was there, one of the men around turned the crank at the foot of my bed, and her sudden sel was sincere, still tied down, with her back up and her legs down, as if she was in a chair.
  
  
  The four men returned to the elevator and left us as the doctor waved again.
  
  
  Susannah Henley sat next to him
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He turned on the computer and started twisting and turning dials as the doctor wheeled his wheelchair so that it was open in front of me.
  
  
  "Here it is, Mr. Carter," he said, waving his hand at the computer, " the rheumatism you would like. There is a force behind what you once called the "Killer Brigade". It's her voice, and you still don't understand what that means, do you? "
  
  
  He was right. I didn't know what a computer was and how it caused the global crisis.
  
  
  "Who are you?" I asked her. "What's all this about?"
  
  
  The doctor turned away from me, and I noticed for the first time that the ego wheelchair was fully mechanized, apparently controlled by controls that he could operate without manual labor. He laughed merrily as it whizzed once around the room. Then he went back to where he was sitting.
  
  
  "Allow me to introduce myself," he said, making a mock bow from the waist down. "I introduce myself by my real name, not the one everyone knows me by, Dr. Frederick Bosch. This name will be familiar to you - his name is Dr. Felix von Alder. I can see her raised eyebrows, Mr. Carter. You know my wife and my three beautiful daughters. But this is only a small part of the story."
  
  
  He paused for a moment and looked at me questioningly. "Before I tell you my story, Mr. Carter, I want you to understand why I'm telling it to you. You see, you are at my mercy now - physically, and soon you will be at my mercy completely-both physically and mentally. I assure you that nothing can stop this, and you will soon see for yourself. But before that happens, I want you to hear what happened. You, with your past achievements, are ready for him to tell her a brilliant story. It is important that you are here alive at this moment, because you are someone who can truly appreciate what I have managed to do. Otherwise, "he turned in his chair again," otherwise my work would be like creating a great masterpiece, a symphony that has never been heard by anyone who appreciates good music, or a painting that no one has ever seen. Do you understand?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. What, I wondered, was the explanation for this apparent insanity?
  
  
  Dr. Felix von Alder sat motionless in his wheelchair for a while before leaning over to talk to me.
  
  
  He was a brilliant scientist in Germany, working for Adolf Hitler on the control of human behavior. In the experiments of the 30s and 40s, only animals were involved in special operations, and they were very rough, using chemical and surgical techniques to alter and control the brain.
  
  
  "I had some success," von Alder said proudly, " even then. Der Fuhrer has graced me many times.
  
  
  Her, was ready to go to the people. Then it was too late - the war was over. There was an Allied reid in Berlin, where she worked... he paused and took off his white lab coat. Her ego saw that the white-gloved hands were artificial. He moved his shoulders, and both hands fell to the floor. "I lost both my hands in the raid."
  
  
  Shortly after that, he continued, the war ended. When the Russians came to Berlin, they wanted an ego because they knew about ego experiments. When they found him, they took him to the USSR. In the confusion of the times, the Germans thought he was dead. There was no record of Dr. Felix von Alder continuing to exist.
  
  
  In Moscow, he continued his work, but he had more complex electrical processes at his disposal. The Russians created artificial hands and cysts for him, and he was a brilliant success.
  
  
  "But the Russians,"he added," never stopped treating me with suspicion." He stopped again and slid his hips into the wheelchair seat. Both of her legs, which he could now see were artificial, fell to the floor.
  
  
  "They cut off my legs so I couldn't escape. They knew that her ih was an enemy. I have always believed in the superiority of the German people. My whole job was to help the German state rule the world - and now that it has perfected its methods, my dream will come true.
  
  
  "But back to the Russians-they researched the history of the Third Reich and discovered my deep personal loyalty to Hitler. But that didn't stop them from using my scientific knowledge. Oni believe that I am close to a breakthrough in my experiments. So they kept me isolated; I had nothing but my job."
  
  
  Von Alder was sitting in his chair in front of me, armless and legless. Hers could see that he was savoring my disgust and shock when hers looked at him. He laughed bitterly and used his back muscles to zigzag his wheelchair around the room and back to me, proving that even now he was far from helpless.
  
  
  Stopping again, he continued his story. In Russia, he finally developed the theory of successful management of people, since by that time two new developments had been introduced to the world - computers and miniature transistors.
  
  
  "As soon as I discovered these two elements," von Alder told me, " I knew I had what I needed. After all, a computer was just a mechanical brain that could be programmed to do whatever it wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  when would we take her to the hotel, so that it was - the brain is out of the body. I knew that by putting a tiny transistor inside a human brain, I could transmit orders from the transistor's computer. My topic would be under my absolute control."
  
  
  But he still had a problem: he didn't know how to put a transistor, even a transistor with mirror dots, in a human brain. He continued to experiment, never revealing his theory to the Russians.
  
  
  Then Chinese scientists began visiting Moscow to exchange information. Von Alder decided to switch sides. It seemed that the Chinese knew nothing about the ego's political past and would be treated better. He became friends with a Chinese physicist, and through him was smuggled across Russia. It was easy. Von Alders ' artificial arms and legs were removed, and the ego was placed at the bottom of a crate of scientific instruments that was being shipped to Beijing.
  
  
  "Once in China," von Alder continued, " I found a solution. It was surprisingly simple. Can you guess? »
  
  
  Before she could say anything, he answered himself: "Acupuncture".
  
  
  He held his breath as he continued to tell his story. Using the ancient Chinese medical art of acupuncture, he was able to bury a micro-point transistor in the human brain. The transistor was powered by a computer, and von Alders had complete control of the person.
  
  
  As in Russia, von Alder kept his discovery a secret. When the opportunity presented itself, he implanted a micropoint transistor in the brain of a drunken Communist Party official, a high-ranking member of the government. He then activated the transistor using a pre-programmed computer, and the Chinese helped von Alder escape to Switzerland.
  
  
  "Unfortunately," von Alder said with a deep sigh,"the poor Chinaman was killed on his way home."
  
  
  As soon as he reached Switzerland, von Alder contacted his wife. Little did he know that she had given birth to their daughters shortly after the Russians took Von Alder away. Ursula continued to keep her husband's identity secret because of his ego connection to Hitler, but she provided him with enough funds to open a spa. The ego family was unaware of the ego ongoing experiments, and the ego daughters never suspected that " the Doctor. Bosch "was ih's father.
  
  
  The resort flourished, attracting rich and influential clients from all over the world. Von Alder spent years building up his assassin squad, implanting a micropoint transistor in the brains of carefully selected clinic patients. When the doctor was ready, he simply activated his human robots through the computer.
  
  
  Hers was silent during the ego long story, partly because von Alder was talking nonstop, and partly because the ego story was too improbable to comment on. He was clearly angry, but he quickly proved that he wasn't a fool.
  
  
  As if reading my mind, he snapped: "You don't believe me. You think you've been listening to the wild droning of a crazy old man.
  
  
  He turned to the huge computer and said: "Listen, Mr. Carter. He motioned to Susannah Henley, who quickly pressed the button. Suddenly, the voice of the President of the United States filled the room. He discussed the rise of trade with Russia and China. As Ego's voice continued, von Alder's wild cackle almost drowned it out.
  
  
  "Transistors not only transmit my orders," von Alder said, " but they also act as receivers. I can hear her talking all over the world. Now you can hear your president speaking through a transistor radio inserted into the brain of one of your top state Department officials. Oni at the Cabinet meeting ".
  
  
  Von Alder signaled to Susannah, and she pressed a few buttons. Conversations about Russia, China, and England filled the room one by one.
  
  
  He knew her now, as Von Alder watched my every move, passing me in every direction. It must have had transmitters in the brains of Agent Z1 and Verblen, and possibly other AX employees.
  
  
  "No one can stop me," von Alder boasted. "She was organized by these murder-suicides, so that there would be no questions left when hers came with a big murder. When I threaten her now, they trust me. And do what I want you to do."
  
  
  Ego's eyes glittered, and the doctor rolled the wheelchair so that our faces were only a few inches apart. "We will now discuss your future, Mr. Carter. While you were unconscious, it was inserted by a transistor on your brain. In a moment, my assistant "- he nodded at Susannah - " will activate the ego. From now on, you will be completely and completely at my mercy, obeying the programmed feed that it advertises into the computer."
  
  
  Von Alder sat for a moment looking at my face. He was clearly enjoying my helplessness. I was all too aware of my ego power and felt sweat break out on my body.
  
  
  Von Alder turned away from me and nodded to the girl. I braced myself, watching as her hand went to the button on the computer. She touched a button. A row of lights flashed on, and the car hummed even more. I waited for her intently, I don't know what to expect. Would it have passed out? Her would have lost all memory
  
  
  
  
  
  the past? What would have happened? Soon the lights stopped blinking.
  
  
  "Nick Carter's transistor has been activated, Dr. von Alder," the girl said coldly. "The function is perfect."
  
  
  Her, sat motionless in the chair. I didn't feel anything - my brain was working just as clearly as before. I didn't know what had happened, but obviously it wasn't under Von Alder's control. He tried to make a hard mask of his face so that he wouldn't discover anything.
  
  
  Von Alder apparently thought the operation was a success. He barely glanced at me as he paced excitedly around the room, talking to himself. "I succeeded! Again, as always! »
  
  
  He made a sign to Susannah and said almost contemptuously,"Let him go, please."
  
  
  The girl quickly walked over to me and began to loosen the straps that held me down. I kept her face out of the way in case she saw something that would alert her, but she didn't even look at me. When she was finally free, she went back to her computer. At the time, he didn't know what to do, so he just sat there while Von Alder continued to pace back and forth, rambling on about his plans.
  
  
  Suddenly, in the midst of his diatribe, he stopped talking and lunged at me in his wheelchair, ego's nerves twitching uncontrollably.
  
  
  Almost at the same time, Susannah yelled at me, " Look, Nick! He knows you're not being controlled. He knows! He saw your eyes! »
  
  
  Ee warning came just in time. I jumped down from where I was sitting when Mr. Alder's wheelchair bumped into me. Her then too late saw that two muzzles were sticking out from under the armrests of the wheelchair. One, malo, spewed out a sheet of searing flame, while jets of blinding gas spurted out around the other. If I hadn't jumped when I did, it would have been burned to the ground. Even so, part of my left shoulder and arm were badly burned, and he was half blinded when he dodged to the side.
  
  
  Von Alder spun the wheelchair around in a frenzy and lunged at me again, both muzzles spitting out deadly flames and hissing gas. I ran, twisting and turning across the room as he pushed me in the wheelchair. My back was burned again before I could get away from him, because this time he was moving too fast. Ei was close to exhaustion, but before he could turn the chair around again, Ei rushed after him.
  
  
  While he was twirling the chair, his emu jumped on his back and wrapped her arms around ego's neck. The wheelchair was still racing forward, dragging me along with it. With her free hand, he dug his fingers deep into von Alder's neck until he found the nerve he was looking for. Her exerted pressure and temporarily paralyzed him. Now he couldn't move, not even the muscle to try and slow down his car. Using all of his strength, Alenka turned her racing wheelchair and aimed the ego openly at the glass wall.
  
  
  The wheelchair sped at full speed towards its destination. Her held on, watching as the wall approached licking and licking, until when the wheelchair smashed through the glass, hers fell to the floor. The chair with von Alder's body smashed against the glass and tumbled into the valley below.
  
  
  Susannah Henley rushed over and helped me to my feet. Her, looked at nah. "You saved me, didn't you?"
  
  
  "Yes," she said, clinging to me. "I'll explain it later."
  
  
  The two of us stood silently at the edge of the room, looking down into the deep abyss below. There, hundreds of feet below, on the ice of the glacier, lay the body of von Alder, with a broken wheelchair beside him. From above, the body looked like a tiny broken doll with its arms and legs torn off. Susannah flinched, and her father pulled her away from the window.
  
  
  "Computer," she said, suddenly remembering. "I have to turn off the ego."
  
  
  She hurried across the room and pressed buttons. The rows of lights went out, and the buzzing became a low hum. With a final shudder, the car stopped altogether and froze.
  
  
  Susannah looked at me. "It's all right now," she said. "The computer is unlocked. Odin's transistor software won't work, and all of Dr. von Alder's victims will regain their normal personalities. Over time, micro-point transistors - including those in your brain - will simply dissolve." He nodded to her. It was over.
  
  
  18
  
  
  After the computer was shut down, she got a call from Hawke in the States. He gave Emu a brief, full report on what had happened. When I finished it, he advised me to stay at the spa. He will make a full report to the President and representatives of other Governments. Then all of them will come to Switzerland to witness the final destruction of the computer.
  
  
  While Susannah and I waited, she told me her story. She worked for Von Alder for two years. She was British, and had come to him through a secret search ad in a London newspaper. She was a lab assistant in London, and there was something else to do at the spa.
  
  
  She was actually a prisoner from the day she arrived. It was impossible to escape. Even that night, when she came to my hotel room, if she hadn't knocked me out, someone with
  
  
  
  
  
  she - one of Von Alder's goons - would have finished her job.
  
  
  A combination of hatred and desperation made her go on this crazy adventure at the computer. She hoped, she prayed, that freeing me would help hey.
  
  
  A few hours later, Hawk and Ego group started arriving. They were incredulous when she was told all the details of Von Alder's story. I think if Susannah hadn't been there to support Roe Deer - and if she hadn't had such a solid reputation in the field - I would have been fired as an oddball. And, of course, there was a computer to provide evidence.
  
  
  Acting on orders from the president, Hawke linked the Swiss authorities to the giant machine. The next day, the resort was cleared of people. Then specialists were called to disassemble the computer. All evidence of Dr. von Alder's plan to control the world-the computer and the spa-was destroyed. The doctor's body was taken to Berlin in the dead of night and placed in the von Alder family plot. Only Ursula was informed of Ego's death, and she requested that her daughters never know of their father's existence, then the outbreak of World War II.
  
  
  Authorities told Bern residents that the resort had to be demolished because the structure was deemed unsafe. Now that the case was closed and everything accounted for, Hawk, Susannah, and hers met up at the chalet, where I still had a room left, for a final drink. He flew back at night like a Hawk, but he generously offered to let me stay another day.
  
  
  "Well, Nick," he said, clinking glasses with me, " we can score another one for you." That was the closest thing Hawke had ever said to me.
  
  
  Later, after Hawke's plane left, Susannah and I lay in my room. We made love again, and he pulled her close and said, " You know, her, I feel like I can keep making love to you for the rest of my life. A dangerous feeling.
  
  
  She propped herself up on one elbow, leaned over me, and smiled softly. "Maybe, Dumplink," she whispered, " that's what's going to happen to you. Don't forget that you still have a transistor built into your brain, and I know almost as much as Dr. von Alder about controlling people. It could just be made by a small computer and programmed so that you don't have to make love to me at any time or night."
  
  
  "Do you think that scares me?"
  
  
  Thread
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Liquidator
  
  
  
  
  Annotation
  
  
  
  A Greek agent, an old friend, Carter, worked behind the Iron Curtain, but wants to leave and needs AX's help to do so.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Seed the seventh chapter
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  The tenth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  The sixteenth chapter
  
  
  Chapter seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  Liquidator
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  It's not far from Washington to the Outer Banks; it just seems that way. Since it was a vacation, we pulled back a bit and drove over the Annapolis Bay Bridge over the Chesapeake to the east bank, then took the highway through countryside as spectacular as the stretch between Indianapolis and Terre Haute. There used to be a great ferry ride from Cape Charles to Norfolk - long enough to relax, eat in the dining room, and watch the sea move between the Atlantic and the Bay. But no more than that. Now there's a bridge complex, like concrete lanes through the water, and a couple of shocking tunnel dives that supposedly allow ships to pass through without disrupting traffic. The problem is that every time a storm hits, the boat breaks anchor, breaks the bridge piles, and closes all the structures for several weeks. Sometimes I wonder how they handle people who commute from the Cape to Norfolk, but that's ih the problem.
  
  
  The best thing to do when driving through Norfolk is to close your eyes. Then, as you head south, forget about the Great Dismal Swamp to the right and concentrate on this huge smashing of islands that make up the northern half of the North Carolina coast. Once you get to the Outer Banks around Hello kitty Hawk modules, you will feel like you are far out to sea with a narrow strip of sand dunes and motels to avoid getting into the water. Actually, you're pretty far out to sea, but don't believe this travel agency nonsense about Cape Hatteras being the easternmost point in the U.S.; Philadelphia is a good hundred miles away, just for starters.
  
  
  But we didn't stop at Hatteras. Too many tourists, and Monica and I didn't take this long weekend to hang out with a bunch of photographers. After driving forever on a straight, monotonous highway, we reached the ferry to Ocracoke, the last stop of the Outer Banks. The late spring day was clear but gloomy, with light overcast weather that made the sun almost oppressive.
  
  
  When we arrived, we stepped out of the rented yellow Mustang and stopped at the blunt bow of the boat; the breeze was enough to throw a spray of spray in our faces, but it was more refreshing than annoying. Monica was the type of girl who didn't worry about her makeup - or anything else-which was one of the reasons I took her on this little walk.
  
  
  My boss in Washington wasn't happy with my choice for a long weekend; I couldn't even tell emu where I was staying because I'd never been to Ocracoke before; it wasn't exactly what tourists needed. I'd more or less promised to let Em know as soon as we found the motel, but we both knew I'd probably forget. It's nice to know you're needed, but you need to draw a line somewhere.
  
  
  We stopped at a location close to the town on Ocracoke, a cluster of houses and shops arranged around the harbor forming a perfect circle. I was glad to find that there was no phone in the room, but we had an ice maker outside. A few years ago, a friend of mine wrote an article about this small, isolated island, and because it emphasized the ego, the main interest in life, I knew that Okrakok was not only dry, but that there wasn't even a person who could bring you an extra bottle or two. But we arrived well-stocked, and Monica and I weren't worried as we started our busy vacation for a few days.
  
  
  Monica worked at a spa in Bethesda, and one look at this small but superbly bright body is all that this commercial might need. At twenty-five, after a couple of broken marriages, Nah had the naively high spirits of a teenager, but she had a shrewdness that he appreciated. She never asked about my scars, the terrible ones that even AX's super surgeons couldn't fully repair. The place where she worked was suitable for this kind of injury.
  
  
  Washington's clientele - military superiors, ih satellite diplomats, men and women around various government departments whose titles say nothing about ih's true functions. In other words, questions were discouraged, and that was the main reason my boss sent me to this place after one of my assignments left me in a pretty bad state.
  
  
  Monica and I took a short swim in the cool Atlantic, followed by long, leisurely sunburns, then another short swim and a hurried return to the motel as the sun began to fall toward Pamlico Sound on the other side of the island. Afterwards, we spent an amazing hour at the bar and then got up to find a place for dinner. The choice wasn't great, but the fresh fish in the place we chose was well cooked, if not exciting, and we honestly couldn't complain.
  
  
  So it went on for a couple of days; we wandered around the beaches, stopped from time to time to talk to surfers, checked out the souvenir shops and agreed that we were in one, there was nothing worthwhile around them. The weather never changed, there was always a light haze that made the blue sky milky gray again, and after a while it started to depress us both. By noon on the third day, we had agreed that it was time to return; we stopped somewhere else along the coast for the night - not in a hurry, just trying to move on.
  
  
  We had heard of the Ocracoke pony, a wild breed similar to those found on Chincoteague Island, off Virginia, but didn't notice us alone until we were on our way to the ferry. Then, as we were driving on narrow two-lane asphalt through rolling dunes, Monica suddenly pointed me to the left ahead.
  
  
  She screamed. "Look!" A whole herd!"
  
  
  He turned his head just in time to see a pair of horse hind legs disappear behind a high, shrubby dune. "They're gone," I said.
  
  
  "Oh, please stop, Nick," the girl insisted. "Let's see if we can find ih again."
  
  
  "They're wild, they won't let you near them." He knew Monica was crazy about horses; she rode regularly to the stables in Maryland. For me, horses are just a faster way to get over the ground than walking, if that's the only choice you have.
  
  
  "Let's try it anyway." She puts her hand up to my tribe and gives me that playful grin that says she knows damn well she's going to get her way. "We're not in a hurry, and we haven't even looked at this part of the island."
  
  
  Totally real, he confessed to her as he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. When the engine was turned off, the only sound was a light breeze blowing through the unkempt red-brown shrubbery that somehow managed to dreadlocks on the sandy ground. Her, looked at Monica with her upturned nose and bright eyes, her tanned sticks just starting to peel off at the edges. And then hers, looking at her wonderfully plump breasts that stood out against the light knit shirt, and the faded denim shorts that clung to her thighs like a lover's embrace. He took her hand off his knee and kissed it briefly.
  
  
  Good. Let's start a big roundup, " I said, opening the door on my side.
  
  
  "Take the camera. I'd like to take some photos of her."
  
  
  "Got it."
  
  
  We both walked barefoot across the heavy sand in the direction of the sound. Between the high dunes on either side of us was a sort of path - or at least a strip of sand where no bushes grew. I kept an eye on the place where the horses had disappeared, but when we broke out into the open on the bank, Nu was nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  Monica was now racing ahead, scanning the ground; suddenly she dropped to her knees like an Indian scout. "Watch!" she screamed. "Hoofprints!"
  
  
  "What did you expect?" I asked, shuffling across the hot sand toward her. "Tire tracks?"
  
  
  "Not stupid. She stood up and looked at the long, straight stretch of beach. "But we could follow them."
  
  
  "Of course. From now until next winter. And how much chance do you think we'll have of catching up to ih?"
  
  
  "Well..." She turned her head, blue eyes narrowing. "They must have gone somewhere beyond the dunes." She grabbed my arm and started pulling. "Come on, Nick."
  
  
  Hey let her take me with her. She headed down the beach, going to a place where the sand was harder and wetter than a mini wave. She watched the pile of hooves carefully, then suddenly stopped and pointed inland.
  
  
  "Look! They turned off there." She ran, and the tailor took her and trotted after her. Such enthusiasm can be contagious.
  
  
  When the tracks disappeared into a thicket of sand dunes, I managed to stop myself from saying, hey, "I told you so," partly because I didn't do it except in the dark. Monica stopped walking
  
  
  abruptly applied a thumb to her lips and sighed.
  
  
  "I wonder which way -" she began.
  
  
  "That's a guess."
  
  
  She nodded. "You might be right." Then she brightened. "But look! We can climb to the top of this monstrous dune and at least look around. Maybe we can spot ih again!"
  
  
  It was my turn to sigh, but since I wouldn't have taken her this far, there was no point in resisting. She was climbing the steep dune slope like a defender, getting her feet in shape for the season, and if I'd been a few years younger, I'd have felt obligated to show, hey, that I could do it too. Instead, I went up at a more reasonable pace; there are enough physical demands in my line of work and I don't need to show off. Besides, I didn't have to prove anything to Monica.
  
  
  She stood on tiptoe, the light breeze ruffling her blond hair, and slowly turned to look at the ground below. I couldn't see anything in the endless tangle of bushes and stunted trees between two rows of dunes. There might be a panzer division lurking there, not to mention a dozen ponies.
  
  
  "I think we definitely lost ih," I said.
  
  
  Monica nodded. "Looks like a tailor! Its just to see the ih hotel up close."
  
  
  "Well, next time." He looked over her head at the asphalt road in the distance. She could see the yellow Mustang parked where ego had left her, but she couldn't see our car, our man, or even the lost seagull. Behind us, on a sound that stretched endlessly toward an invisible mainland, maybe twenty miles away, a pair of toy boats crept into the & nb, but they had nothing to do with this remote and isolated place.
  
  
  I looked back at Monica, who was now looking at me with a look I knew so well. She yawned, stretched, and ran her hands through her hair. Her full breasts are raised under her shirt, her nipples are sharply defined. She smiled sleepily, and he zipped up her leather camera case so that the sand wouldn't run into it.
  
  
  The top of the dune was hollowed out, a dish around the soft sand that was initially hot against the bare flesh. But then, as those hips began to move rhythmically beneath me, I forgot all about the heat and everything else except what we were doing. She was a passionate, lascivious girl, fully engaged in nah; she lifted her legs and wrapped them around my waist, holding me to her with surprising strength, and then began to jerk violently, trying to pull me into her. She then let out a long, low howl of hurt and delight, and then slowly began to descend until her exhaustion was complete.
  
  
  "That was good," she murmured.
  
  
  "Amazing," I agreed, now aware of how the sun was burning me.
  
  
  "I wish she could stay here all day." Her hands were still on my neck, and her eyes were slightly open as she smiled at me.
  
  
  "There are other places." It wasn't that I didn't want to stay, but there was a curious urgency in me that I couldn't understand. Until she heard a distant sound approaching.
  
  
  He looked to the left, toward both ends of the island, where the ferry dock was. In the air, no more than a hundred feet above the ground, the helicopter was moving slowly in our current direction. It rocked gently back and forth, apparently scanning the two-lane asphalt pavement. When it came to my yellow Mustang, it slowed down even more, hovered, and then lowered a little, as if I wanted to get to know each other better.
  
  
  Without ceremony, he broke free of Monica's embrace and jumped to his feet; he was pulling on his pants when the helicopter suddenly banked and headed openly for our dune.
  
  
  "What is it?" Monica asked, only half-alarmed, propping herself up on one elbow.
  
  
  "Yellow Mustang," I rasped, cursing the rental agency for not giving me a less conspicuous car.
  
  
  "What are you talking about, Nick?" The girl rolled over, looking up at the sky as the helicopter approached. I swear, naked and all, she was about to wave when I yanked her and threw her off the steep dune bank. It wasn't exactly skill to handle the lady you'd just made love to, but when her, dived in for her, it was the last thing on her mind. When a strange plane is looking for me, I don't wave it with my hand - I duck it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite all the shelter at a short distance, the places we were in weren't enough to hide a rabbit. This time it was my turn to run, dragging Monica behind me; somehow, hey managed to grab her clothes as she was pushed over a dune by ee, and her knit shirt fluttered behind her like a flag. Not that it mattered; in any case, the guy in the helicopter couldn't have missed us.
  
  
  It flew low over us, the wind from the rotors raising sand
  
  
  in our faces. Monica stumbled, trying to close her eyes; Ey stopped to help her, looked back, and at that moment the helicopter landed on the ground a couple of dozen feet ahead of us.
  
  
  It was time to stop running. He squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the whizzing blades, instinctively putting himself between the girl and the helicopter; and it wasn't just to hide his nakedness. The nearest door to the round plastic bubble opened, and a man slowly walked out on the nah. He was just a silhouette, but as soon as he moved towards me, his body relaxed.
  
  
  "Get in your things, honey," she muttered to the girl, and waited for David Hawk to approach cautiously. Luckily for him, Monica wasn't the type of girl who took about a second and a half to get dressed, so Em didn't have to look away anymore.
  
  
  "All right," he finally said, not wheezing at all. Not only does the AX Chief look like he's supposed to be preaching hellfire and brimstone to his congregation in a New England village, but he sometimes acts that way - understandably in the presence of a naked woman.
  
  
  In the pause that followed, he put on his shirt. I asked her.
  
  
  "What brings you to the magnificent Ocracoke?"
  
  
  "You," he said sincerely. "Why didn't you leave word where you were staying here?"
  
  
  "Because I didn't know her when I left Washington."
  
  
  "When did you find out?"
  
  
  "It just didn't matter for a couple of days."
  
  
  Ego's flint eyes darted from mine to Monica, then back to me. "You should know better, Carter."
  
  
  There was no argument with him. My only excuse was that I interrupted too many of my short vacations to vote like this, but that wasn't an excuse at all. We are a small organization, and when I need it, I need it.
  
  
  "Apologize," her father said. "Whatever it was, we were just on our way back to D.C. when you, uh ... .. they noticed us."
  
  
  He chuckled. "Mmm. Of course, for all of us, what we did was hers, I suppose. If you were anywhere else but this island on the edge of the world, I doubt we'd make contact. But it was worth the effort, and it worked. You'll have to send the girl to wait for you by the car."
  
  
  I didn't ask why, just turned and nodded to Monica. To give Amy her due, she didn't sulk or protest. She just waved and ran away.
  
  
  Hawk didn't want to waste time on preliminary tests. "We need you in Washington right now, Nick; I won't go into any more details until we get back to the office, but the fact that I came here alone should let me tell you how important this is."
  
  
  "I understand." Not that the old man was just a post commander, but it's rare to see the head of one of the world's most important intelligence organizations running errands.
  
  
  "Does the girl drive a car?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Good. Then she can return the car to Washington. You're flying back with me."
  
  
  "I can go and get there by nightfall."
  
  
  "It's too late. You'll be on your way by nightfall."
  
  
  "Where to?"
  
  
  "Later. Get in the helicopter and we'll drop you off at yours... fortunately, a noticeable car."
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "I'm going to walk; it's the least I can do after getting a girl to do it."
  
  
  Hawk stared at me for a moment, sucking on his cold pipe. "Don't tell me," he said, twitching the lips that served as an emu smile. "Are you becoming a gentleman these days?"
  
  
  There's no point in answering.
  
  
  Monica took the news well, although she made it clear that I didn't like the idea of missing the rest of our vacation. "I'll see you as soon as I can," Hey told her, meaning every word: girls like Monica are a rare find, especially for a man in my email business. He grabbed her luggage, kissed her goodbye, and boarded the helicopter. She waved once, then sped off as if she was ready to race to Washington. The way she drove, she wouldn't have minded nah if it hadn't been for that long, slow ferry ride.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Hawk didn't tell me what we were saying until we were in Ego's headquarters office, AX's DuPont Circle headquarters. Behind the facade of the World Health Service is a complex of sterile little offices, painted the same bleak shade of prison paint and lit by endless rows of pale neon tubes. Hawk Odin has a few windowed offices around him, but that doesn't make the ego any more fun; he's standing in front of a blank brick wall that works out in the gym, almost within reach.
  
  
  Her sell sat on a hard straight chair opposite the ego of a simple steel chair. As usual, there were only a few neatly stacked folders on the nen, a couple of regular black phones, plus the one you don't see, a red one in a special compartment built into the ego chair. Like the Hawk, the office was designed only for
  
  
  for business. No one was ever encouraged to linger and pass the time of day there.
  
  
  "You're getting nervous, N3," the old man remarked.
  
  
  "What makes you say that?"
  
  
  "Just because... let's just say... the voyeur decided to take a closer look at what was happening on top of this dune, you acted as if you were afraid for your life."
  
  
  "If you hadn't checked my car first, it might have mistaken you for another Peeping Tom. But in any case, she's not an exhibitionist, so she would have gotten out of there, hema would have given her a hard time."
  
  
  Hawk nodded sharply, struck a kitchen match, and held it to the stinking bowl of his pipe. "When was the last time you went on a boat trip, Nick?"
  
  
  I should have thought about it a bit. "The last time I was in the Bahamas. Four months ago."
  
  
  "Which ones?"
  
  
  "Just one of those little catamarans that calve rents out."
  
  
  "Nothing more?"
  
  
  "Clean... let me think about it. Not since last summer. A friend of mine has a forty-two-foot yacht on the East Bank. We spent a few days driving it around the Chesapeake."
  
  
  "Driving the boat yourself?"
  
  
  "Of course. You know I can swim. I wouldn't have skipped her for the 12-kilometer race at the Copa America, but I can do pretty much anything that one person can do."
  
  
  "Yes, it's in your file. Navigation?"
  
  
  "This is also in the file."
  
  
  He nodded. "Alex Zenopolis".
  
  
  I started to say something about my file again, but then the name hit me and stopped me like a stone wall. "Alex," I breathed. "It's been years since ferret I've heard that name before."
  
  
  "Well, about nen from time to time appear in reports with them ferret as he defected to the Reds' side. Obviously, he made a good living in the ih intelligence apparatus."
  
  
  "I don't recall seeing any around these reports."
  
  
  "Be grateful that you work in the field, you don't have to read every report."
  
  
  He was grateful to her, but he wasn't going to talk about it. "I wish I could have seen you; Alex and I were friends for a while."
  
  
  "Yes, I remember her."
  
  
  "So what about him now?"
  
  
  "Obviously, he wants to come out."
  
  
  It was my turn to nod; I didn't have to ask any questions.
  
  
  "Last night," Hawke continued, " one of our men stationed in Greece along the border with Albania received a message purporting to be from Zenopolis. It was immediately transferred here." Hawk opened the top folder and slid a thin sheet of paper across the chair.
  
  
  The message was understandably cryptic; the nen only said that Alex Zenopolis, a former Greek intelligence official, would personally contact US agents in Greece at the hotel for a week or so. Time and place to follow. It will then send a confirmation signal, which will be broadcast on a standard frequency at a specific time.
  
  
  It was returned by ego to the boss. "Do we have any shows where he is?"
  
  
  "Last we heard, he was serving in some liaison group operating between Yugoslavia and Albania." Hawk allowed himself a cold smile. "You can imagine the delicacy of this kind of operation."
  
  
  "I don't remember Alex being a diplomat."
  
  
  “no. On the other hand, we probably know less about what's going on inside Albania than we do about Red China."
  
  
  "So you think he can tell us something important?"
  
  
  "There is always such a possibility. On the other hand, all he says is that he wants to contact us. Personally."
  
  
  "Which means face to face. In Greece."
  
  
  "And maybe he just wants to get back into the fold."
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. Good. In any case, he should tell us something interesting."
  
  
  "Probably very much."
  
  
  "Do you have anything else besides this message?"
  
  
  "Not really. But I really want to get the next thing he sends."
  
  
  "And in the meantime?"
  
  
  "In the meantime, you're going to take a crash course in sailing and navigation."
  
  
  "I don't understand."
  
  
  Hawk got up from his creaking swivel chair and walked over to the row of gray steel filing cabinets that are the only decoration in the office. Around the drawer, he pulled out a rolled-up map and carried it to the burn-smeared conference table behind me. Her joined him
  
  
  "Here," he said, " are the Balkan states. Greece, Albania, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and Romania. Now our person, the one who received the message, has been posted here." He pointed to a spot not far from where the borders of Yugoslavia, Albania and Greece meet. "You will notice that there is a large lake here, and all three countries share the ego of the shore. In a very mountainous country."
  
  
  Em didn't have to explain. "Is there a lot of cross-border traffic?"
  
  
  "Surprisingly little, considering
  
  
  difficulty in protecting the area. But such a territory will provide many opportunities for a qualified and experienced person ."
  
  
  "What about the messenger? Anything from him?"
  
  
  Hawke shook his head, I thought a little sadly. "This is more or less an open post to listen to. Just by itself, not managed by AX. Obviously, the bellboy knew where he was in the hall, and ... ahh... I just put a note under the door."
  
  
  Now I knew he was embarrassed, even if the operation wasn't under our control. So he said nothing and let Em continue.
  
  
  "In any case, given the nature of the work that Zenopolis did, it would be logical to assume that he is somewhere in this region." He pointed a blunt, tobacco-stained finger at the lake.
  
  
  "Don't tell me I have to sail on it."
  
  
  "Not at all. In fact, if Zenopolis intends to perform in this area, we can't have anything to do with it. Not there."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "Look at this place. In one direction, it is a country as fiercely opposed to Western peoples as any other country in the world. Next to it is Yugoslavia, which is kind to us these days, but is still undoubtedly an ally of the other side. And Greece. our ally, yes, but our relations under the current government are obviously strained. And imagine how much the colonels who are doing hey right now would love to get someone like Zenopolis."
  
  
  "I think I understand her. The only way to get him out quickly once he crosses the border is by air. And that would mean a long flight over Albania or Greece, and we wouldn't need one around them to worry too much about letting us get there. off with the prize."
  
  
  "And if the Greeks find out that US agents are involved in any way, much more serious problems could arise."
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  "Which brings us back to sailing lessons."
  
  
  Hawke ran a finger along the west coast of Greece. "When we establish contact with Zenopolis again, we will insist that it break through Albania as ble licks, to the sea. This is the only way we can afford to contact him at this stage."
  
  
  "What if he has some important information for us?"
  
  
  "Then we may have to change our thinking. In the meantime, you should be prepared to meet the ego somewhere in the area. Then you will transfer the ego to Taranto, which is in the hall on the heel of an Italian boot."
  
  
  "Okay, but why her? Any agent could do the job, and I don't think I'm the only one who can steer a sailboat through... what?" He checked the miles scale; the map showed a slice of southeastern Italy. "Maybe seventy-five miles? No more than a hundred? " He began to get a little annoyed, remembering his embarrassing run through the sand with a naked Monica in tow.
  
  
  "Yes, we have one or two agents who are more qualified in this regard than you. But no one around them knows Alexa Zenopolis by sight."
  
  
  It took me a while to realize that. "But look," I said, " I haven't seen this man in fifteen years. It might pass mimmo him on the street and not recognize the ego."
  
  
  "Let's hope that's not the case. I looked through your personal file today, and during that time your appearance hasn't changed in any noticeable way."
  
  
  If the old man was trying to flatter me, he couldn't have chosen a better way. He was just a guy back then, in his early twenties, but soon after that, he was pretty confident about his appearance and physical condition. With them, her ferret kept itself in shape, and as far as looks go, hers, I guess I have one of those faces that just don't age much. My hair was still thick and dark, a little longer than it had been in those early, straight Eisenhower days. I weigh ten pounds more than I did back then, but I deliberately built up my ego as part of a weight-training program, and I'm not wearing an ounce more than I wouldn't have. If that sounds like bragging rights, so be it; a person who works hard to stay in shape should be a little proud of it.
  
  
  "All right," he and Hawk agreed. "So maybe I'll recognize her as Alexa."
  
  
  "And even if you don't, of course you can establish an ego, a personality, by talking about old times."
  
  
  He wasn't so sure about it; if the other party fielded a replacement, he should be well informed. But I wasn't going to argue. "So what's next, sir?"
  
  
  Hawk returned to his desk. "Once you've collected some clothes, you'll be on a commercial airliner to Providence. A booking has been made for you in the name of Daniel McKee. My registrar has credit cards and other identification documents."
  
  
  "Providence?" My surprise must have been obvious.
  
  
  Hawk chuckled and made me nod. "Your final destination is Newport. But in a city you hate, you'll be met at the airport by a man named
  
  
  Nathaniel Frederick. It will inform you further. "
  
  
  "Is he alone through our agents?"
  
  
  "Not at all. In fact, he's exactly how ego sounds last name."
  
  
  "This is what?" She didn't trust the old man when he smiled.
  
  
  "Well, of course, a retired New England schoolteacher."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  When I entered the terminal, he was waiting for me, a tall man with a ruddy face and tousled dark hair that was slightly streaked with gray. The ego handshake was cordial and firm, but from the feel of the ego leather palm, I got the impression that he could squeeze a silver ingot, shaped like a circle, into a roll of monette. He had a cheery, mischievous face, his eyes were constantly dancing, and his comfortably broad middle was no wider than the ego of equally broad shoulders. Even before he spoke, he knew why he was working for AX; Nathaniel Frederick was obviously a man who had been there before and loved every minute of it.
  
  
  "You're in luck," he said as we exited, circled the terminal and headed for the ego vintage station wagon parked right outside the entrance. "Your plane arrived on time. Normally, you can expect flights from Washington to arrive at least an hour late."
  
  
  "Maybe you're lucky," I said. "You didn't have to wait."
  
  
  "Oh, I don't mind waiting." He patted the black briefcase under his arm. "I am always ready to pass away idle moments."
  
  
  If that remark was meant to pique my curiosity, it worked. But I decided to hold off until I got a clearer picture of the man who looked anything but retired all over New England. As he started the noisy but smooth engine, her ego profile studied her for a moment. I estimate it's no more than the mid-fifties, and that got me thinking. Retired? He looked like he could go on until he was eighty, and maybe even then.
  
  
  He drove steadily and casually through the streets and highways until we were driving around the city. He knew almost nothing about this part of the country, except that I was once sent to Brown to take a special course. It was the middle of winter, and winters in Providence make you want to go somewhere else. Hers was in Newport once, traveling with friends on a boat that could justly be called a yacht, but hers didn't even make it to shore during our overnight stay.
  
  
  "What kind of exercise?" I asked her, like an opener.
  
  
  Nathaniel looked at me. He definitely wasn't around the kind of people you'd call Nat "Well, you'll stay in my house. I'll take you to sea every day until you're driving like you're at home or driving a car. Then you'll need to know something else ... "
  
  
  "Navigation," I interrupted.
  
  
  "Oh, this applies to sailing, and if you need to brush up on the theory a bit, I'll certainly help you with that. But that's the easy part."
  
  
  "Is that correct?"
  
  
  He grinned, his face lit up by the dashboard lights. "You'll have to memorize the details - the size, rigging, additional equipment, and especially prices - of virtually every sailing vessel currently on sale in the United States and other parts of the world."
  
  
  "All of this? Why?"
  
  
  Nathaniel chuckled. "David told me that he didn't have time to inform you in detail, but I didn't know that he didn't tell you anything."
  
  
  The man next to me surprised me every time he opened his mouth. He was the only person I'd ever heard call the chief by his first name.
  
  
  "He said you would give me the details."
  
  
  "Of course, only in this part of the operation. And that's to turn you into a smart copy of a yacht broker, Mr. Daniel McKee. I do not know why, and I never expect to find out what the" I don't need to know about your operation, please don't tell me "is for.
  
  
  I wasn't going to do it, but my own curiosity made me want to know everything I could about this overgrown cherub. "I take it you've worked with Hawk before."
  
  
  "Oh, of course," he admitted. "We go back to the First World War, when we both worked in naval intelligence. Well, at least hers was working; David was... not in the state, as we used to say."
  
  
  "Yeah. Are you teaching at the school now?"
  
  
  "Not anymore. Hers, retired a few years ago."
  
  
  I looked at him openly, making sure he was aware of it. "You seem a little young for retirement," I said sincerely, trying to understand the reaction.
  
  
  He just nodded in agreement. "It's true. I'm only fifty-nine. But when my wife died, my position in St. Dunstan's Parish became uncomfortable."
  
  
  "Is this a school?"
  
  
  “yeah. You see, boys in prep schools tend to get attached to the wives of the rectors of some departments. You know, afternoon tea, the kind of open-door atmosphere that is usually maintained in some places.
  
  
  . My wife, whom I can say without bragging, was probably the favorite of all my family, and when she left, I found that there were too many of them... well, let's just say, sympathy for me. It became very difficult to teach, and I was worried that the boys only came to class with me. So... I retired."
  
  
  He spoke dryly, with a slight smile on his lips, but he brushed his eyes once and then cleared his throat loudly.
  
  
  "You... err... still live on campus?" I was less concerned about where he lived than how it might affect my cover story; the last thing I wanted to do was deal with a bunch of nosy schoolboys.
  
  
  "Oh, no. The house next to the yacht club on Sakonnet rented her. It's not very big, but it fits my needs, and it's close enough to the university campus that I can expect friends to drop by from time to time. And her really Be busy, Mr. Carter, excuse me, Mr. McKee. Retirement, you know, is the time of life when a man finds the opportunity to do all the things that he previously put off."
  
  
  Okay, so he knew my real name. It wasn't a surprise, especially after realizing how close he was to Hawke. But I thought he was talking too freely to me, and I wondered how far he would go.
  
  
  "I think you've done this before with Hawk," I said.
  
  
  He looked at me quickly. "Not exactly. That is, I don't conduct the usual maritime business school for AX agents, although from time to time I've taught the basics to one or two meet your colleagues."
  
  
  "But you... kept in touch all these years."
  
  
  He grinned. "You're investigating these connections, Mr. McKee."
  
  
  Frankly, it seemed like a good idea. "I always like to know as much as possible about the person I'm dealing with. Especially when he's obviously an old buddy of my boss's."
  
  
  Nathaniel chuckled. "Well, there's no reason not to tell you a bit. I have a few small talents in various fields that David was able to use when he was available to her. Aside from boating and sailing, she is quite well known, thanks to the Navy and the training they gave me many years ago. And I travel it; even when I was still teaching it, it used to be sailed to Europe, to the Caribbean, even across the Pacific, during the long years that schoolteachers live. . On my sabbatical-God, almost ten years ago! "He took his wife and two daughters, who grew up and left the nest, on a round-the-world cruise. David asked me to sort out some things, to establish contacts ... Well, you know what I mean. Her, I'm sure you're not going to ask me for more details."
  
  
  "They should be in the agency's files."
  
  
  "I hope not. The little work I did for your boss was a personal matter. For an old friend. And, as an old friend, David assured me that my name would never appear, even in a single AX file, even in encoded form. I trust emu with her. Isn't it? "
  
  
  He nodded to her. And at the same time, I realized that I trusted it in math and as much as I trusted anyone she'd ever met in my life. Which, of course, bothered me, because a big part of my profession is being so damn suspicious of everyone I come in contact with.
  
  
  "It's like a cover story," I said. "You women, children, traveling outdoor pool. Which ports have you encountered?"
  
  
  Nathaniel shook a gently reproving finger at me. "So, now, Nick, don't drown on this. That was years ago, and all the little things I did for David are long over. Also, I've always stayed clean, never been identified as an agent. to keep it that way. "
  
  
  "In that case," he told her ironically, " you'd better not call me Daniel McKee."
  
  
  "Oh, I won't forget."
  
  
  "And me... a yacht broker?"
  
  
  "It's an idea. Why don't we wait until we get to my house before discussing this any further? It's starting to rain, and those pesky windshield wipers are just smearing water all over the windshield."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  My efficient apartment would fit into the kitchen of Nathaniel Frederick's "not-so-large" house. It was a ramshackle two-story white-paneled building with a wide covered porch running along the back and looking out over a wide pond. When we arrived, it was raining hard, and I wasn't quite sure where we were. But I didn't care about Nathaniel.
  
  
  By the time I was shown to my room upstairs and cleaned up, my host had lit a fire in the large, comfortable living room, which apparently also served as a study. Books and papers were strewn everywhere; one wall was lined with cork, on which were attached enlarged images of some of the best boat photos he'd ever seen. Framed images of children in various stages of adulthood were scattered on shelves and random tables, and on another wall hung a photograph of a woman, proudly white-haired but radiant in beauty. It was just a head and shoulders portrait.
  
  
  * Her knew that she was the kind of woman who would distract all eyes from the Playboy bunny parade. My respect for Nathaniel Frederick rose a few more notches; if she'd lost a man like that, he wouldn't have been smiling like hell.
  
  
  "I take it you're a bourbon drinker," he said.
  
  
  "You seem to know a lot about me."
  
  
  "Yes." He was standing in a soft old bury and pouring from a crystal decanter into a huge glass.
  
  
  "Water?"
  
  
  "Just a kick, thanks."
  
  
  We took Purple's drinks from here - I think it was sherry, but he couldn't be sure - to the kitchen, where he opened a few cans and made a quick dinner that didn't taste like us, like canned food. When ee paid Emu a compliment, he brushed off the flattery.
  
  
  "When you're at sea for weeks on a small boat, Mr. McKee, you come up with all sorts of interesting things with beans and beef stew. Otherwise, you have a mutiny on the ship."
  
  
  Then we went out on the back porch. The rain was still pouring down, and although the night was cool, it felt warm and sheltered in the deep roof. A small strip of sand sloped down to the water's edge, where dark waves lapped hungrily at the shore.
  
  
  Nathaniel pointed directly away from us. "Yacht club. It's a small place, and we won't go there right away. For obvious reasons, I keep my boat near the port of bar, which is engaged in the hall just behind it. In a few days, when I feel that you can be tested there as a yacht broker, we will check you in the club."
  
  
  "A test?"
  
  
  "Why not? Did you think I was going to give you a crash course without a final exam?"
  
  
  I didn't think about it, but I have to agree that it seemed like a good idea. On the other hand, he still didn't know why. I asked her.
  
  
  "Ah, it's too late to discuss all this tonight, Mr. McKee. Come back in a moment."
  
  
  We went back to the living room, where he took a book from the shelf. He noticed that there were several identical volumes nearby; at least the dust jackets were still the same.
  
  
  "At the risk of sounding immodest, I suggest you take this with you to read before going to bed," Nathaniel said. "Even if I wrote it myself, it's not bad."
  
  
  The name was Lines & Spars, and in my hand it was as heavy as the Manhattan telephone directory.
  
  
  "Just to make you feel better," Nathaniel would say. "Immerse yourself in the trivial details of rigging and operating a sailing vessel while you can stay awake. But be careful, Mr. McKee."
  
  
  There was a different note in his voice that suddenly made me tense up. "Careful?"
  
  
  He smiled. "Don't let the book fall on your face while you're dozing off. It's heavy enough to break your nose."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  The next few days turned into a madhouse of physical and mental exhaustion. We sailed Nathaniel's thirty-nine-foot-long checche up and down the Saconnet River, which is not a river at all, but an estuary where the tides boil up like the rapids of the Colorado River. Well... maybe not so much, but it's a real challenge to run with a fairly fair wind astern, all sails flying, and find yourself going with the flow. At one point, even Nathaniel admitted defeat and turned on the auxiliary engine to help us get to Port Bar. It made me feel better. There is a mystery surrounding the experienced sailors; it seems that they would rather drift forever than resort to their engines, but Nathaniel made no apologies.
  
  
  "If you need to get somewhere," he said, " get there as best you can. We don't race or show off."
  
  
  To test my navigation and comprehensive control of the boat, we went on a cruise that lasted a couple of days. At first it was Cuttyhunk, which wasn't going to be much further, but Nathaniel thoughtfully chose a day when the fog was so thick that the ego could practically be rolled up into little balls and stored away. He was sitting in the cockpit, not too close to me, reading a book while hers, fighting the wind and tides, and the fact that I could barely see even the nose of the ship. I was very proud of myself when we made the buoy marking the entrance to the harbor, but my crafty instructor had another little surprise in store for me; he didn't mention that large-sized buoy boats crash right at the harbor entrance, and when we arrived, they were big enough to make a surfer's mouth water.
  
  
  So I did the smart thing, dropping the sails without Nathaniel's help, and started the auxiliary engine. He didn't say a word to us, but I got the impression that he would have done the same.
  
  
  From there, we went to Martha's Vineyard, spent the night on board in Edgartown Harbor, and early the next morning set off for Block Island, the site of a sea yacht cruise.
  
  
  no landmarks were visible. She knows something about drift and compensation that a dozen years couldn't have taught her, and when the island's tall, dull red cliffs came into view, he felt more relief than complacency.
  
  
  We rounded the island and entered a Large salt Pond, a natural harbor on the west side. It was still light, late in the evening, and Nathaniel suggested that we go ashore.
  
  
  "I thought we might be able to get back to Newport by tonight," I said.
  
  
  "Take your time. Have you ever been here before?"
  
  
  "Never."
  
  
  "This is an interesting place. Let's take a couple of bikes and go on a tour."
  
  
  "Bicycles?"
  
  
  "Of course! It's the only way to travel when you're not on & nb."
  
  
  So we disembarked, mooring at a high dock that was built primarily for the consumption of summer ferries plying between the island and the mainland. The small cluster of shops and food stalls seemed closed, but Nathaniel knocked on the door of a dilapidated, sagging building. The woman opened it; Nah's face was purple, which meant that she had either been drunk all her life or suffered from some terrible disease. Whatever it was, she beamed when she saw Nathaniel, hugged him, and then led us to the back of the building, where a couple of hundred bicycles were stored in a shed, stacked one on top of the other.
  
  
  "Take whatever you want, Mr. Frederick. While they're running, huh?"
  
  
  We pulled out a couple of sonofabitch bikes, checked them out.
  
  
  "They'll do, Mrs. Gormsen," Nathaniel said. "We'll probably be back in a couple of hours."
  
  
  "Will you stay the night or leave?"
  
  
  "We haven't decided yet. Do you want to feed us?"
  
  
  The woman chuckled heartily. "Oh, my God, no, Mr. Frederick. At this time of year, we mostly live on frozen hot dogs that we didn't sell last summer. Welcome, but I don't think you need it."
  
  
  "I won't argue about that," Nathaniel said, swinging his leg over the seat of his bike.
  
  
  We were driving along the main road, a strip of potholed asphalt that often passed mimmo empty, shuttered old hotels and summer boarding houses, any around which there might be ancestral apparitions lurking behind blind windows. Block Island is a high piece of land; we passed a mimmo of English swamp-like terrain dotted with slate-gray ponds. But we weren't completely isolated; when we were halfway down the island, we met a young couple on a tandem bike who were both pedaling constantly, and obviously having a great time. We made room for them, and they waved and laughed, then disappeared into the gathering dusk.
  
  
  "I didn't think anyone was here in the off-season," he told Nathaniel.
  
  
  "Ah, there are always a few weirdos. I prefer not to see her."
  
  
  We drove on until we reached the far end of the island, a high cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. From where we stood, there was an impressive view, perhaps a hundred feet down, as the waves beat mercilessly on the rocky shore below. Far to our left was the lighthouse, the ego ray just beginning to circle in the gathering night. Nathaniel and I stood for a few minutes, breathing in the cool, clean air from somewhere like the Azores. Then we went back to our bikes.
  
  
  We couldn't hear the approaching car because of the wind and waves; now he was standing with his lights off and the broken grille propped up against our bikes. The next day, there was a man on the driver's side, and he could see a blurry face through the windshield, but he didn't pay much attention. I was much more interested in the shotgun that the man pointed at us.
  
  
  "Mr. Frederick?" "What is it?" he asked, his voice faint against the wind.
  
  
  "Oh, my God," Nathaniel said softly.
  
  
  "Do you remember me?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid so." Nathaniel didn't move; he kept his hands at his sides and seemed almost relaxed. "Even though it was so long ago ..."
  
  
  "Value the legs longer for me." He moved the shotgun a little, which I didn't like. "They don't trust me, you know. They thought I was working on meet your people, not theirs, and it was over a year before they let me go."
  
  
  "You must have had a hard time."
  
  
  "It was hell! A whole damn year in that factory ship, and it wasn't a pleasure cruise!"
  
  
  "No, I don't see him that way, Graves." Nathaniel took a half step toward the man and pointed at the shotgun. "Are you going to use this?"
  
  
  "I didn't come here to relax in the fresh air."
  
  
  Now she could see that he was a man in his early thirties, with thumbs and a wrinkled face roughened by wind and water. Beneath Ego's nondescript windbreaker, the impressive muscles of his shoulder bulged.
  
  
  "So you accidentally found us here?" Nathaniel
  
  
  I moved on. Another half step.
  
  
  "I've been on the island for a couple of weeks, ever since the ferret let me go. My wife is originally from here..."
  
  
  "Oh, of course. And Mrs. Gormsen is your mother - in-law, isn't she?"
  
  
  "You understand everything pretty well." Graves moved forward. "I think you and your friend should go back to the edge of the cliff."
  
  
  "Are you going to shoot us or do you think you can make us jump off?"
  
  
  "It won't make any difference to me, Mr. Frederick. I was going to pay you a visit in Newport, but you spared me that today."
  
  
  "If you knew those red fishing friends had let you go, you might have changed your route." Nathaniel kept that good-natured half-smile on his face, calm as if he was standing in front of a classroom filled with eager students.
  
  
  "Yeah, well, I didn't think they were sending you a telegram. You set me up very well, Mr. Frederick, and I don't forget anything like that. The web reason why they didn't kill me was..."
  
  
  "Because you weren't particularly important, were you?" The change in Nathaniel's voice was remarkable; now there was a grin in nen.
  
  
  It worked perfectly. Graves moved toward him, his face flushed even in the gathering darkness. He raised the shotgun to use ego as a club, and the retired schoolteacher ducked under it. He dug his numb fingers into life, using his other forearm to block the blow of the shotgun muzzle. Graves doubled over, eyes popping. Nathaniel hit his ego again in the same spot, this time flipping his arm over and almost lifting the man off his leg, his fingers hooked under the ego's sternum. Graves tried to scream, but all that came out of the ego of the wide-open rta was a strangled sound of agony.
  
  
  Nathaniel took the shotgun by the ego of his hand, letting the man fall to the ground. There was a smile of mixed satisfaction and regret on his face as he looked at Graves writhing in agonizing pain - and he looked too long.
  
  
  The door of the other car opened and a woman got out on the nah. I could tell it was a woman, because Nah had pink plastic curlers in her hair; otherwise, she was dressed more or less like the man lying on Nathaniel's leg. Nah had a gun.
  
  
  Hers, too. Wilhelmina, the Luger that was as much a part of me as my right arm, jumped out around her shoulder holster. Hers dove at Nathaniel, throwing ego aside as the woman swung a big old revolver in our direction. Because of the wind and surf, I almost didn't hear the sound of the gunshot, but I felt a searing pain when Gawk hit my shoulder.
  
  
  Woman or no woman, she was shot by her. One accurate shot outright stacked dollar in; she was too close for her to miss, and it wasn't going to just injure ee.
  
  
  She fell like a rock, the revolver falling out around her fingers like a toy she was suddenly tired of. Nathaniel was already on his feet, firing the shotgun at Graves.
  
  
  "Nice to meet you, Mr. ... ah... Mackey. She seemed to know what she was doing with the weapon." He leaned over the woman's body and shook his head. Then he took her gun and put it in his belt. "Now we have a small problem."
  
  
  "Yes, supposedly."
  
  
  Graves was still writhing at my feet, trying to get up, but he couldn't, no more than he could talk.
  
  
  "I wish he hadn't brought his wife into this," Nathaniel said. "Or at least hers, I guess that's what she was. Really, Graves? " He bent lowly over him.
  
  
  Graves nodded, his face contorted, his neck clenched.
  
  
  "Then hers, I suppose you can hardly forgive me for her death." He shook his head regretfully. "No, I don't think so after your performance tonight. So..." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Graves." He reached for the man's chest, dug his fingers mercilessly under his ribs, and kept pushing, higher and higher, probing the dollar bill until his hand was almost buried in the flesh. Graves howled softly, kicking his legs; Nathaniel looked at him casually, not letting up on the pressure. Then the man lay still.
  
  
  The retired teacher got up and wiped his earlobe with the back of his hand. "I do not know if he is dead or not, but it is not very important. Can you help me get ih ih back to the unfortunate car?"
  
  
  It wasn't the most convincing accident Poe had ever staged, but the fact that the old Chevy Mistletoe's automatic transmission tended to shut off made the whole thing a little less believable. We turned on the ignition, rolled the car to the edge of the cliff, and pushed it overboard. Nathaniel couldn't wait to see it hit the rocks below; in any case, it was too dark to see anything.
  
  
  Her, looked in the direction of the lighthouse.
  
  
  "Don't worry," he said. "If they had heard anything, they would have been here by now. Ih is concerned about what happens at sea, not on shore. Is it time to return Mrs. Gormsen's bikes?"
  
  
  Riding in the dark wasn't easy; the saint of my bike
  
  
  it didn't fall far beyond my front wheel, and Nathaniel's didn't work at all. But he seemed to know where he was going, and as we drove slowly across the island, he told me what Graves was like.
  
  
  "He was a fisherman, a boatman, call it what you will. He worked mostly in Montauk, on the tip of Long Island. It's open there." He pointed to the left, where he knew there was a stretch of water separating Blok Island from Russian President Vladimir Putin. "A few years ago, the Reds recruited ego. A common labor, you would call ego in the spy mail business is. His job was simply to keep his eyes open. Here, for example, there are many submarines; access to the Atlantic from a sub-base in New London. There were other things, too. Graves worked on charter boats, and quite a few people with important government connections came here for a few days off. Even Nixon did it when he was campaigning in ' sixty-eight, you know. Anyway, a mutual friend of mine in Washington called me to Graves, and since he was handy and knew a little about boats, I was assigned... neutralize the ego." He grinned at me as we rode side by side. "I don't normally take physiologically active drugs, but it just so happened that I was able to use the money Hawk offered."
  
  
  I asked, dodging a pothole the size of a backyard swimming pool.
  
  
  "Ah, yes, that's how they did it. As you should know, the fishing fleets of many countries, particularly Russia, operate just a few miles from our shores. What a rivalry here is economic, not ideological, so that there is a fair amount of communication between different boats, regardless of nationality or politics. So it wasn't hard for Graves to get his reports to one Russian boat or another. But sometimes he would have urgent messages, and then he would lodge a holier-than-thou message with them to the cliffs, where he got out on the bullying assembly, and he and his wife collapsed to their deaths ... "
  
  
  "About that," he interrupted. "Maybe his death can be imagined as an accident, but what about her death? There's a nine-millimeter gawk in it."
  
  
  "Yes, Yes. Not very neat. However, at this time of year, this part of the coast is so deserted that if the car is in the hall under water - and it should be, by the time it is accidentally discovered, it will not be enough. leave the bodies to the local authorities, so they'll suspect anything but an accident. If they do, well, we need a friend in Washington to do that, don't we?
  
  
  I didn't need to say anything; this meek school teacher who could kill in cold blood was far ahead of me.
  
  
  "In any case," Nathaniel continued as we started down the long, gradual descent toward the cluster of buildings and buildings beyond, " I managed to convince Graves that I was sympathetic. It wasn't hard; he has this kind of Mentality - he thinks all schoolteachers are communists to one degree or another. In the end, she was persuaded by ego to send a message in which one of the fishing boats will be in our territorial waters - which, of course, is strictly forbidden. A Coast Guard cutter was parked nearby, and there was a carefully planned - and futile-chase, while ey pretended to capture Graves. He escaped, went down to the harbor on the other side of this island, and stole a motorboat to get away. Let's say he found one around red trawlers and was taken to a factory ship that does more than just fish processing. To be honest, we expected them to take ego back to Mother Russia, but apparently ih equipment is more sophisticated than we thought. "
  
  
  We were approaching a row of dilapidated buildings, not far from the entrance. "Why go to all these trouble?" I asked her. "Wouldn't it be easier to just arrest this guy? Or eliminate the ego?"
  
  
  "Well, you know this man in Washington; he doesn't explain anything he shouldn't. But my theory is that if we had arrested Graves and tried ego, it would have been pointless. After all, he was just a local fisherman doing a little dirty work on the side to make extra money. The trial may well have made ego a martyr, and these days we have more than enough ih. On the other hand, if we could convince the court otherwise. Apart from the fact that he was a double agent, which we seem to have done to some extent, they would have had to spend a lot of time and effort checking their other general work to make sure they weren't all like Graves."
  
  
  This was exactly how she had imagined it, so she gave up on the topic. "What about nah?" We slowed down in front of Mrs. Gormsen's shuttered hot dog stand and the bike rental mall.
  
  
  "I wouldn't have Stahl worry," Nathaniel said. "We had no evidence of her involvement."
  
  
  "Someone told Graves we were on an island."
  
  
  "Yes, of course. But the day before
  
  
  if it was her, it wouldn't necessarily involve her. After all, yachtsmen who rent bicycles aren't often around at this time of year."
  
  
  "Good..."
  
  
  "But I suggest we return to our boat and head home tonight. There's no point in making too many assumptions, is there?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fourth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time we got back to the dock late that night, Nathaniel seemed to have forgotten about the ugly little incident on Block Island. He was as serene and self-possessed as ever when we entered the dark house, and when he took a quick look around the rooms, he looked at me with a kind of amused expression.
  
  
  "You know, you can't live in constant fear of murder," he said. "Otherwise, what's the point of living? We do the disgusting little work we do and are more or less prepared for the consequences. So do many other people in this world. And just imagine. Mr. McKee, what would it be like if we were all worried about who might be lurking around the next corner? Why, who might be smart enough to run for president? Will you join me for a sandwich and coffee?" "
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  During the next few days, when we weren't sailing, he studied mostly catalogues and old clippings about the New York Boat Show. Nathaniel had a document drawer stuffed with working designs of every conceivable type of sailing vessel, from day sailboats to ocean trimarans, along with photos and advertisements all over newspapers across the country. We visited several shipyards nearby, looking at the hulls of their boats that were thrown into the water, and the interiors of many others. A couple of times, he took me to Christie's, a big restaurant on the dock in Newport, where the service and eda were excellent, and where you could run into a stray Vanderbilt yachtsman or a furry ensign from one of the local MEAD bases. Nathaniel knew ih all along, and then a couple of visits to her pretty well established himself as a cover for Daniel McKee, a yacht broker from the west coast of Florida. He was even beginning to believe it himself.
  
  
  The" exam " at the yacht club was not so supposedly simple. The members were people who knew their boats; they weren't cocktail goers at the home port bar, and the web yacht cap I saw was nailed to the moan above the bar. Nathaniel conducted the conversation around a large round table, casually-maliciously, I thought-in areas where it was hers, and was forced to come up with some answers. I think I passed it, because no one in the crowd looked doubtful. Anyway, when we left - very late - Nathaniel clapped me on the shoulder and looked very pleased. On our way back to the ego house, we stumbled a lot on the sand, and I do not know who was supporting the other around us.
  
  
  It was still dark when I was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. I had a whirling goal in my head - they didn't skimp on bourbon at that club - but I got it right away.
  
  
  "What is it?" I demanded.
  
  
  "Nick!"
  
  
  "Her, Dan!" his rheumatism growled.
  
  
  "Yes, yes," Nathaniel said. "But you must get up and move."
  
  
  "Now?" I wondered what else he was going to put me through.
  
  
  "It's urgent. You have to catch your trip to Tampa, and we barely have time to get to the airport."
  
  
  "Tampa?"
  
  
  "I don't know why. David just called, and this is a top priority. Now get dressed. Hurry up!"
  
  
  Tampa, I thought as I took off my pajamas. It was becoming one of the most confusing tasks I'd ever done. And if the job was in Greece, hers definitely didn't come close to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  The contact was simple; a message for Daniel McKee at the Tampa airport informing me that a reservation had been made in my name at a nearby motel. He'd checked in and had just had a quick shave - no chance before Nathaniel's house left her - when there was a light knock on the door.
  
  
  He hesitated, then looked down at his suitcase, which contained Wilhelmina in a special compartment. But I didn't think I'd need a simplified Luger, not now. As far as I knew, there was no reason to look for me if I wasn't friendly. Not now. Still, he opened the door cautiously, and when he saw Hawk standing there, he felt a strange sense of relief.
  
  
  He walked in without saying a word of hello to us, sat down on one around a pair of huge beds and looked at me. He brushed away a drop of foam, spun the chair around in front of the imitation wood table, and sat down facing it.
  
  
  "This room has been thoroughly checked," Hawke said. "One of our electronics engineers spent last night here, and with them the ferret is in the hall under surveillance.
  
  
  He opened it automatically and looked at the wall behind him; these days, it seems that most motels are built around Marley, and even an elderly person without a hearing aid can hear everything that happens in the next block.
  
  
  "Don't worry," the old man said. "We've booked a room both ways; no one can hear what we're saying."
  
  
  That satisfied me; I never doubted my Boss's ability to think through every detail.
  
  
  "Zenopolis is doing it our way," he said without further preliminary statements. "The exact date has not yet been set, but it will be during Sundays. It will cross the border with Albania and head to Corfu. The time and place of the meeting will be determined at that time."
  
  
  He nodded, then frowned. "How do I contact him?"
  
  
  "Through the ego sister."
  
  
  Hawke said it so dryly that it wasn't noticed at first. "How was it again?"
  
  
  "Ego sister. Her name is Kristina, and she is egoistically a living relative. She currently works as a student nurse in Athens, but Nah is on vacation on the west coast. You take it, and ... it doesn't need to go into details."
  
  
  But he did it anyway. Kristin, it turned out, was twenty-two years old, and she hadn't seen Alex the ferret with them since he'd run off fifteen years ago. But Alex, according to Hawke, wanted his sister's ego to be present when we met; he had serious suspicions, and after preliminary negotiations with our people, he claimed to have involved Kristina in the deal. He said the web was someone he could trust, and Hawk and I agreed that he was using it as a buffer between himself and a possible betrayal of the Greek government.
  
  
  "I won't pretend to understand exactly what he's doing," Hawk admitted, " but it seems like we should go along with him as much as possible."
  
  
  My assignment seemed relatively simple: I had to fly to Athens, hire a car, and spend a few days exploring the boathouses along the coast. In Pyrgos, I picked up a girl ("quite attractive, I was told," Hawk assured me) and then rented a sailboat for a short cruise to Corfu. There, on an island that is bigger in the hall than Albania or Greece, the two of us will contact Alex Zenopolis.
  
  
  "We've been in contact with him a few times since we last spoke to you," Hawke explained. "We don't care how it gets there, but now it indicates that it has critical information that it can pass on to us. Perhaps, perhaps not, but you will have to do your best to take the ego away as planned; we must assume that he is telling the truth until we know otherwise ."
  
  
  "I still say, why not take ego to Taranto in a speedboat? This sailing business may take a couple of days."
  
  
  The old man shook his head. "It is vitally important that you do not allow anyone to draw attention to you or Zenopolis in any way. He assures us that the ego breakthrough will go unnoticed for at least a few days, but he insists that our efforts on behalf of the ego should be completely invisible. an element of time is involved that he has not fully explained; in any case, we must respect the ego advice for the moment. No, Nick, you will take your rented sailboat to Taranto with a secret passage. You will not do anything to attract the attention of the authorities of Greece or any other country until Zenopolis is safe with us. In any case, "he added with a slight smile," if it comes down to a & nb chase, no powerboat you could get would be able to outrun the ships and planes that various governments would send after you."
  
  
  Either way, he convinced me. I thought that was it, but Hawk had another little surprise in store for me.
  
  
  "By the way," he said, glancing at my open suitcase on the rack against the wall. "You won't have any firearms on this mission. Or anything else that might be incriminating if you are caught and questioned."
  
  
  "Nothing?" I demanded.
  
  
  "I suppose you can carry your knife, but not in the scabbard on your forearm that you use. As you clear the water, you must have some sort of blade, although yours is unlikely to be found on board most boats. stream, however, you may need it ."
  
  
  "You think so?"
  
  
  “yeah. You see, Nick, we have to consider the possibility that this whole operation is some kind of trap set up by the other side. As you know, we are in a period of extremely sensitive negotiations with the Russians and Chinese. In fact, there is a kind of tacit moratorium on our operations against these ih satellite countries. If you decide during the trek from Corfu to Taranto that Zenopolis is working for ih purposes to make us look bad, which is acceptable, then you can make sure that it is... lost at sea."
  
  
  That didn't bother me; I didn't need a Killmaster grade, because I shuddered at the thought of sticking a knife in an enemy agent, even if he was a person who used to be a friend.
  
  
  
  "Okay," I said, getting up to go to my bag. He took out the Luger and handed it to Ego Hawk. "Take care of nen, he served me well."
  
  
  "It'll be ready when you get back," he said, putting the weapon back in his briefcase.
  
  
  She sat down again. "One more thing."
  
  
  Hawk raised a shaggy eyebrow at me.
  
  
  "What the hell is a tailor doing in Tampa?"
  
  
  "Of course. I was going to explain it. You will stay here for two days and get to know various marinas and yacht brokers." He took out a small envelope around his briefcase and placed ego on the bed next to him. "This is a list of brokers that have recently ceased operations; you have worked for all three around them and are now taking a break trying to start your own business. We may be overly cautious, but if someone asks you who you worked for, you may give information that is not easy to verify. Actually, this is not necessary; this operation will only take a few days. But it would be foolish to allow a chance meeting. "
  
  
  "Rowing people are pretty close to the outdoor pool all over the place," I agreed. Nathaniel Frederick convinced me of this.
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. While traveling along the coast of Greece, you may meet other Americans who know the area. Better to be glib than stutter and get lost, huh?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  It was made, Hawk told me, by spending every light-hour, and then after dark, wandering around the docks, trading floors, and shipyards like an unemployed yacht broker. During his travels, he learned the names of managers and salespeople, port captains, and guys who served gas stations at various docks. Maybe all the details will never be needed, but if some American in, say, Piraeus starts talking to me about the crazy old guy who worked in the state near Clearwater, I'd be willing to tell her my story about nen.
  
  
  At the end of the second day, she drove through the Florida Peninsula to Miami, where her sel plane picked me up to Madrid early the next morning. I had a connecting flight to Athens there, and it was getting dark when she finished going through customs - they weren't happy about the double - edged knife she was carrying in her luggage when they found out about my supposed del-and got out. find a taxi. The mistletoe night brings that special clarity that I think can only be found in Greece and the Levant; it's as if the sky captures and distills all the exotic aromas of olive and fig trees mixed with burning charcoal and roast lamb, and then cools them down a little so they don't get boring. It's the kind of elusive perfume that no woman can wear, but Athens does it in style and sophistication.
  
  
  And then he checked in at the Hilton, losing it all to the sluggishness of the American air-conditioning sampling system. In fact, when Della turned on the TV in her room, Gunsmoke got her. The voice of the ages and the cradle of Western civilization.
  
  
  The next morning, I treated myself to a quick city tour. It's terrible to say, but I've traveled so much that cities around the world have begun to bear a disappointing resemblance to me. Everywhere you go, there seems to be an American overlay; the affectionate carpet dealer speaks English, and makes sure you know about ego brother in Akron, and while you may not see a Coca-Cola sign on any street, there's always a sense that it's just around the corner.
  
  
  So I'm cynical. Hers was also annoyed. This assignment seemed too easy, and I needed to cheer up like a Super Bowl champion preparing for a college all-star game. The game should always be fun for professionals, which means that they should be especially careful not to consider it a neglect. My problem wasn't exactly the same, but the daily life I had to live for the next few days, spiced up by meeting a hopefully attractive girl, could easily make me lazy in the heads if I wasn't careful. .
  
  
  Besides her, I missed Wilhelmina. I didn't know how much at the time; I was going to find out soon enough.
  
  
  She was rented by Volkswagen from a local Hertz agency and started her tour as a yacht broker. Piraeus was my first logical stop, and I spent the day straysing the docks of this bustling port city. Playing the traveling businessman, he asked questions, pretended to learn new Russian projects and tooling with an experience that, her confident, Nathaniel would applaud. No one she met doubted my cover; it was Daniel McKee, on vacation in a part of the world that some call a sailor's paradise. It was interesting that I had only been to this part of the world once, and it was a paradise for sailors, but not in the sense that they now understand. To explain, her hema was
  
  
  joining the U.S. Army fifteen years earlier would have been too difficult. Just say it was part of my advanced training with, AX, and even the army can break some rules when it seems appropriate. The only time he was in uniform during this time was when he attended counterintelligence school at Fort Holabird in Baltimore. It was mostly for show, the first thing they taught us was to type, because the agent had to fill out all the reports, and she was wearing the harmless stripes of a second lieutenant's cordon. Later, when I was assigned to a post in West Germany, any higher-ups who wanted to know my rank were notified that I was a major. That was how the CIC worked back then, and she knew one or two corporals working in plain clothes who, if asked, also had the" rank " of major.
  
  
  But the rank had nothing to do with how I met Alex Zenopolis and the operation we performed together. In short, our army was being harassed by a group of heroin dealers who were bringing this material to Germany and buying egos for our troops. Nothing like in Vietnam in recent years, but then everything is still serious. It was discovered that a handful of soldiers were suppliers, and they received egos from a couple of Greek sailors with connections in Turkey. The exchange point was Naxos, the largest island of the Cyclades.
  
  
  Odin around the soldiers, a young sergeant, took one of the comfortable jobs around them that every soldier dreams of; he piloted a small twin-engine plane that transported VIP perssons, senior executives, and civilians to sunny spots in places like the Greek islands and Lebanon. It wasn't hard to get back to Munich empty, to board a small airfield on Naxos and take on a load of white powder. He didn't have any customs clearance, and a few mechanics at his base were special ops in the deal; they took the drug away and took out egos for small-time dealers.
  
  
  I didn't participate in the qualifiers; it was mostly the work of CIC members, but when it became clear that the Greek military was involved, it became a bit annoying for the military police. Strictly speaking, this is also not the job of the CIC; the Russian Corps ' locality is to stop any hidden threat to the army, but this is quite broadly interpreted. In any case, I was brought in to work tracking down drug smugglers around the country, and to ensure that no one in any of the involved supervisors would make a big fuss about it. Or heard about it, if he could hear it.
  
  
  It was a killer job; I knew it as soon as my briefing was over. And when she was met by Alexa Zenopolis in Beirut, all I had to do was look at him to see that he was a good person to work with me. Alex was a bull male, slightly taller than me, at six feet one inch, and of a matching width. Back then, he was serving in his country's naval intelligence service, but in a dark civilian suit, he looked like a character around a Humphrey Bogart movie: black hair and mustache, fierce eyes that looked like they could pin you down to moan and leave you hanging out there. before he decides to let you go.
  
  
  "You're Carter," he said when we met in a noisy cafe. The jukebox was playing a Sinatra record, and the overfed singer dance of life was trying to compete with the music.
  
  
  Her confessed to being theirs; they In her days could still use their own name.
  
  
  "Very simple." Ego's English was good, but he didn't waste words. "Two of our people meet two Americans at the airfield. You and I are destroying ih."
  
  
  "How do we know when the American plane will arrive?"
  
  
  "There are seats with a view of the landing site. The goatherd's cabin we've set up; he's in the hospital, poor fellow." Alex laughed, showing a large gap between his front teeth. "A little stomach problem, something in the ego." He's an old man, but he'll get better."
  
  
  "How long are we going to wait?"
  
  
  Alex shrugged his massive shoulders. "Until they come. Are you in a hurry?"
  
  
  We took an old rattling boat that always seemed to stop at all the Cyclades islands, not to mention Crete, before we arrived at Naxos. We were supposed to be tourists, and after disembarking we didn't talk to each other yet. I checked into what was supposed to be a hotel in a port city, and then played an eccentric American who decided to go hiking in the mountains, a precursor, I think, to the modern hippies swarming everywhere in the world with their backpacks.
  
  
  Alexa found her in Goatherd's cottage overlooking the runway. Fortunately, he had a pack of worn-out but serviceable playing cards, and somehow managed to stack a huge supply of RCD along with the weapons we would need. The wait, which lasted more than two days, was not bad, but if we were playing pinocle for real money, I would still owe Alexey Zenopolis almost everything I earned with them as a ferret.
  
  
  The airfield was in a long, narrow valley below us; it had been built by the Germans during World War II.
  
  
  during the war, it was kept in a more or less serviceable condition by raising sheep and goats. There was a steep drop at the far end; at the end was a large natural cave, the entrance of which we could see clearly.
  
  
  "The sailors enter there," Alexey explained. "Our people, the defenders of our shores." He spat on the dirt floor of the hut. "We Greeks have so many coasts to defend; look at any map, Nick. And to think that scum like these are defiling my profession... " He spat again.
  
  
  Her, realized that Alex was an idealist. This bothered me; and even then, I would have preferred to work with cynics, because they are much more reliable.
  
  
  The nights were the hardest because we couldn't use brylev. Alex and her didn't talk much either. Sometimes he went outside to admire the pale brightness of the earth under the blinding moon. And it was on the third night that she saw figures moving at the end of the runway, rising over the edge of the cliff like climbers reaching the peak of Mount Everest.
  
  
  Its ran back to the hut and this is the only Alexa transmission. "They're here," I whispered. "Your steam engines, its almost certain."
  
  
  Alex waved his hand and rolled under the covers. "Good, good, young man." He was about ten years older than me. "They will wait, just like us. The American plane doesn't show up until dawn. You can't land here at night."
  
  
  I wouldn't have sworn it, but I thought Alex was snoring as soon as he said the last word.
  
  
  I may have slept for half an hour for the rest of the night; I know I woke up and moved around the hut before dawn, waiting impatiently for the sun to start shining on us. The moon was long gone, and the valley floor could barely see it.
  
  
  "We're starting now." Alex's calm voice in the silent hut was so overwhelming that I almost jumped out of my skin. "Half an hour before daylight." He was on his feet, pulling on a heavy black leather jacket, the pockets of which were stuffed with ammunition. He had a Colt .45 caliber pistol under it, but most of all he relied on the M-1 rifle that he slung over his shoulder.
  
  
  I had one too. I also had Wilhelmina, Luger, who had recently bought her in Germany and who, in a sense, was becoming a part of me.
  
  
  We moved cautiously along the near end of the valley, circling toward the hills above the cave entrance. We stayed far enough away from the end that no one below could see us, even if they were a saint, and it was pure judgment and Alexa instinct that told us where to stop.
  
  
  "The voice," he whispered, pointing to the edge.
  
  
  We crawled along the uneven ground, which looked like leaves, and finally saw the field below. We were about sixty feet up, and as far as he could see, there was no way down.
  
  
  "How did we...?" she started, but Alex put a finger to his lips and his teeth flashed in the dark.
  
  
  Around one through its many pockets, he pulled out a thin piece of nylon rope. A grenade was attached to one end, and he placed the other two on the ground next to him.
  
  
  "The plane is coming from there," he said, pointing directly away from us, into the black void beyond the edge of the field. "The only way. When it lands, it should taxi to the far end both ways and turn, right? So on landing... they can't leave."
  
  
  He began very slowly to draw a thin line down the rocky moan of the cliff until the thread with the grenade attached was just above the cave entrance. Then he paused, wiggling his sausage fingers, making mental calculations, and started up again. He made a mark on the nylon and cut ego with a knife. "Absolutely fantastic," he announced, and took the rest of the fishing line to attach it to a small bush a few feet from the end.
  
  
  "What now?" I asked her. No one told us who would be in charge of this operation, but Alex seemed to know what he was doing and he was ready to learn.
  
  
  "It's a bad thing for going down, but I can go down." He put on thick gloves, wrapped a length of secured rope around his hip, and slung the noose over his shoulder. "Now you're going back to the far stream of the field. A small path where goats live leads you down. When you hear a grenade explode in the cave, you go down and convince those guys on the plane that they have nowhere to go. Understand?"
  
  
  I thought so. She obediently ran back in the direction we came from. It wasn't hard to find the path Alex had mentioned, though looking at nah in the gray light of a false dawn made kozu feel sorry for her. Releasing his M-L, his bench press on the cliff edge and stahl wait.
  
  
  At first, it was like the constant buzzing of flies, and he fought the temptation to hit her when he realized he'd dozed off. My eyes snapped open, and he was looking at a piece of scorching orange sun rising from a distant sky.
  
  
  There was a dark speck in the middle of the half-disc's belly that continued to grow in size, heading straight for where it lay. Her, felt how quickly he was fighting for his life, forced himself to stay where he was as a twin-engine plane came into view, heading for a landing at the far end of the field.
  
  
  Her gaze moved along the end of the cliff toward where Alexa had left her. Ego wasn't visible at all until the plane's wheels touched the grass, but then he saw the bulky figure rise and throw out a long, thin white streak. She flew through the air, quickly fell under the shattering weight attached to the ego end, and finally crashed into the cave opening.
  
  
  There was a long pause, too long, and I began to think. Four seconds isn't much, but one day he was asked by an instructor to pull the pin out, around the grenade, and then casually throw it to me. She was exposed by ego cleanly and shot over the concrete parapet into the training pit, as if hers was a double-play intermediary. After that, my elbow hurt for a few days - grenades are heavy, remember - but what bothered me most was the giggling son of a bitch who started this whole thing and was figuring out the best way to kill the bastard. Fortunately for him, and probably for me, ego never saw him again after that day.
  
  
  The cave entrance exploded with a shockingly loud explosion, huge streams of smoke and showers of debris pouring onto the green field. Before she could move, she saw Alex hurl himself off the end of the cliff, hitting the ledges of rocks, and quickly descend to the ground.
  
  
  She scrambled up a steep path, clinging to unkempt bushes, and hit the bottom of the valley as she ran. The twin-engined American plane was taxiing toward me with a roar of engines, but at the moment I wasn't afraid of being seen; the explosion behind them should have occupied all ih's attention.
  
  
  When the plane slowed down, her, ran into a small crevasse in the groans of the cliff, waited for the turn to start, then got out and fired a couple of quick frank shots at the nose of the plane. He saw her, a frightened, pale face through the windshield, and then a rush of movement. The side door began to open as the pilot continued his signposting, already revving up the engines for takeoff.
  
  
  There were orders not to shoot at the plane if we could help; after all, this is the property of the US government. So she stepped ego tail, out of reach of a likely thug for the next day. The sudden explosion of two pillars nearly knocked me off my feet, sending up dust and momentarily blinding me. When I could see her again, the plane was rapidly moving away from me; I had an M-1 on my shoulder, ready to fire as a last resort, when Alex flew out of the ruined cave and into the path of the flying plane.
  
  
  In the early light, he looked like a small mountain, all in black, with his arms raised, like some ancient warrior trying to contain the rage of the gods. As the plane raced toward it, it seemed that a collision was imminent, but at the last moment it swerved to the side, killing the engines and jamming the intimidation. Alex ducked under the spinning propeller, rolling away from the wheels.
  
  
  I ran across the k field, especially to the Greek and the plane, and saw the gun fly out to the side a day earlier than Alex did. He stopped, knelt, and picked up his M-l as the plane came to a stop on the potholes at the end of the cliff. The man stuck his head out and pointed a gun at my partner.
  
  
  It was a small target, and the plane was still swaying from a sharp turn to a sharp stop, but there was no time to take careful aim. He fired one shot, then another. The man in the doorway looked at me, and even from this distance, I could see the expression of a full flag of permission to execute the man's ego as blood gushed down the ego's neck. He started to point the gun at me, but suddenly it must have been as heavy as an anvil. Ego's hand dropped, the gun fell across Ego's arm, and he slowly collapsed through the door to the ground.
  
  
  Alex stepped on the man as he jumped into the cab. There was a high-pitched muffled cry, then guttural laughter; seconds later, another man flew out and landed face-first on the rocky ground. Alex was standing in the doorway behind her, holding his nine-pound M-L as easily as a cop's baton. Then he beckoned to me, but I was already up and heading for the plane.
  
  
  "Good shooting," he said. "You damn well almost killed the pilot."
  
  
  "What do you mean?" We both watched the man writhe on the ground; the one who had shot her didn't move.
  
  
  "Ha! Your gawk goes through the ego's neck and hits the plane, cuts that pilot's ear and smashes the windshield. Too bad."
  
  
  "Yeah. Is there any other damage?"
  
  
  "I didn't see anyone. I think the second shot hit the emu in the chest first. In any case, it didn't go right through."
  
  
  "Or maybe
  
  
  its completely missed. "
  
  
  Alex shook his head. "No, you didn't miss, Nick Carter. And I'll never forget it, you know? " He looked at the pilot who was trying to sit down. "Do you want this guy to be alive?"
  
  
  "If he's not badly injured, I think we can use ego at headquarters." Her, bent down, grabbed the man. Nen was wearing an army uniform with sergeant's stripes, and he knew the ego face as well as he knew his own after studying the ego case. "Regan," I growled. "Do you want to live or die openly here? It's your choice."
  
  
  "Cheesus, yes!" He remembered that he was no bigger than a child and looked younger than his portrait. He looked at Alex and shook his head in surprise. "Crazy!" he muttered. "This guy is crazy."
  
  
  Alex laughed and knelt down beside him, the rifle's ego touching the young petty officer's face. "I knew if you hit me, your plane would break down just like hers. And you'll go down." He made an eloquent gesture with his hand, looking over his shoulder at the edge of the cliff. "So you're staying alive, huh? Good boy." He slapped ego on the back, then grabbed his shoulder and hauled the petty officer to his feet.
  
  
  "What about the cave?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Everyone is dead." He tapped the butt of his rifle. "And after you leave, I'll use the other grenades to seal the cave. Make a beautiful tomb. How about this one? " He nudged the dead man with his toe.
  
  
  “no. I'd better take ego with me. But how are you going to leave here?"
  
  
  "This is part of my country, Nick Carter. You don't have to worry about telling me, do you? Now I'm helping you tie up this boy so they don't get you into trouble on the flight."
  
  
  We decided to leave Ragan carefully bound just behind the pilot's seat so that he could keep an eye on him. The other Alexa man's body hung like a weight from behind. Before he entered, he rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a couple of small bags.
  
  
  "Take both; you Americans, you need proof. We, we don't know anything about drug smuggling, do we?" "Have a nice trip, Nick Carter. If you're as good a pilot as you can shoot, you won't have any problems, will you?"
  
  
  The last thing I saw, ego, was him trudging back to the cave with a rifle casually slung over his shoulder; he looked like a hunter coming home after a good day. He didn't even turn to wave when hers took off.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  When night falls on the shores of Greece, it suddenly gets dark. She was found by a nice hotel near the beach, recommended to me by the captain of a charter ship with whom I spoke earlier. He offered to show me around the night clubs, but I declined, being as kind as possible; he was still tuning in to a task that hadn't started yet, and didn't want any friendly distractions.
  
  
  My room was clean and tidy. Pure love, for which I was mildly grateful. It had been a long day, and he wasn't used to the bright sunlight that could drain a person's strength before they noticed. I was going to go to Pyrgos in the morning to meet the girl, and I really wanted to move on.
  
  
  I had lunch at a small tavern nearby. A group of Americans were sitting nearby, and one of the women in the crowd kept glancing at me. She didn't look bad, in a way tanned, as if she baked her skin every light-hour and left the oven on for a long time. But I ignored it, studying the cruise receipts to be saved, which I picked up at the tourist office in Athens.
  
  
  The woman will not be left without attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her get up and stagger into the pair of high-heeled wooden clogs that women now wear. She stopped across from me at the table, staring and frowning, as if hers were some strange specimen she'd encountered in the jungle.
  
  
  "Can I help you?" I asked politely. He didn't get up.
  
  
  She shook out her sun-drenched brown hair. She pointed an accusing finger at me. "Galveston. Three, four years ago. You were a friend of Sue-Ellen, weren't you?"
  
  
  He froze, trying not to show it. "I'm afraid you're thinking of someone else."
  
  
  Her frown deepened. "I swear, I never forget us one face. And supposedly not exactly like yours." A quick smile to show that she appreciates me. "Go, now. Name... A nickname? Yes. It was, give me a minute; I'll think of the last one."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, my name is Daniel McKee."
  
  
  She nodded in understanding. "Uh-huh. And her name is Jackie Onassis. What's wrong with you? Are you here with your wife or something?"
  
  
  "No, but..."
  
  
  "Fun, we were just with Sue-Ellen today. Ee yacht?" When she spoke, you see a woman's accent
  
  
  it's getting more southern. I wasn't surprised; just thinking about Sue Ellen was enough to put a corn tortilla in my mouth.
  
  
  "I really don't ..."
  
  
  She continued as if she hadn't heard me. "You know that after that time she finally got a divorce, but I think you know this because you and Sue-Ellen were such close friends. Remarried, of course, but her old Greek husband doesn't spend much time with her these days. I think Sue-Ellen will be very happy to hear that you are in these parts."
  
  
  I was acutely aware that other people were looking at me now, not just the rest of the chatty woman's group, but also the people at several nearby tables. Its got up. "Believe me, ma'am, her name is Daniel McKee." He took out a card from his wallet. "Actually, I'm a yacht broker. Maybe your friend Sue-Ellen would be interested in talking to me. Where exactly is your boat?"
  
  
  She looked at the white card with disdain. Then she looked up at my face, her eyes not quite focused. Finally, she shook her head and took a step back. "I could have sworn it was you, Nick Someone. Only Sue-Ellen wouldn't have a meeting with a single boat salesman. Even on weekends."
  
  
  I was confused and finally returned the business card to my wallet.
  
  
  The woman wagged a finger at me. "But maybe you're not what you say you really are? Her, remember that Nick, he was sly, not giving anyone time. Take your time, Mr. Yacht broker; Sue-Ellen said she could be here later. Then we'll know for sure, eh? " She crawled back to her desk.
  
  
  She wanted to leave quickly, but forced herself to finish her meal, ignoring the stares of the other men and women in the company. It was a thriving crew, mostly in their thirties and forties, as I judged them, around them, that would pop up in almost any tourist spot in the world. Around those who will be casual friends with someone like Sue-Ellen for years, or whatever her last name is these days, and make sure all ih friends know it.
  
  
  But this evening you couldn't think about Sue-Ellen or her buddies, so you threw her around your head as soon as she walked out of the tavern and then smiled and nodded to the woman at the American party. He could feel her appraising eyes on his back as he stepped out into the clear night air.
  
  
  It was cool, with a steady breeze blowing off the water. A large cruise ship was anchored in the harbor, all the lights were on, and even at this distance he could hear the thud of a rock band. Crazy, I thought. People come from all over the world to see Greece, and stay on board their ship to listen to American music.
  
  
  Her carapace was slow, careless on the surface, but something rang inside. The Sue-Ellen case bothered me, and I found myself checking out the dark streets as I mimed them. The dock itself was well lit, and even at this time of night, there was enough activity to make her feel comfortable. Still, he appreciated the presence of Hugo, now snug in the scabbard on his forearm. Just the fact that there was someone nearby who knew who she really was, and especially my name, was all I needed to adjust my senses to the pitch I knew so well.
  
  
  By the time I got back to the hotel, not a soul had come near us, and as I stand in the doorway to take a last leisurely look around the quiet little square, she doesn't notice the slightest suspicious movement. Finally, he shrugged, went inside, and climbed the single flight of wide stairs to his room.
  
  
  They were waiting for me when I unlocked the door, and they were damn good. No threats, almost no words; one around them slammed the door as it entered, the other lit a holy light across the room. Both men were heavily built, wearing ordinary dark suits, and the automatics they wore were small but deadly.
  
  
  I waited for the one around them to speak, noticing that my luggage was open on the bed closest to the window. Hers wasn't Stahl unpacking, and from what I could see, my two visitors were very careful in their I asked. Too neat.
  
  
  "Mr. Daniel McKee?" The man farthest away from me spoke; he was slightly taller than the other, his dark hair cut short, but with a magnificent drooping mustache.
  
  
  "Yes," Rivnen replied, slightly relieved that they hadn't used my real name.
  
  
  "You're back early."
  
  
  I could have sworn the man smiled, but with that mustache, it was hard to be sure.
  
  
  "Obviously," I said.
  
  
  He pulled a flat, worn wallet from around his back pocket and opened it. I saw a blurry picture and an official-looking card under the badly scratched and yellowed plastic, and then he put it all away again.
  
  
  "Are you looking for some business connections, Mr. McKee?" the man asked. Ego partner standing in front of a squat wooden dresser at the foot of the bed.
  
  
  the bed, didn't say a word to us or move.
  
  
  "Not really."
  
  
  "You... yacht broker". It wasn't a question.
  
  
  "Actually."
  
  
  "Do you want to buy or sell boats in Greece?"
  
  
  "No," I said carefully. "I'm just looking around. Something like relaxing in combination with a small business."
  
  
  "Do you find much interest in our water industry?"
  
  
  "Of course. Isn't that interesting?"
  
  
  The man laughed wide-mouthed; for a moment, when he saw the gap between her ego's front teeth, she was strongly reminded of Alexa Zenopolis. But Alex, he told her, was a good six inches taller ...
  
  
  "Will you be in this country for a long time?" the man continued, laughing.
  
  
  "I don't know. Just a few more days, maybe I don't have much planning."
  
  
  "Yes, of course. From our side - the side of leisure... for visitors". Ego's dark eyes turned stormy as he said the last few words, and hers warily stared at the gun he still held aimed at my middle.
  
  
  "What exactly are you doing?" I asked, trying to sound more nervous than demanding.
  
  
  He waved his hand with the gun, but it didn't give me the slightest idea of trying to grab ego; ego's partner was positioned far enough away from him that there was no way ih could have taken her without adding at least one more scar to his hide. Besides, there was no reason to do so. Not so far away.
  
  
  The man with the mustache shrugged. "To learn more about you, Mr. McKee. When any foreigner, forgive me, an American, comes to this country and starts making inquiries, it, for estestvenno, arouses the curiosity of my government."
  
  
  "You could find out just by asking," he pointed out.
  
  
  "Yes, it is possible. But my side ... please understand, Mr. McKee, that we are in a very precarious position, surrounded by forces on all sides that are unfriendly to us. So we have to be suspicious of everyone, and believe me , sir, we regret that much more than you do. So we use the most direct, even crude, tools to find out what we think we need to know. Do you understand? "
  
  
  "Of course," I said sourly. "And I think you're already quite famous, aren't you?"
  
  
  "well... maybe." To show his good faith, he holstered the pistol on his belt. "There is only one thing."
  
  
  "Ouch?" her, noticed that her partner's ego was still holding his gun, even though it wasn't pointed at me.
  
  
  "If you don't mind..." He spread his arms wide in a show of goodwill and moved around the bed towards me. "A little search? Your man?"
  
  
  Christ! That was all I needed, with Hugo sheathed on my left forearm. Hers, he took a step back. "I don't understand why this is necessary," he told her, imitating the mildly indignant American tourist as best he could. "God knows, I don't smuggle her out of your country by boat!"
  
  
  "Of course not. Nevertheless." He was still coming at me. "That would satisfy all of us, wouldn't it?"
  
  
  "I don't understand why ...?"
  
  
  My partner raised the gun again, pointing the ego in my direction.
  
  
  "Please, Mr. McKee," said the mustachioed shopkeeper. "We don't want to insist."
  
  
  He walked around the foot of the bed, arms outstretched in a soothing gesture, and looked as friendly as a rhinoceros.
  
  
  I couldn't stand it. "Stay on the line!"
  
  
  The mustachioed man stopped, but he didn't seem at a loss.
  
  
  "You say you're the police, or something like that. Can I take a closer look at the card you showed me?"
  
  
  That stopped him. He glanced quickly at his partner and started toward me. Ego error. He took a half step to the right, placing his ego between himself and the man holding the gun. Before anyone through them realized what was happening, she was grabbed by the Mustachioed Man's wrist, turned by ego, and pulled to his chest. It was hard and heavy, but I made her ego limp.
  
  
  "Mr. McKee..." he gasped.
  
  
  He was glad to hear that; whatever was going on, he obviously didn't know who her real name was.
  
  
  "Wallet," the emu croaked in her ear.
  
  
  He fumbled in his hip pocket. He was so determined to keep his ego in check that he didn't notice what the other man was doing. Not at first. Then I saw him calmly putting the silencer on the back of his gun. Before she could react, he took careful aim and fired two shots at the bulky chest of the person holding her. I'm ashamed to say that my first reaction was relief that one of us gawking didn't go through my body and hit me.
  
  
  His moustache sagged, and Alenka's ego suddenly doubled in my hands. I let the emu fall; it was obvious that it was no longer suitable for me as a shield.
  
  
  Another man waved at me in rheumatism. "I'll take it. You don't have to worry... Mr. McKee."
  
  
  I didn't like the way he grinned at me, especially when she caught a glimpse of metal teeth framed by rubber lips.
  
  
  "What the hell," I said, trying to get back into my role as a business traveler. It was clear that he wasn't going to shoot me.
  
  
  "Funny things happen sometimes, Mr. McKee," he said, leaning over the lifeless body at my feet. There was blood running from the neat punctures on Moustache's chest, but it was all soaked up by the fabric of his dark jacket.
  
  
  "Uh-huh," I said, holding out my left arm a little in case I needed Hugo in a moment of illness. It was then that Wilhelmina wanted her so much that he could taste her. "What the hell are you going to do, tailor?"
  
  
  The bandit looked up, his small eyes as dead as a snake's. "You want to know, Mr. McKee?"
  
  
  I didn't say anything to her.
  
  
  He lifted the dead man to his feet, bent his thick body down, and slung the Mustachioed Man over his shoulder. "There's a fire escape," he announced, as if he didn't know it, and went to the window that looked out on the small square below. After a moment's pause, he stepped over the windowsill and onto the iron grate. The body on his shoulder bumped painfully against the raised window sash, but the Mustachioed Man couldn't object.
  
  
  The bandit paused for a second after ego burden was outside, and when he looked at me, his smile was almost friendly.
  
  
  "We'll see you again sometime, eh, Mr. McKee?" He patted the body of the Mustachioed Man on the rump. "We won't make stupid mistakes next time, huh?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The seventh chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  He went to the window and watched the stocky bandit climb the fire escape like a monkey, apparently oblivious to the burden he was carrying. If only I had Wilhelmina... But no, he told himself, what's the use? The last thing I wanted to do here was draw attention to myself. Especially the attention of the authorities.
  
  
  And, of course, hers, I knew that the two pranksters who had searched my room had nothing to do with the government; legitimate agents working in their own country don't shoot their partners when they get into trouble.
  
  
  He checked his luggage and the rest of the room, including the primitive bathroom. Nothing seemed to be missing, and since I didn't have anything incriminating, I wasn't going to worry too much about it. Except that I had to wonder who this couple was, and why they were here. I wanted to take a good look at the card the Mustachioed Man had shown me, but it was too late. And it probably didn't make any difference. Someone, some organization, was interested in Daniel McKee, the yacht broker, and that was enough to worry her. He missed Wilhelmina more than ever as he undressed and went to bed.
  
  
  The meeting was scheduled for the next day, and he got up early in the morning for an easy three-hour drive through the Peloponnese. The huge mountain peninsula was all green and white, with lush green hillsides and clusters of chalk rocks; the road was good, and he wished I'd had time to stay and be an honest tourist. But I was too impatient, too eager to get to my destination; the memory of what had happened in my room last night wouldn't let go, and I felt that somehow it was damned important to make contact with Kristina. Then we could get, as they say, an away show.
  
  
  Pyrgos is a squalid town with a magnificent natural harbor. Before doing anything else, I wandered around the docks until I found a place where I could rent a sailboat for a week or two. Elgon Xephrat was the good-natured proprietor of the place, a small man with tombstone teeth that he kept flashing in a dazzling smile.
  
  
  We didn't come to a deal right away; I still had to act calmly, but I was pretty damn sure I could get what I needed in no time at all. Elgon assured me that he would have a seaworthy vessel for me whenever I wanted to take her. This was one of the most important questions.
  
  
  Another hotel, not much different from the one in Piraeus, except that nen had one big uneven bed and the bathroom was located in the hallway. Well, she only had one night left, and maybe not that night.
  
  
  It was late in the day, and he had been following his tour schedule for as long as he could when he finally arrived at the Zakynthos Tavern. It was a large open-air establishment with a magnificent view of the harbor and a large mountain island a few miles from the shore. He picked it up on a metal table on the terrace, took off his battered yacht cap, and put it on the seat next to me. Later, the sun was leaning over the Ionian Sea, falling on the boot of Italy, where he was due to leave in a couple of days. I waited for Kristina with as much patience as possible, hoping she wouldn't keep me waiting too long. It was damned inconvenient to have to deal with some strange girl who didn't know any more about the details of this mission than I did.
  
  
  He especially had a run-in with two pros in my hotel room the night before.
  
  
  Around the tavern, he could see water traffic moving in the harbor late at night. It wasn't crowded, but boats of all kinds were constantly coming and going. A small boat with a black hull appeared, towing a girl on water skis. They approached a row of fishing boats tied to the embankment. The girl raised one arm above her head, her dark hair flying behind her, and her splattered face wore an expression of ecstasy. In the boat, both the driver and the other man watching her from the stern were smiling reassuringly at her. Some of the fishermen on the dock looked up from their work; some stood in automatic fascination as the bronze bikini-clad body flashed past them, and there were ragged cheers.
  
  
  Then a gray-haired, stocky man wearing a cap with impressive gold insignia rushed towards the embankment, gesturing furiously. The man behind the wheel of the boat didn't notice him at first, but some instinct made ego pay attention to where he was heading; he turned sharply, slowing down at the same time as he saw that he was nearing the end of the harbor.
  
  
  "Damned fools," he muttered to himself. In any case, they need to know more to go water skiing in the harbor.
  
  
  The girl was trying to shorten the tow line; she seemed to be the only member of the merry trio who knew exactly what she was doing, and despite the changes in speed and direction of the boat, she seemed to be in control of the situation.
  
  
  And then, for some reason I don't understand, she just fell. She descended into the water, automatically lifting off her skis, letting go of the tow line. The applause stopped, but the dockworker kept shaking his fists at the people on the boat. It almost stopped, the ego engine growled, made a slow circle, and approached the girl.
  
  
  She stepped lightly on the ice, clinging to her skis, but as the boat approached, her voice rose in anger. I knew a little Greek about her, but I was sure that what she was saying couldn't be found in just one standard text file. She pushed the jet ski toward math and aft; he took ih with a puzzled look on his face. But when he held out his hand to help her aboard, she shrugged, turned, and swam toward the rough wooden stairs that lined the embankment.
  
  
  The driver maneuvered carefully behind her, both men openly pleading. She ignored ih, her face reflecting her arrogant disdain. As she reached the ladder and started up the water, the man in the stern reached for her again; she shook off ego's hand, drained the water from her flowing hair so that it was completely splattered, then climbed a few more steps until she was above them. At that moment, she turned and said something, cutting it off like a sergeant giving orders to the most inept rookie in his platoon. Both men looked crestfallen, then sullen; between them, they handed the girl some clothes, and a large straw bag. When they were at Nah's, she turned away without so much as a glance to say goodbye, and quickly climbed to the top of the embankment.
  
  
  Like most of the other patrons in the tavern, he got up from behind his chair to get a better look after the girl fell. From where I kept it, I had a good view of everything that was going on, and he was standing by when it reached the top of the wide stone embankment. She paused for a moment, deliberately not looking back, until she heard the sudden roar of an outboard engine as her two disconsolate hot rod escorts made their way back across the harbor in search of their lost ego. Then she brought the straw bag to her feet, raised her arms, and threw the terry-cloth shirt over her head, twisting Rivnenskaya as much as necessary until the Swedes were just south of her thighs. She pulled her smooth, damp hair out from under the collar of her shirt, reached into her bag, and pulled out a monstrous pair of sunglasses. Only after she put on her nu did she look at us, who were standing there looking at nah.
  
  
  There was no false modesty or haughty indifference in her attitude towards us; she only smiled faintly, shrugged her shoulders, and picked up her bag. As she passed mimmo me, so close that I could smell the mixture of salt water and suntan lotion that covered her skin with beads, she hesitated for a split second, then continued on her way, straight to the tavern.
  
  
  Hers was watching her - hers would probably have ruined his cover if he hadn't, because everyone else was definitely looking at her - as she climbed a couple of wide, shallow steps to the stone terrace and took a chair without an umbrella to protect herself from the sun. Before she sat down, there was a waiter, and when he returned to the gloomy interior of the tavern to bring her order, her slowly returned to her table. I felt a certain amount of sophisticated regret that she didn't choose the next table, but common sense refuted the media reports that appeared to me that
  
  
  * I didn't come here just to admire the local water goddess.
  
  
  She drank a mug of local wine, squeezed hard on the grapes that had already tasted it, and decided to stick to ouzo; at least the pale, milky substance sent its own warning signals before you swallowed it. We were sitting so that we could look at each other without thinking too much about it, and after a while it became obvious that she wasn't looking in my direction. Okay, I can accept that; the only visitors in this place at the moment were a handful of tourist couples and a few locals, businessmen, judging by ih strict clothing, nam, odin, around whom the girl would not have been interested or who would have had the courage to approach her after that performance in & nb moments earlier.
  
  
  One of her long, bare legs twitched impatiently around her. Every few seconds, she fluffed her wet hair and dried it in the sun; from where she sat, I could see the copper highlights on the black velvet, and every time she raised her arms, her breasts stood out sharply against the tight fabric of her chemise. I turned away; the last thing I needed was this kind of distraction. Besides, he told himself, she was probably a high-class weekend call girl looking for support. He carefully surveyed the rest of the tavern and decided without any indiscretion that it was the best choice for potential customers.
  
  
  He looked at his watch, then at the fast-falling sun over the sea. They both said it was getting late, and I wondered when my contact would show up.
  
  
  She was getting to her feet, a gold-tipped cigarette dangling from her lips. She sat for a moment, looking around the embankment as if she wanted something, then turned and walked, still barefoot, into the dim interior of the tavern. As she passed by my table, she smiled vaguely, not looking at me.
  
  
  I raised my hand to adjust my sunglasses, and a waiter hovering nearby took my order; a moment later, another ouzo was in front of me. He was a young man in his early teens, and as he set the drink down on a chair, he glanced at the girl's table, then at the back of the tavern, his eyebrows furiously raised as if he was imitating Groucho Marx. Before she realized what he was doing, he also put down the mug of wine that the girl was drinking and hurried away before she could protest.
  
  
  She returned almost immediately after egoistically leaving, taking the seat across from me. Before saying a word, she took a sip of wine, let out a low, gusty sigh of appreciation, and leaned back in her chair. Only then did she look at me.
  
  
  "Do you have a car?" she asked. Nah's accent was accentuated, but she seemed comfortable with the English language.
  
  
  "I have one," I agreed. The Volkswagen was parked nearby, in full view of our chair.
  
  
  "I thought this was supposed to be yours," she said dryly. "Rolling numbers and the fact that you're an American."
  
  
  "Does it show that much?"
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders in a show of indifference. "Ah, ble learn to recognize." She glanced at the other tables nearby. "They're, what, over there, they're in England." She nodded slightly, indicating a middle-aged couple sipping vermouth at a shaded table. "He retired and devoted himself to whiskey; look at these ruby sticks! And any woman who practices looks like this, with a face like an axe and in this fantastic tweed suit here in the sunlight of Pyrgos! Can you imagine that they came by... " She waved her hand in the air in frustration. "Argentina?"
  
  
  I had to smile. "Probably not."
  
  
  She propped her elbows on the chair and leaned in, giving me the full force of her smile, as if she'd just discovered something completely charming. "So you have a car?" She glanced at the Volkswagen.
  
  
  “yeah. This is mine."
  
  
  "Then perhaps you won't mind... I lost my job."
  
  
  "So you noticed her."
  
  
  "It's just a small public beach, not far away. They're guys in a boat, they invited me to go water skiing with them, and she said why not." Her shoulders now rose and fell like the pistons in a locomotive wheel bundle. "But they don't know how to operate this boat, you know? You fools! A voice so sincere in the harbor... did you see it?"
  
  
  "Yeah."
  
  
  "So ih left her; I don't believe they'll even take me back to the small beach hotel where she's staying. So I... what do you call it? Abandoned?"
  
  
  "Not exactly, but you have the right idea."
  
  
  She leaned across the chair toward me. Standard move, I thought, as her breasts pressed against the lush fabric of her shift. "How long have you been in Pyrgos?" she asked.
  
  
  "I don't expect to be here for long."
  
  
  "Ah. Where do you go from here?"
  
  
  He shifted a little in his chair. She asks too many questions, even for prostitutes. "I haven't decided yet," I said cautiously.
  
  
  "Maybe..." She moved closer to me and licked her lips as if the chair wasn't there. Her eyes glittered as if they had their own internal fold paper. "Won't Corfu be bad?"
  
  
  "It's an opportunity," I admitted. There's no point in lying.
  
  
  "Then maybe you need a companion?"
  
  
  The corkscrew wasn't unexpected, but I didn't have an answer. He stared at Nah for a long moment before answering. "Do you want to go to Corfu?"
  
  
  "I wouldn't mind."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  It was her turn to hesitate. She turned away and moved the Aryans with those wonderful shoulders. "This is a good place."
  
  
  "So it is."
  
  
  Suddenly, she grinned like a little girl caught in a harmless lie. "But Corfu's pricelegs are better, aren't they?"
  
  
  He felt a tingling sensation. "Maybe..."
  
  
  She reached across the chair and touched my arm. "You don't mind her being a companion for a few days, do you?" Her smile widened. "Mr. McKee?"
  
  
  He didn't mention his own name.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  It was hardly the most subtle contact I'd ever made, and it bothered me when she was escorted back to the hotel where she'd left her clothes. We didn't talk much in the car; He didn't encourage her, and she didn't offer. But before we got to the stretch of public beach surrounded by small second-rate hotels from where she had set off on her water-skiing expedition, she was slowed down to go to nah.
  
  
  "So you're Kristina," I said. She hasn't even told me that yet.
  
  
  "Of course. Do you have a boat?"
  
  
  "I have one rented, yes."
  
  
  "Then perhaps we should.... Isn't that how you use your leisure time?"
  
  
  Her, frowned: "Maybe. Depends on what you mean."
  
  
  "I mean, we need to be visible in public, obviously attracted to each other." She took my hand, but on her warm, bare thigh. "Vote like this, no? American tourist, Greek woman on vacation. Isn't this as planned?"
  
  
  She obviously knew more about the leg's value plans than she did, but it made sense. "What are you hearing from Alex?" I asked sincerely.
  
  
  It was as if her skin had suddenly turned to marble, cold as the grave, but she made no move to push my hand away. "We'll talk about it later."
  
  
  "Why not now?"
  
  
  Her smile was like a death mask. "Because you and I, Mr. Daniel McKee, don't know anything about Alex. Right now, we're celebrating getting to know each other, and tomorrow, when we go on our little cruise to Corfu, we'll have plenty of time to talk about it."
  
  
  For a layman, it seemed to mistletoe a pretty good idea of how things work in my mail business. Her had to go with her. At least for now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  The Ee hotel was a nondescript little place with pink plaster walls and a wide terrace overlooking a narrow strip of beach. We went through a ritual: we had a drink at one of the tables on the terrace, holding hands, and many looking into each other's eyes. From time to time, I checked to see if anyone was paying attention to us, but I didn't see anyone who was more interested in Kristin than expected. Finally, just as the sun was about to sink into the sea, she stood up, pulling me to my feet with her.
  
  
  "Are we going to have lunch?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  "Of course," she said. "You can pick me up in an hour and a half. Maybe... can you arrange for us to sail tomorrow morning?"
  
  
  "I dunno." Her, nuzzled into her ear, as expected, but mostly because I wanted to make sure that no one would hear what I was saying. "Take your time, dear. She wouldn't be asked to make arrangements to leave tomorrow until it's pretty damn obvious that you're coming with me."
  
  
  "So let's make it obvious now." She hit my groin in the most obvious way, lifting her leg slightly to rub her bare knee against my thigh. It was just a short gesture, but no one could miss it. Or ego consequences.
  
  
  "Yes," I said, and I had to clear my throat before another word came out. "We're going to leave in the morning."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  She looked just as good in her dark blue dress as she did in a bikini; it was obviously something she'd bought from a warehouse, but Kristina knew how to make any of her clothes look like they were made for nah bvlgari, burberry. We went to a small restaurant near her hotel; there was nothing special about it, and as far as she could see, there were no other tourist activities there. When she was sure that no one could overhear us, ee asked her,
  
  
  what was the reason we ended up in this particular place?
  
  
  She blushed, just a little through her tan.
  
  
  "I don't really know this city," she said. "This is my first time here."
  
  
  He thought about it for a few seconds, then leaned back in his chair and smiled at hey, across the chair. "Just a couple of tourists, aren't they?"
  
  
  "Yes..."
  
  
  It was my turn to get things moving. According to the Manila envelope that her dropped next to the chair, her picked up the map and unfolded it. "Show me something about this coast," he told her in a low voice. "Or tell me what you don't know. Either way."
  
  
  It was a map of the western coast of Greece - from the Peloponnese to the islands of Zakynthos; Kefalonia; Ithaca, from where Ulysses sailed to wage war with Troy, and then all those years later returned to the most loyal gin in history, Leucas; and several other small islands and mainland ports, until Corfu appeared, shaped like an axe with a huge cross-section of the sea. a deformed handle, the blade of which was aimed at the coast of Albania.
  
  
  "That would be a nice cruise," the girl said cautiously.
  
  
  "Yeah. Which stops on the way would you prefer?"
  
  
  “no. To us, in what specific case. But I think maybe... three days would be a good time."
  
  
  My gut clenched, not for the first time on this mission. More delay, more time when nothing happens.
  
  
  "Are you sure you want to come with me?" Her voice returned to the role.
  
  
  She focused her large, dark eyes on me. "But of course, Daniel McKee."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  After lunch, we made our way through narrow alleys surrounded by solid rows of dark houses that seemed to loom over us, blotting out the clear Ionian sky. Kristina walked softly beside me, her hip pressed against mine, and I had to constantly remind myself to be on the lookout for a possible tail.
  
  
  No one saw her. I didn't like it.
  
  
  "You ... er... stayed at the hotel long enough to receive a notification from...?"
  
  
  She pressed her lips to mine, but her lips were cold and contained a warning. Don't" speak now, " she muttered. "Tonight is for us."
  
  
  I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or to some bug planted on nah. In any case, he couldn't object.
  
  
  We walked along the waterfront where I first saw her, decided not to visit the tavern where we met again, then headed towards my hotel, which was only a couple of blocks away. As we approached the dimly lit entrance, a brown Mercedes pulled out around the alley, roared in our direction, and slowed sharply. He crawled past her and looked idly at the car, but saw nothing in the backseat but a blurry figure. The driver, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, looked straight ahead. When the Mercedes was a short distance away, it pulled over to the side of the road on the opposite side of the street. There were only a few other cars parked nearby, and Kristina and I were the only pedestrians in sight.
  
  
  The girl grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. "McKee!" she whispered urgently. "Who are these people?"
  
  
  "I don't know anyone." Her, he said softly, was bad enough to deal with an ordinary amateur without scaring her to death.
  
  
  "But they saw us and stopped." Her, I felt her shiver, her body pressed against mine. "Why are they waiting there?"
  
  
  The Mercedes was parked directly in front of the hotel entrance, its engine rumbling softly, and thin streams of steam were coming out of the exhaust pipe.
  
  
  He turned to the girl and hugged her. "Don't worry about everyone you see, Kristina. Tonight is our night... unless."
  
  
  "Unless what?"
  
  
  "You don't have a husband, do you? Or the other-a guy?"
  
  
  She shook her head, searching my eyes questioningly. “no. Would she be on vacation alone if her ego was mistletoe?"
  
  
  His father nodded in agreement. "So what's there to be afraid of? My room will be quiet, then..."
  
  
  The girl cut off my words with a sudden, fierce kiss. This took me by surprise, but I quickly recovered and held her tightly to me. After a while, she pulled her mouth away from mine and began to touch my neck, pressing her lips to my ear. "Is it safe to talk in your room?" she muttered.
  
  
  "I wouldn't bet Stahl on that." There was no point in mentioning my guests from yesterday, even if they were half a country away.
  
  
  She slowly pulled back to look at me with shining eyes and a wide-open mouth in a stunning smile. "So we're going to have this night, Daniel McKee. Then we'll see..."
  
  
  When we entered the hotel, the brown Mercedes was still there, like a squat, crouching dragon breathing smoke from its tailpipe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Kristina wasn't shy to us, she wasn't madly impatient to us, but
  
  
  she was also not indifferent to sex. She was the type of girl who could never remain indifferent to anything, whether it was brushing her teeth or making love to a stranger. She sat down lightly on the edge of the lumpy bed that overlooked the room for the first time as he poured brandy into a couple of glasses. She took hers, tasted it, and ran her tongue over her lips like a cat.
  
  
  The only chair in the room was too low and in a bad place. After breaking one of my basic rules, I moved her to the wide windowsill, making sure the window curtain was tightly closed; even then, I knew that my silhouette was the perfect target for sniping, and I trusted my instinct that no one wanted her dead. He doesn't want to yet.
  
  
  "Okay," I said, raising a thick glass in the hotel room in a gesture of grilling a cheese sandwich.
  
  
  "All right?"
  
  
  This was my first really good look at Christina Zenopolis; another time I was blinded by too much sunlight and all that wet, toasted flesh; the restaurant used to have a muffled haze and a table between us. Here, the sound was muted, but not too much, and nothing interfered with the view. Even her dark blue, unadorned dress was almost as revealing as a daytime bikini, and in some ways more exciting. With her thick dark hair and wide-set startlingly blue eyes, she was a visual treasure, and so far as a ferret, she had shown the wit and spirit to match the look. For a moment, I wished we were what we seemed, and then I told myself to stop being a fool.
  
  
  "So you're a student," I remarked, leading the conversation as anyone listening might expect a tourist to ask the girl he'd picked up and brought to his room.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "What are you studying?"
  
  
  She shrugged and took a long drink of brandy. "I once wanted to become a nurse, but I had to quit."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "That was..." She frowned. "Well, I finally admitted to myself that I can't stay around sick people for the rest of my life. Do You Know?"
  
  
  "I guess so."
  
  
  "And so hers ... well, its just learning. Maybe I'll be a biologist, maybe an archaeologist. Don't always rush into a decision, right?"
  
  
  "I believe your parents would like you to get a major." I said this with a knowing grin, but I also knew that Nah didn't have any parents.
  
  
  Kristina looked at me intently. "I don't have any parents, McKee. Of course you do; I must have told you that before."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "I believe you did. Apologize. But how are you, uh ... how do you make a living?"
  
  
  "Oh, hey, I work in a boutique in Athens. It is very close to the Hilton. They are very good at paying me for a day off when I don't have to go to class." She leaned forward, the modest neckline of her dress only partially revealing. "Isn't it good that I'm on vacation now?"
  
  
  "It couldn't be better," I said, and when I understood, I got up and sat down next to her on the bed. She didn't move or seem surprised, but there were no automatic caresses, either. I liked this girl more and more.
  
  
  "Did you find what you wanted in Greece, McKee?"
  
  
  "In a way."
  
  
  She was laughing. "I'm talking about your email business being revealed."
  
  
  "Didn't I say so?" Her, sneered hey, in rheumatism. "Well, actually, her only been here a few days, but her met some people, looked at the boats. I had some idea that I might be able to find her in your country a genius in yacht design, someone who could come up with something new and exciting. While... But whether I find what I'm looking for or not, I get to know something about Greece. I like most of the stuff around it."
  
  
  This time she kissed me with cool, light lips. I started to hug her, but she pulled away, not much, just enough to let me know that this wasn't the time.
  
  
  She said. "So you're leaving tomorrow?"
  
  
  "It's an idea. Interestingly, in my country and probably in yours too, when people on a boat see a person arrive by car and start asking questions, they don't tend to talk much. But when the same person appears in the boat and asks them the same questions, they will answer them."
  
  
  "Yes, I don't see how that could be." She took another sip of brandy. "And you honestly want to take me with you?"
  
  
  I was sure now that she was talking about possible mistakes, because she knew damn well that I should take her with me. "I would really like that. Only three or four days, just coastal swimming. Take your time."
  
  
  She seemed to think about it; then she nodded slowly. “yeah. That would be very, very good." With that, she stood up, held out her empty brandy glass to the nearest commodore, and lifted the white woolen cape she wore against the chill of the evening. "I have to go back to my hotel, McKee."
  
  
  My surprise must have been clear, but she stifled my protest with a fierce frown. "Do you have to?" I said unconvincingly.
  
  
  "Ah, yes. That was very nice, McKee. Her, I feel like we've gotten to know each other well in such a short time, and there's so much to look forward to. She tilted her head to the side and gave me a teasing smile. "Once we're alone at sea, I'm sure we'll find something to talk about."
  
  
  She relayed the message, and I didn't mind. Kristina didn't want him to take her back to the hotel, but I made sure the brown Mercedes wasn't across the street before I put her in a taxi. I watched her until she was out of sight and saw no sign of her tail catching up with her, but I still felt a cold worry in my stomach; Kristina was my only way to contact Alex, and if anything happened to her ...
  
  
  All I could do now was hope that she knew what she was doing, because I damn well didn't.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  When he arrived early the next morning, Elgon Xephrat was waiting for me, but he wasn't the friendly, smiling man she'd met the day before. He shook his head sadly when he saw me walk around the car and into his small, cluttered office.
  
  
  "I'm sorry I didn't live up to my expectations," he began sincerely, looking down at the white gym bag she was carrying. "Your boat won't be ready to sail today. Tomorrow, maybe in two or three days. I can't say."
  
  
  "What the hell happened?" I demanded.
  
  
  "An accident last night." He shrugged and pointed vaguely over his shoulder. Through the window, behind her, ego could see the bustling shipyard, the docks, and a small bay where dozens of boats, mostly small ones, were moored. She knows the thirty-two-foot catch he'd used to light me up the day before, snuggled up against the dock in a long, thick snake around a hose that spilled over the side and down into the cabin.
  
  
  "What happened?"
  
  
  "I think someone came to the mooring station late. Your Argos must have been pretty badly rammed; we found an ego this morning with a lot of water, some boards popped out ahead. He pointed it out unnecessarily.
  
  
  "It can't be too badly damaged if it doesn't sink in the night.",
  
  
  "Probably not; we'll have to get her out to make sure."
  
  
  "Can I go there every year? Maybe I'll have an idea..."
  
  
  Ego's eyes were cold. "Do you know more about my boats than hers, Mr. McKee?"
  
  
  "Of course not; that's not what I meant. Look, you said you had another boat that I could take. What about this one?"
  
  
  "Ah, but after you left yesterday, two gentlemen came and chartered ego. You said you preferred Argos anyway."
  
  
  I made it; it was smaller, easier to handle with one hand, and overall looked better. However ... " They've already taken her away?"
  
  
  "Scylla? Not yet, no."
  
  
  "I need a boat," I said flatly.
  
  
  Zephrathus looked surprised. "But you said there was no rush, Mr. McKee."
  
  
  "Everything has changed. She should be able to do business with you, but if you don't keep your word, I'll have to go somewhere else, Mr. Xefrates."
  
  
  If he had expected such a thing from this person, he was sadly mistaken. He just stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged. "It's your right."
  
  
  "Look, I'll pay whatever you want for Scylla. Let the others wait a day or so for Argos to be repaired."
  
  
  "Is this important to you, Mr. McKee?"
  
  
  "This is important." Her, chuckled. "You'll soon understand why."
  
  
  Xephrathus looked thoughtful, his eyes somber, and then his dark, bearded face flashed a sudden smile. "Ah! Perhaps I understand it." He tapped the stub of a pencil against his teeth. "Perhaps the other gentlemen will also understand."
  
  
  "When did they say they'd start?"
  
  
  "Just today. Actually, since they came so late yesterday, I didn't have time to get ih on the boat. Usually I have to be sure that someone knows how to handle one of my favorite boats before I let them pick it up. Except when they have them... How do I say this? Credentials? Yes, just like you, Mr. McKee.
  
  
  Among the other documents I was provided with was a photocopy of my ID card, which stated that I had crossed the Atlantic twice in small boat races, once as a navigator and once as a captain. I was just as glad that Xephratus hadn't asked me to guide the Scylla, a broad-hulled sloop with enough cabin space for a flock of trumps to carry as cargo, around the crowded bay.
  
  
  "So I can take the Scylla instead, "I said, reaching for my wallet.
  
  
  The other two men shook their heads. "I couldn't do it, Mr. McKee. I gave my word to two other gentlemen."
  
  
  "But you promised me."
  
  
  "The day will soon come when you will want to take Argos."
  
  
  "Can you call these other guys? At least ask nu if they don't mind postponing the trip for a day or so? " her, felt ridiculous, almost begging like that, but there was no other place in Pyrgos where his boat could be chartered right away. The only alternative was to return to Piraeus, where the Royal Greek Yacht Club could arrange charters in almost any port where they were available. But that would not only mean a delay of at least a day, but more importantly, it would relieve me of the anxiety of starting my "unhurried" cruise.
  
  
  Xephrathus frowned, flipped through some papers in his rat's nest on his desk, found what he wanted, and finally sighed resignedly. "I'm really sorry. I don't think ih Hotel recorded it."
  
  
  He sat there like a stocky, sad, but unforgiving spider, and her was beginning to think that this locality in Russia was a total failure when Kristina arrived.
  
  
  Xephrathus nearly jumped up as the girl entered, his dark face split in an idiotic grin of appreciation. In faded blue shorts, a striped crew-neck sweater, and an exuding zeal for a vacation, ee was enough to make any man stand up.
  
  
  "Are we ready?" "What is it?" she asked, giving me a peck on the cheek and dropping two canvas bags on the dusty floor.
  
  
  Its briefly told here about the complications. Kristina's reaction was perfect; she turned to Zephrat, pouting enough.
  
  
  "But it's not fair! My vacation will end in a few days, and I was promised a small cruise."
  
  
  Xephrathus looked flustered. He spoke to the girl in Greek, and she answered; none of the people around them could understand her. But whatever she said to us, Kristina had a power of persuasion that he couldn't understand; after a few minutes, Xephrath nodded, a little sadly, but shrugged, and we were carried in our car to the dock.
  
  
  Odin's ego mates brought Scylla with me, and after he checked my rigging and equipment, the sloop was provided with provisions, and we put our gear down below. Xephrathus performed an effective operation, and it was not until midday that we slipped out of the port of Bar. Working under the thundering power of the onboard engine, he pushed his way through the clusters of boats moored in the bay, feeling the rudder slack. Only when we were far away from the buoy that marked the entrance to the bay did I give it to Christina's wheel and go ahead.
  
  
  The staysail went up first; it was self-adjusting, making it much easier to sail alone. Christina told me that she did a bit of sailing, but only in small boats, so except in emergencies, I figured I'd do all the serious stuff myself. As the jib began to fill, he turned and told the girl to raise the sloop upwind. She nodded, turned the wheel, and held the ego, wincing hard, until the bow swung around and the jib began to flap. When I was glad that she had made us move more or less confidently in the right direction, I returned and lifted her up with a heavy mainsail. It wasn't easy on my own, even with the winch, but it was finally pinned down by a heavy tarp to the top of the mast and cleared by foul.
  
  
  The Scylla was rocking in moderately strong waves, and I had to dance a little while as she maneuvered along the narrow mimmo track of the cabin roof. When her father returned to the spacious cabin, Kristina found it difficult to steer the boat; her sel sat next to her and turned off the engine. The silence was beautiful.
  
  
  "It's a big boat," she said softly, looking up at the big mast as the wind began to fill her ego.
  
  
  "Big enough," I agreed, taking the steering wheel from her.
  
  
  The day was clear and crisp, the traffic moderate and fairly well dispersed. Even so close to the shore, there was a sense of boundless depth under our hull, the dark blue water turning to soft foam as we made our way through the waves. Kristina raised her hands to push back her thick, glossy hair, and in the sunlight nen could see the copper highlights of it. She took a deep breath, savoring the wind and salty air, with her eyes closed; when she opened ih again, she was looking genuinely at me.
  
  
  "All right," she said.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  She looked back; the entrance to the bay was already just another indistinguishable part of the coastline. "We're finally alone." She smiled. "I mean really lonely."
  
  
  He glanced at the open trap leading to the main cabin, then cautiously looked at Nah. "Will you be able to work a little bit with the steering wheel? I want to check out some things below."
  
  
  Kristina nodded and took the wheel again. The only land visible except for Russian President Vladimir Putin behind us was Zakynthos, and the island was miles to starboard.
  
  
  In real professionals, of course, everything seems to be fine, except that any surprise could not involve us in any problems with the boat. I went downstairs to find any other problem.
  
  
  Maybe I overdid it, but I examined it all the inside of the boat and demanded possible problems. It seemed unlikely that anyone could have installed any listening devices on the Scylla, but there was no point in taking any chances. The bottom was surprisingly spacious, with the main cabin in which it could stand almost vertically. The galley was compact and decidedly newer than the boat, with a plastic roof and a tiny stainless-steel sink. There was an electric refrigerator that Xephratuh had told her I wasn't going to use; that meant starting the engines to keep the batteries charged, and its shell wasn't for that. Whatever it was, the old original refrigerator was still there, and the nen had a fifty-pound block of ice to keep the ale cold.
  
  
  Also in the main cabin, there were upper and lower bunks on the port side, and on the other side there was an armchair with built-in upholstered seats on the sides; the dining area could be lowered to turn the whole thing into a double bed.
  
  
  Ahead, through a short, narrow passageway surrounded by a headboard and a hanging locker, was another cabin, where two men slept on slightly curved bunks. I had to almost crawl to get inside, as the height under the forward deck was reduced dramatically. The plexiglass trapdoor was the only source of light, and she lifted it slightly to breathe in the damp room. I made a mental note to shut it down if the weather turned bad; even though we had an automatic bilge pump, there was no point in taking on water unnecessarily.
  
  
  It took me almost an hour to make sure Scylla was clean. It was stupid, she told herself, to be so damn careful, but one of the first things she'd learned in the spy mail business was never to take anything for granted. Then there were the two guys who'd tried to charter a Scylla the day before, not to mention the "accidents" that had damaged the other boat. No, it was worth an hour. He opened a couple of bottles of beer and brought ih back to the cab.
  
  
  "I was afraid you'd fallen asleep," Christina said.
  
  
  "I just made sure everything was in order. Now we can talk." Her sel was out of nah's reach; it was time to get down to business.
  
  
  "Clean... malfunctions?" "What is it?" she asked lightly.
  
  
  "No," I said flatly.
  
  
  "Do you want to drive?"
  
  
  Her, looked to starboard. We were approaching a point on the southernmost tip of Zakynthos, which meant that we would soon have to change course and head northwest. It was checked by the wind; we were at a great distance, the wind was blowing almost from the north; a change of course should mean nothing more than a change in the setting of the twist. The boat moved steadily forward, clearly happier under sail than with the motor.
  
  
  "Keep the controls," I said. "You're doing well."
  
  
  "Can we talk now?"
  
  
  "If you want."
  
  
  She turned away, her eyes fixed on the compass set up by the candid ones in front of the wheel.
  
  
  I asked her, " Okay?"
  
  
  "Say what?"
  
  
  I started it openly. "Why were you afraid of that car last night?"
  
  
  "Cars?" She was stalling for time.
  
  
  "Near my hotel. Is there a reason why you should be followed?"
  
  
  Her eyes widened as she looked at me. "Of course! Don't you know?"
  
  
  He sighed and lightly touched her bare arm. "Listen, Kristina, we'd better figure something out. You're on this trip because your brother insisted on it. But I still don't know how many contacts you have with him or how it was. . Her husband is conscientious; I don't like it. Alex is an old boy, and I'm sorry he dragged you into this, but obviously he can't be talked out of it. What I need to know first is how involved you are in this business ."
  
  
  She licked her lips, glanced at the compass again, and then got up to check the spin setting. Finally, she shrugged. Good. The first thing I know about Alex ... returning user ... this is what Odin's meet your people comes to me when her walking out on the boutique. He tells me that Alex will contact you." She turned to me. "You should know, McKee, that I hardly know my brother. I was only seven years old when he died... went to the other side. And before that, he was always away, so he saw her, ego very little, ever. my mother died, and our father died many years ago when I was a baby. So hers, I guess, is him... he felt that since hers was the only remaining member of the family... could he trust me? "She ended on a questioning note, which I didn't find very reassuring at first.
  
  
  It didn't matter to Hans. "What contact have you had with him since the ferret?"
  
  
  "Two, three times I received her messages; I do not know how it was extracted to me. It was simply detected by ih
  
  
  when she was coming home from school or work ."
  
  
  "What was in them?"
  
  
  "I don't have ih with me. He advised me to burn ih."
  
  
  Thank God for that, at least, he told himself. "But you remember ih."
  
  
  "Of course. He said he would come back, that Ego would be met by American agents, and that he wanted his to be there."
  
  
  "I still don't understand why you didn't meet him, ferret."
  
  
  "And hers, too."
  
  
  "He wants to take you with him?"
  
  
  "I can't say. As far as I know, I plan to go with you to Corfu, meet Alex there, and then return to Athens. The vacation will end." She smiled absently. "As far as her vague recollection goes, my older brother has always been a stubborn person, always demanding his own path. Perhaps he just wants to see the last remaining member of the family."
  
  
  It was pretty clear that we weren't going anywhere, so I changed my direction. "Let's go back to the brown car last night. You were afraid. Why not?"
  
  
  "I do not know. Its never been involved in such things before, so perhaps its too knowledgeable about... these things."
  
  
  "It's a silly spin, but it's up to the ego to ask it. Have you told anyone about this? I mean, something like what you heard from your brother after all these years?"
  
  
  She shook her head emphatically, then hey, I had to remove a lock of hair from my rta. “no. I have... I don't have any close friends, McKee. No one, hema wouldn't talk to her."
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. "That's a little weird," I said sincerely. "No close friends?"
  
  
  She blushed under her tan. "Ah, yes, I understand her. Well, it was ... until recently, she was linked to a young man. I don't have an ego anymore. And I don't have any close friends. My job and my new university; hers changed my life a lot, so there's no one she'd say that to."
  
  
  "But you were still afraid."
  
  
  She shrugged again. "You're a spy, McKee, and I'm sure that's not your real name, but it doesn't matter; don't you suspect something like the car he drove last night?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. But not necessarily. This is a top secret operation, Kristina; no one should know anything about it except those involved."
  
  
  "Yes, hers, I suppose ..."
  
  
  "Alright, let's forget about it. Maybe someone leaked some details of this operation. Our task is still to bring the matter to both ends. We have a couple of days at sea to talk, so start by telling me how Alex is supposed to get in touch with you. to Corfu ".
  
  
  She hesitated, struggling with the wheel as the Scylla rocked the wake of a large motorboat. Then she sighed and collapsed onto the orange lifebuoy she was using as a backboard. "We agreed on the date and time of the meeting. This is a tavern in Corfu."
  
  
  "Oh, cool!" He threw up his hands. "Exactly where anyone looking for an ego might expect an ego to find in Albania."
  
  
  "Yeah, but no one's looking for it, McKee."
  
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  
  "In his last message, he told me that time was the most important thing. For at least two or three days, then egos, they won't know he's missing."
  
  
  "And how is emu going to do that?"
  
  
  "He didn't say. Ego messages were short."
  
  
  "Yes, I think so. Corfu." He got up, went downstairs, and came back with a stack of rolled-up cards. When I found the one in Corfu, I only had to look a little to know that everything was wrong. "We're not going there," I said.
  
  
  She looked where hers was pointing. "Why not?"
  
  
  "Because when your brother and I leave, we'll have a long run, fifteen or twenty miles in any direction, until we reach the open sea. Whatever he tells us, someone might be looking for Alex before we can move on to Taranto."
  
  
  She looked at the map. Corfu, the main city of the island of Corfu, was located halfway along the east coast of the island. Only a few miles out of the water were the coasts of Greece and Albania, and she wasn't going to try to escape with a defector from both of those countries in a boat that could only go four or five knots. Not from there, anyway; it would have taken me a long time just to get out of Corfu and into the open water. Maybe if I hadn't been visited by two heavyweights, one of whom is now dead, a couple of nights ago, I would have risked it. But that's out of the question now.
  
  
  "But what else can we do?" Kristina asked.
  
  
  I stared at the chart for a long time. On the sea coast of Corfu, there was a tiny town called Agios Mattaios. "Do you know this place?"
  
  
  Kristina shook her head. "I've never been to Corfu."
  
  
  "Well, we'll sail there, and leave this boat. I think we can find a car somewhere to take us to Corfu."
  
  
  "But ... McKee?"
  
  
  "To wouldnt?"
  
  
  "Why would we go to a place like Ayios Mattaios?
  
  
  You're supposed to be a tourist, and I'm... well. No tourist will sail to such a remote place and not go to Corfu. Unless we were in a hurry. "
  
  
  She was right. If we were going to play it both ways, especially at the crucial stage, we couldn't afford anything out of the ordinary. I unfolded a couple more charts, checked something. "Okay, Kristina, you're right. Tonight we'll stop somewhere on Selfalonia. This is the next big island, then Zakynthos. Tomorrow night is Preveza, and the next one is not when Ayios Mattaios. But when we get there, we'll have something like a boat problem; that'll be our excuse, and I'll make it look legal. Overnight in Corfu and then back to ... "
  
  
  She shook her head so hard that I had to stop talking. "What happened?"
  
  
  "No!" she gasped. "No, not there!"
  
  
  "But why not? It's the best damn place I can see her, even if the ego is hard to pronounce."
  
  
  "I don't mean there." She pointed to the map. "Not Ayios Mattayos." Her finger moved up the shoreline again. "There."
  
  
  "Preveza? What's wrong with that?"
  
  
  For no reason at all, I began to realize that she was burying her face in my shoulder, clutching my arm. "No, McKee, or whatever your name is. You are welcome! Wherever we stop, may it never be Preveza!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  So, we missed Preveza. Kristina's objection was so hysterical that I decided not to investigate, at least not then. Afterward, this ey seemed to be ashamed of her outburst, as if she could take it back. But whatever mistletoe she had in mind, she was grateful; it showed that she was in the gym under pressure, and no longer the gorgeous goddess of jet skiing who practices, can randomly pick up an American traveler and go on a small cruise. It brought back the right way of looking at things, and it was good for me.
  
  
  We spent the rest of the first day enjoying the open sea, staying away from Zakynthos, and as the sun began to set over the open Mediterranean, headed for Argostilion, the main city of Kefalonia. At the port, we took more supplies, canned food, ice, a lot of alcohol for the galley, then found a restaurant where we had a gloomy dinner . Kristina was silent, concentrating on her dish of indistinguishable vegetables and spices as the sun disappeared outside the window.
  
  
  "I suppose,"she said," we'll sleep on board?"
  
  
  "Alexander had a plan."
  
  
  "Yes." She said this with a sigh of resignation.
  
  
  "Is that a problem?"
  
  
  "No." She said it too quickly. "Can we go out to the harbor and drop anchor?"
  
  
  "Maybe. I'll check it with the port captain; we'll probably be able to find a free berth."
  
  
  "Could we just... continue?"
  
  
  "You said we have three days. What's the hurry?"
  
  
  "Have you ever sailed at night? In the open sea with sails filled with light wind?"
  
  
  The words sounded strange, coming from Christina. "Yes," I said.
  
  
  "Then can't we, McKee?" Her hand slid across the table and touched my arm with her fingers. They were calm, trembling slightly.
  
  
  "You mean you want to swim all night?"
  
  
  "That would be nice."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  At this point, the waiter brought us Turkish coffee, and while she filtered the sediment from the bottom of the glass through her teeth, Kristina got up to take care of herself. When she came back, agitated, she slumped into the chair so hard that I thought she was going to break it.
  
  
  "McKee!" she hissed. "There was someone there!"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. What's for someone?"
  
  
  "A man! Leaning against a candid moan in front of the ladies ' room!"
  
  
  "Right?"
  
  
  "But I've seen her ego before! Last night in Pyrgos!"
  
  
  This caught my attention. "Where in Pyrgos?"
  
  
  "That was..." She hesitated, applying her thumb to her mouth and chewing on a fingernail. "At my hotel after I left you. When he arrived, he was talking to the desk clerk."
  
  
  Its got up. "Is he still there?"
  
  
  "No way! When hers was gone, he was gone. McKee! How can they follow us like this?"
  
  
  "Don't be too sure that he's following us."
  
  
  "But it should be there!"
  
  
  "Good, good. Relax." Get up. "Let me make a small visit on my own."
  
  
  But when he returned to the small passageway from the main dining room, there was no one there at all, and he found the men's room empty. When I returned, Kristina was looking in my direction with concern, and I shook my head as I sat down. "Nobody. Are you sure it was the same man you saw in your hotel?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Describe the ego."
  
  
  She hesitated, biting her lip. "He was ... shorter than you, but very wide. Dark suit, dark hair. Balding, I think, but he's
  
  
  I was wearing a hat, so I couldn't be sure."
  
  
  "What did he do?"
  
  
  "He's just... standing there. I talked to the desk clerk..."
  
  
  "In what language?"
  
  
  "Ah, in Greek."
  
  
  "Did he talk to you? Did you do anything?"
  
  
  "No, nothing like that. He was just looking; his ego felt like looking at himself, all the way up the stairs."
  
  
  Hers was laughing. "I can't blame the ego."
  
  
  "But he's here!"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. It's not funny, is it? Okay, Kristina, this is an all-night swim. But you'll have to entertain me at the wheel if I can't keep my eyes open."
  
  
  She smiled. "I promise, McKee, I'll do everything I can to keep you awake."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  By the time we made our way back to the boat, Kristina's fleeting fascination with nonchalance was gone; she glanced over her shoulder at every step until I had to tell hey to put it away. When we were on board and clearing the harbor, she would carefully inspect every vessel we passed by mimmo, and then keep an eye on everything that moved. It was almost dark, but a few other boats were still rushing back and forth. One around them was a good-sized motorboat that was slowly gliding closer to us, packed with screeching revelers who obviously didn't care where the evenings were being spent. Some around them waved a hand at us; hers, waved in rheumatism, but Christina seemed to be trying to hide from view.
  
  
  "Forget it," I snapped. "You're just drawing attention to us. They're not that type."
  
  
  She glared at me, then straightened up and waved weakly at the retreating cruiser. As we watched, the fast boat headed for a huge motor yacht, almost as big as a cruise ship, which was already idling out to sea. Every porthole was lit up, and even from this distance, she could hear rock music faintly wafting across the street.
  
  
  "It looks like a party," I said.
  
  
  Kristina nodded. We watched the motorboat slowly walk alongside the motor yacht. Cables were lowered and attached, and a still-filled smaller boat was raised to the level of the main deck. There was a shout, a laugh, and through the binoculars she saw a woman stand up, almost falling overboard.
  
  
  "Damn fools," I muttered.
  
  
  "Yes," the girl next to me agreed. "Tourists".
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "What's her name?"
  
  
  "No, McKee. You're a spy."
  
  
  Her, grimaced. "Okay, then miss assistant spy. Get behind the wheel while I go downstairs and pull out some warm sweaters for us. It's getting cold."
  
  
  Her smile was full of meaning. "But I'm not cold at all."
  
  
  She was wearing a light shirt, loosely buttoned up over her bathing suit, and matching faded blue shorts. I tried to show her how much I appreciated her appearance. "Let's just leave it at that," I said, and went downstairs.
  
  
  When he returned, she was curled up, curled up in the wide built-in seat that the little ones used all over the cabin, her legs tucked under her, her head propped up on one elbow.
  
  
  "It looks comfortable, but I don't want you to steer my boat like this at night. It's too easy to fall asleep in this position."
  
  
  "Yes, Captain," she said, greeting me lightly.
  
  
  He tossed her a sweater and threw a blanket on the seat next to her, then went ahead to check the jib. He was pleasantly windswept, and when he checked her ego, he found that the self-adjusting rigging hadn't gone bad. The anchor was set město, ready to go on board if we had to stop, although in these deep waters there were not many places where our rope would reach the bottom. He remembered to close the front hatch, accepting Nathaniel Franklin's pat on the back, and crawled back to the cockpit.
  
  
  "All right, skipper?" Kristina asked.
  
  
  "Yeah." She looked at Nah curiously. "It looks like you've watched too many Navy movies."
  
  
  "I was taught to swim by an American ensign."
  
  
  "Ha! You mean these weaklings really know how to swim?"
  
  
  "Well, it was a tiny boat. There was barely enough room for both of us."
  
  
  "It must have been awesome." Her fell on the seat next to her with her legs twisted.
  
  
  Abruptly, she sat up straight, her eyes fixed on the starboard flickering beacon. "What is it?"
  
  
  I didn't have to check my schedule. "These are the saints on the cape that we saw when we entered the port. Once we leave ego behind, we'll head north again."
  
  
  "I see. You're right, McKee, this isn't the time to ignore it. Do you want to sleep? You've had a long day."
  
  
  Her voice was absurdly almost prim as she spoke, staring frankly in front of her, both hands on the spoked wheels.
  
  
  “no. Not now. Its just sitting there.
  
  
  and ... enjoying the view."
  
  
  Christina didn't notice the awkward remark.
  
  
  For a long time, no one around us spoke; then she began to squirm, feeling my gaze on her.
  
  
  "Why are you looking at me like that?" "What is it?" she asked irritably.
  
  
  "I didn't think you'd mind. You were outside last night... a completely different girl."
  
  
  "It worked."
  
  
  "Like the men in the brown Mercedes?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  "And now ih isn't?"
  
  
  She turned her head toward me, and in the gathering darkness, her eyes were calm and sober. "McKee, she might want to go to bed with you. For a while. If I had to make love to you to convince someone that we are what we pretend to be, she wouldn't hesitate. For a while, she was in love with a classmate of hers, and I can honestly say that he wasn't nearly as attractive as you. And yet... She shrugged and looked up again, then back at me. "I'm not a whore to go to bed with the first American tourist, or a spy, whatever you want to call yourself. Do you understand?"
  
  
  "Of course."She moved a little away from nah, but not out of reach. "It also explains why you suddenly decided to swim all night long."
  
  
  It was too dark to see if she was blushing, but I could tell by the way she tilted her head that she was embarrassed.
  
  
  "It's true, McKee. Partly. If I want to be firm in my determination, there's no point in risking unnecessary temptation."
  
  
  "But only partially?"
  
  
  "Yes. Its a bit of a weasel fight with them, as we said earlier today."
  
  
  "About what?"
  
  
  "About how you changed our plans."
  
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  
  "Alex... he's very careful. Suspicious ones. Her, I only know this from the short messages that her received from him."
  
  
  "It kind of made that impression."
  
  
  "So I guess ... it would be unwise to make such amendments."
  
  
  "You mean we have to go to Corfu as planned?"
  
  
  "I think it would be better to."
  
  
  What was interesting was that I was thinking the same thing myself and decided that I was being too careful. If there was a security breach or some kind of harassment, there wouldn't be so much difference whether we were between Corfu and the mainland or on the high seas; either way, they would catch us.
  
  
  "Me too," I said.
  
  
  Her eyes widened at the execution permission flag, as if she was expecting an argument. "Will you do it?"
  
  
  He explained his reasoning. She nodded.
  
  
  "The problem is," I continued, " we'll have to kill a day or so before we get to Corfu at the speed we're going to sail at.
  
  
  He could feel her tense at the name, and he wondered again why she didn't want to go near this place.
  
  
  "But," I continued, " since this is supposed to happen, the next stop, not counting Corfu, should be at Paxos. Perhaps we could stay there for another day, but as long as you think we're being watched, I don't like being in the same port for too long."
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her. Yes, I may be imagining him, McKee, but since I saw this man in a tavern in Argostilion, I don't think so, not really."
  
  
  Maybe it's time to tell you about my meeting here, but I didn't think so. Not yet. The more I saw of her, this girl, the more difficult she became, and this also applied to the mission.
  
  
  "All right," I said, " we'll worry about it tomorrow. Now tell me how Alex plans to contact you next."
  
  
  "Me... I don't have to tell anyone anything. Not even you."
  
  
  "This is stupid. You said something about a tavern in Corfu, but nothing more. Let's say you fell overboard or something."
  
  
  She smiled. "I swim like a fish."
  
  
  "It won't do you much good if you fall down at night while its sleeping downstairs. You can't catch a boat under sail, believe me."
  
  
  "That's not going to happen, McKee."
  
  
  "Don't be too sure. Anyway, I'm going to sleep here."
  
  
  "You'll be cold."
  
  
  "At least I'll have company. It's lonely down there."
  
  
  She was laughing.
  
  
  "So, back to business. Your contact with Alex."
  
  
  "Really, McKee. I can't say."
  
  
  "You'd better think again, dear. If people follow us, we may be separated or worse."
  
  
  She hesitated, biting her lip. Finally, she slowly shook her head. "Maybe tomorrow. Let me think about it, McKee."
  
  
  My orders are to meet Alex, pick up Ego, and take him to Italy. "Right now, you're the only contact I have with him, so we'd better trust each other or turn around right here and say, tailor!"
  
  
  She flinched, her eyes wide with fear.
  
  
  "You wouldn't be Stahl!"
  
  
  "Take a tailor, I'd do it for her." He was bluffing her, but judging by her reaction, she was partially convinced.
  
  
  "Please, McKee. All this is so new to me; I do not know what to do, who to obey. Should we be in conflict?"
  
  
  "The choice is yours," I said firmly.
  
  
  "Then I'll tell you."
  
  
  He waited until the silence was thick enough to cut with a knife.
  
  
  "Tomorrow," Christina said softly.
  
  
  She glowered at Nah, then sighed, stretched out on the padded seat and took a lifebuoy instead of a pillow. "Wake me up when you're tired," I growled.
  
  
  "Yes," she said softly.
  
  
  "And keep a close eye on the compass."
  
  
  "Yes, sir."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a windy morning, with dark clouds rushing low overhead. Not when the heavy deckhouses were working there, and the heavy boat with its wide beams was rocking and sinking like a runaway horse. Christina was asleep below, but soon came back on deck, pale and agitated.
  
  
  "Are we all right?" "What is it?" she asked, looking anxiously at the clouds.
  
  
  "Nothing to worry about." I had to shout over the rising howl of wind, thunder, and creaking rigging. A sudden change in the wind caused the big mainsail to flap like a tethered, crazed eagle; it struggled with the rudder until we were on course for the wind, which filled the sail again.
  
  
  Kristina leaned on the roof of the cabin and looked around wildly for a while. "Where are we? I can't see the ground."
  
  
  "Oh, it's out there somewhere." She was waved vaguely in the direction of the right ball.
  
  
  "But don't you know?" There was a subtle hint of panic in her voice.
  
  
  "Don't worry." He looked at his watch; it was about five in the morning. One night he estimated our speed and decided that we were, for example, on the contrary Preveza, but it was very approximate. He didn't tell the girl. "If it looks like we're in trouble, all I have to do is head east and we'll see earth." This was not a very attractive prospect at the moment, as the wind was now blowing from that direction, and it would require a series of tedious long tacks to overcome the ego. Thanks to Nathaniel, he knew enough to know that a low-powered auxiliary engine would not help in such a sea; without the wind's stabilizing effect in the sails, the Scylla would be moving more up and down than forward.
  
  
  "But... can't we find out exactly where we are? With this... what do you call it? The trident?"
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "Sextant". Her, looked up. "And as long as the ferret doesn't have the sun to stop at, there's no rheumatism."
  
  
  She frowned, clearly concerned, and took her hand away from the cabin roof, then staggered back, almost falling into the open passageway behind Nah.
  
  
  Her, screamed. "Look!" "Let's not break our legs on this little cruise. Come here and sit down."
  
  
  She did as they told her, swaying through the open cockpit and almost crashing into the binnacle of the compass. Ee grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
  
  
  "Stay put. Kostya of God, don't break the compass, because then even her would start to worry."
  
  
  She smiled briefly and pushed her hair out of her face. Her skin was wet, and it wasn't from the spray that occasionally splashed against her side. That look knew her.
  
  
  "Feeling a little seasick?"
  
  
  "I don't feel sick? I do not know such a word."
  
  
  "Painful."
  
  
  "Ah ... a little. It's so stuffy out there, and the boat jumps around so much."
  
  
  "Uh-huh. Well, stay here until we get out of here. Get behind the wheel."
  
  
  "Her?" She took her hands away, as if afraid to touch her.
  
  
  "Why not? The world's best cure for seasickness to keep up with your friends on deck."
  
  
  "I'm not seasick!"
  
  
  "Whatever you want to call us. In any case, I guarantee that in a few minutes you will feel good. Prima does this. I have a job to do."
  
  
  She did as hey was told, sliding to the spot that his vacated when his stood up. She looked at me doubtfully for a moment, then took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He went down to the cabin.
  
  
  When he returned a few minutes later, she was smiling faintly, lifting her head to catch the breeze and salt spray. The treatment worked faster than I thought.
  
  
  "Do you want to talk?"
  
  
  "Talk?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. You know."
  
  
  She got up from the seat to get a better look at the compass dial. "A little later, huh, McKee? She's a little busy right now."
  
  
  He let it pass.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  By noon it was
  
  
  It was quiet and sunny again, and I managed it with a sextant and prayed that my rudimentary navigation was at least accurate enough. I was surprised to find that we had gone further than I expected; Preveza should lie almost to the east of us. It was a small island, no more than four or five miles long, and ego wasn't hard to miss. The wind was still blowing from the east, and although the sea was calmer, there was still an unpleasant little emergency . With a sigh of relief, I set to work on our first binding. It wasn't a day for fun or even work.
  
  
  Then I went below, set up a map of our area on the wide table in the main cabin, and marked our current position. From that point on, I would have to accurately note these deviations as we moved back and forth against the wind, track the exact time spent on each tack, and hope that my estimates of the distance traveled were accurate enough. It wouldn't have been easy even with an experienced hand on the steering wheel, but what Kristina wrote for me there made it all that much more complicated and uncertain; after all, she had never looked up from the view of the shore before. On the other hand, I wasn't very experienced in long-distance sailing myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  In the evening, we hit a small island on the bow. It was a golden day as we set off for the beautiful little harbour of Porto Gaio. At first glance, it seemed like a primitive, undeveloped place; all we could see were silver-green olive groves stretching out in all directions as far as we could see. Then, as we approached, we could make out low buildings, white, brown, and pink, with the bare masts of moored boats bobbing in the harbor.
  
  
  The town was small but crowded; most of the houses lined the waterfront. A stone embankment bordered the harbor; there were a number of small shops, taverns, and a couple of tiny hotels along the shore. Without discussing it, Christina agreed to spend the night aboard the Scylla; the port captain had assigned us a berth far from the coast, which was fine with me. Our boat carried a tiny dinghy tied to davits in the stern, and getting into a small boat the size of a tub was a great feat in terms of balance and timing. When the two of us huddled in nah, we were so low in the B & nb that I expected to be flooded before we could walk a couple of hundred yards to Port Bar.
  
  
  "Fortunately, there are no water skiers here," he commented.
  
  
  "Ouch?" Kristina seemed cheerful now, completely oblivious to the morning's worries and fears of the night before.
  
  
  Alenka shifted it a little; the dinghy rocked and rolled a little water over the side. The girl looked alarmed, then laughed.
  
  
  "Yes, her, I know what you mean. Maybe we should get back to the boat before dark, huh?"
  
  
  "It won't make any difference; we may not sink when or at night."
  
  
  "And we can always swim."
  
  
  Our knees are kind of intertwined, there's nothing you can do about it, and it felt like she was putting a little extra pressure on me. Maybe.
  
  
  We took a long walk through the small town, and took a little walk outside of ego, posing as tourists with a vengeance. The countryside was green and rocky, rising abruptly above the sea like the peak of the sunken mountain that most Greek islands actually were. From the dusty road we could look up and see the hillside dotted with chalk boulders, some as big as the cottages that stood in their midst, the houses in some cases being distinguished mainly by the dark squares that marked the ih windows. A wheezing black car, like a pre-war Citroen, passed mimmo us, packed with adults and children. I didn't realize that the locals were rich; the others we saw on the road were either walking or driving horse-drawn carts. They mostly ignored us; the men were short and stocky, many with large moustaches, the women in standard peasant clothing, black to the ankles, usually with matching shawls that almost covered their faces. This has been something that has puzzled me about Greece since I first started reading about it: why such a sunny hotel area, with its crisp air and sparkling water, should be populated by women and lots of men in perpetual mourning. If I'd been philosophical, I might have asked Kristina about it, but I had other thoughts. Sailing causes an appetite that can turn the most fastidious eater into a glutton, and its starving.
  
  
  We found a tavern overlooking the waterfront, and dinner was so surprisingly good that we stayed in nen until late at night. The place was clearly intended for traveling yachtsmen; the menu was partly in English, decorated with crudely drawn anchors and seashells. At first we were the only ones in this place, but soon a group of men and women with tanned faces and strong hands in sea clothes came tumbling in.
  
  
  Judging by the snatches of conversation, I heard that it was a mixed group of Americans and Britons, including an Italian woman and two obvious Frenchmen. "Nothing special," he said to himself, and glanced at Kristina.
  
  
  She was staring straight ahead, as if at something over my left shoulder, but I could tell by her chin and shallow breathing that she was tense.
  
  
  "What is it?" I asked, leaning forward out of earshot.
  
  
  "This... it's nothing." She smiled briefly. "I think everyone suspects her. And I'll be glad when it's all over."
  
  
  "Will you?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  He reached across the chair for her hand. "I'm not sure I'll be happy."
  
  
  She looked at me for a long time. "No," she finally said. "Maybe I won't have her either."
  
  
  No one spoke to us until we were drinking coffee, but then one of the Frenchmen across the room got up and deliberately walked over to our table. He was a thin man with a shock of sandy hair and a shy smile full of confidence.
  
  
  "Forgive me," he said, looking mostly at Kristina. "Are you Americans?"
  
  
  "Her," I said. "It's clean."
  
  
  "My friends and I were wondering if you'd like to join us for a drink." He was still looking at Kristina;
  
  
  She shook her head firmly. "I'm sorry," she said with cold politeness. "But we have to go to bed early, it's been a long day." She stood up with the smooth grace of a princess rejecting an unworthy suitor. "Will you pay the check, Daniel? We have to go. I'll be back in a minute."
  
  
  The Frenchman stepped back, clearly trying to maintain his nonchalant composure. I smiled to myself as I laid out the drachmas; the girl still surprised me. Watching her move toward the bathroom, he enjoyed the sight of her, even from behind, beautifully filled white trousers with a wide blue shirt over them. The simple suit made it clear what she wasn't wearing, and suddenly, remembering last night, I wasn't expecting it.
  
  
  The waiter came, took my money, and gave ih to a plump, mustachioed woman at the cash register. He thought about it for a long time, but hers was getting impatient. When he finally returned, hers was already up, but when he left, hers sat down again. Kristina still hasn't returned.
  
  
  "I guess it's my impatience," he said to himself, and deliberately didn't look at his watch. A chair at the other end of the room checked her out; they were looking in my direction, and the young Frenchman was grinning.
  
  
  I forced myself to sit still, sipping the last of my coffee, while my guts clenched as the minutes ticked by. I remembered her anxiety when she saw a man in a restaurant in Argostilion and started to get nervous like before.
  
  
  The woman at the cash register looked at me questioningly. Finally, he got up and walked over to her.
  
  
  "I hope you speak English."
  
  
  "But of course," she replied.
  
  
  "The young lady." He pointed to the bathroom - or at least the hallway leading to it. "We've had a long day of travel, and she may not be well..."
  
  
  "But of course," she said, and lifted her black-clad bulk from the high stool to hobble into the ladies ' room. She came back a moment later, shrugging. "There's no one there," she said.
  
  
  "Where the hell is the tailor...?"
  
  
  "Probably the back door." She glanced at the chair where the Frenchman looked suspiciously smug, like a man who has everything settled and isn't in a hurry to put it together. pieces together.
  
  
  Except that I didn't trust this to us for a minute. No one got up from that chair, and it seemed pretty damn unlikely that Kristina would have left me for the night because of a random dude. Not right now, anyway. Her ignored him.
  
  
  "Thank you," he said to the woman, and hurried through the tavern. When her father came to the place where we had left the boat, he was not surprised to find her there, she certainly would not have returned to the boat alone. But when he looked out at the darkened harbor, he could make out a dark shape drifting not far from Scylla. It was a small boat with an outboard motor, the bow of which rested against the hull of the sloop, and from the way it rocked and sank, I got the impression that it had been left there only a few minutes ago. As he watched, the holy light glinted in the main cabin windows, and there was no doubt about it.
  
  
  She got into a boat, pushed off, and sailed as fast as possible through the crowded harbor. The sound of jolly rattling in the rowlocks was like thunder in my ears, but just as I stopped to think of a way to muffle the sound, a motorboat sped by mimmo. Ego after almost flooded me, but I kept her in control and used the noise to get through the rest of it
  
  
  distances to Scylla.
  
  
  He tied it to the bow, then climbed out onto the forward deck. The surface was damp with dew, and as I lay there, I could feel it seeping through my shirt. It didn't bother me; I was more concerned that Sergei didn't pass through the plexiglass manhole cover candid in front of my nose. This meant that the doorway between the cabins was closed.
  
  
  It was opened a crack by Luke, grateful that he hadn't tried to break out the ego from the inside before. It swung up noiselessly, and he landed between the two narrow bunks below. The hatch closed again, and he slowed his pace until it slammed shut. He moved to the doorway, checking the Hugo in the scabbard on his forearm, and put his ear to the thin wood panel.
  
  
  If my Greek had been better, hers might have been able to tell what they were saying, but the man's words came out too quickly for hers to catch more than a few fragments of the conversation. But the ego voice made it clear that it was threatening someone, and when it heard Kristina's rheumatism, there was no doubt who it was. He heard the sound of a sharp slap and a muffled scream. I started to take the knife in my hand when a ton of bricks fell on top of me.
  
  
  He went through the hatch that had just closed it. In the darkness, I could see nothing but a bulky shadow pressing down on me; in the cramped space between her bunks, I couldn't even roll over to reach the person. A rush of garlic breath almost choked me, and it gave me the strength of desperation. He jumped up like a mustang with a burr in its saddle, trying to shake the foul-smelling man off his back. Ego target hit the low ceiling, and he grunted heavily as ego's hands were still gripping my throat. His ego hit her again, and he started throwing her into one of the bunks as the door swung open.
  
  
  The light in the main cabin was dim, but after total darkness, she was momentarily blinded. All I could see was the silhouette and glint of metal in ego's hand. I kicked him, but I couldn't reach him. There was the chilling click of the trigger being pulled back; I spun around, trying to pull the man on his back between me and the gun, but I knew it was too late.
  
  
  The shot was like a thunderclap in a crowded room. I froze for a moment, waiting to feel where I'd been hit. But it didn't hurt, not even the early numbness that precedes the agony of a serious blow. When he looked back at the silhouette in the doorway, he saw that he was staggering. The man who had attacked me loosened his grip, and I broke free, aiming for the assassin.
  
  
  She was knocked out by the gun on ego's arm and pushed back by ego. In the dim light outside the window, she saw Kristina, her hand tangled in her ego's hair, pulling ih with all her might. But in the struggle, her free hand flew out behind her back and hit the kerosene lamp, knocking it out of its hangers.
  
  
  The flaming liquid spilled across the table, then onto the deck, licking the board toward us in the sudden darkness. He pushed the man away, ignoring even Christine now. A fire on board a boat is probably the worst thing in the world, especially when you're trapped down below and the fire is being sent straight to the gas tanks.
  
  
  Her grabbed blankets from grenades and threw ih on the biggest burning areas; while they smouldered, her turned on the water in the galley sink, then ducked into a large hanging cabinet and pulled out a weather jacket to throw over other burning spots. The whole business couldn't have taken more than a minute and a half - otherwise we would have lost the boat and possibly our lives - but when the fire finally extinguished it, our customers were gone. He heard her start the outboard engine, tried to climb into the cabin, but crashed into Christina.
  
  
  "McKee!" she screamed, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Oh, My God! McKee!"
  
  
  Ee patted her absently, listening to the fading sound of the engine. "What happened here?"
  
  
  "Her ... they took me around the tavern. The man had a gun and -"
  
  
  "All right." She was pushed away by ee, just enough so that he could bend down and check the deck under his feet. "Give me the flashlight, will you?"
  
  
  Despite all the fire and confusion, there wasn't much damage. Fortunately, the chair that was hit by the first batch of burning kerosene was covered in mica; a few swipes with a rag will remove the stains. The deck paneling that ran through the middle of the cabin was always wet from the splash of bilge water just below, and only the paint was scorched. After making sure that nothing was smouldering on board, Saint na Kristin turned it on.
  
  
  "Apologize," I said shortly. "Since the bullies are gone, I thought it would be best to make sure we don't blow up before we start asking questions."
  
  
  The girl nodded heavily, her head bowed.
  
  
  
  her shoulders when she was sitting on the port side bunk. "I understand."
  
  
  "Do you want to help me now?"
  
  
  "Help you?"
  
  
  "We're not going to stop here tonight, honey. Let's go find some other dock-unless you want to sail all night again."
  
  
  "Oh, God, no, McKeel." She covered her face with her hands. "So many..."
  
  
  "Well, don't bend over now. Let's go. Get the boat out of the bow and tie it to the stern while I start the engine."
  
  
  In a way, it would have been better to sail away at night, but I was starting to get even crazier about this operation. If they wanted to kill or capture us, they could do it. Especially on the high seas. So maybe another place for the rest of the night will be just as safe. Anyway, its also tired.
  
  
  We found a dock on the outer edge of the harbor, tied it up, and finished cleaning it. We inserted another light into the bracket, and while Kristina cleaned the countertop, hers carefully checked the rest of the cabin, clearing away the remnants of broken glass and other debris. She was found by a pistol that had been knocked out around the man's arm, an old .32-caliber revolver with another round in the top hat. Useless, but I put it on a shelf in the galley just in case.
  
  
  "You don't ask any questions," Christina said softly.
  
  
  "I've been waiting for you."
  
  
  "What do you want me to tell her?"
  
  
  "Maybe something fucking happened."
  
  
  "It seems like this... stupid."
  
  
  "Stupid?"
  
  
  “yeah. You see, the man with the gun grabbed me in the tavern. A rude person, no better than a bully, you know? He and a fellow ego made me go back to the boat..."
  
  
  "Why not? And why here?"
  
  
  "A vote that's so stupid. They thought you were a rich American, hanging around looking for boats to buy. They thought you had a lot of money hidden on board, and they tried to get me to tell them when ... well ... you showed up . "
  
  
  Her, looked at nah skeptically. She looked as ravishing as ever, and with her hair pulled down in front of her face, she evoked sympathy and reassuring caresses. When I didn't say anything, she looked at me. "What's up, McKee?"
  
  
  "Nothing," I said, almost convincing myself. It might have been true, after all. And why does Alexa's sister Zenopolis have to play such a difficult game with me? I managed a sympathetic smile. "Well, it's over now. I think one of them is different. How are you feeling?"
  
  
  Slowly, ee gol stood up and she pushed her hair out of her face. Most women would need several hours in a beauty salon to achieve the same changes in appearance.
  
  
  "Like a nightcap?" she said, and grinned.
  
  
  There was brandy on board, and a bottle of bourbon he'd found in Athens. It seemed like a good time to get this sorted out.
  
  
  I asked, holding up both bottles.
  
  
  "Ah! You have bourbon!" Her eyes danced in the dim light.
  
  
  "Don't tell me you learned something different from that American ensign."
  
  
  "We learn a lot from the Americans." She sat down on the narrow cot opposite the chair and looked at me. My throat was dry and I needed a drink.
  
  
  After taking a couple of healthy sips, she patted the cot next to her. "Sit down, McKee."
  
  
  I made it. Her hand rested casually on my thigh, and her cool warmth seemed to radiate through the thin dark blouse she was wearing. He cleared his throat.
  
  
  "The voice... Paxos".
  
  
  "Yes," she murmured, and took a long, slow sip.
  
  
  "Now," I said.
  
  
  She turned to me in mock surprise. "Immediately?"
  
  
  “yeah. You promised. About your contact with Alex."
  
  
  She stared for a moment, then slowly shook her head. "Should we? Now?"
  
  
  "What's the best time?"
  
  
  "Oh ... later?" She moved closer to lick, and somehow a few buttons on the top of her blouse managed to come undone. Delicious flesh formed in the hole, and my left hand rose of its own accord to gently cup the breast that was pressed against my chest. "Yes," she breathed.
  
  
  "What's wrong with you?" I asked her. "Last night you played a virgin, today you're a whore again."
  
  
  She didn't react as I expected; her eyes remained lowered as she took my hand and placed it on her chest. "Don't try to understand me right away, McKee. Trust me. Trust my instincts."
  
  
  "Your instincts?"
  
  
  "Later, McKee. But now... " another button opened, then another; at the same time, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to mine. For now, my questions were forgotten.
  
  
  Her tongue darted to mine, exploring, reaching out. My hand slipped inside
  
  
  into my blouse, I felt her nipple grow and harden under my fingers. She gasped, then slid her hand down my thigh. My interest was obvious, and she giggled deep in her throat.
  
  
  Pushing back her blouse, he kissed her shoulder, the deep shadowed cleft, one breast, then the other. Then hers, and I pulled back to look at her and admire her; her nipples were still and open, slightly raised, as if they were reaching for me in my mouth. Christina's hips moved slowly, and her hand slid into the waistband of my pants. Her life was pulled in to give her a little more space, and she took full advantage of it ...
  
  
  Don't ask me how I managed to turn off the cabin lights - the people on the boat are so damn careless they just popped in - and turned the chair and benches into a bed, but moments later we were naked together, her body pressed against hers. from the toes to the shoulders. We explored another other with growing hunger, and her tongue was busy and deft; and then, just when it looked like we were both going to explode from that insistent desire, she opened up to me.
  
  
  She gasped when I pushed her slowly; she said something I didn't understand and tried to pull me deeper. He resisted Rivnenskaya just enough to show who was in charge, and then began long, slow movements that penetrated deeper with each stroke. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around my back, jerking her hips up to meet my increasing thrusts. She began to moan, pulling me to her so that she could kiss me with increasing ferocity as her movements became faster and more frantic.
  
  
  When it did, she threw her head back, her eyes and mouth wide open, her hands clinging to my shoulders, her hips pounding like pistons. It seemed to last forever, our mutual sighs mingling as his exploded inside nah, and when at last we were both exhausted, hers lay helplessly across nah, aware of the delicious weakness and slickness of the sweat-soaked wire. It was a long time before she spoke.
  
  
  "McKee?" she said in a hoarse voice.
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "Thank you"
  
  
  “no. You can't understand." There was a strange note of resignation in her voice.
  
  
  "Try me."
  
  
  She shook her head. "No, I can't say."
  
  
  "What's that?"
  
  
  "What I want."
  
  
  She was pacing in circles again, but I resisted my irritation. Her body was partially rolled off nah, but she clung with surprising strength.
  
  
  "No way! Don't leave me!"
  
  
  "I'm not going anywhere. It's a long way to go until nightfall, Kristina." He reached over the edge of the bed, found a glass on the floor, picked up his ego, and took a long swig of bourbon. As the liquid flowed down my throat to my stomach, I could already feel my strength returning ...
  
  
  "Yes," she breathed, reaching for her glass and lifting her head to take a sip. "This is our night, and I'm afraid it's going to be the only one, McKee."
  
  
  She was right, as he'd found out so damn quickly, but even Christina didn't know how right she was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  They were waiting for us in Corfu, open to a brown Mercedes parked prominently at the main docks. Two men, indistinguishable from the dark suits and hats that hid most of their faces, sat and stared impassively as Kristina and I walked along the embankment, a couple of sea tourists, both exhausted from a night of love and a long, slow, never-before-seen sea voyage. some call it the most beautiful of all the Greek islands.
  
  
  We chose a place to stay in the northernmost part of the harbor, away from the hustle and bustle in the center. On & nb, everywhere we looked, there were boats of all sizes and types, from tiny sailboats to local fishing boats to huge ocean yachts. The evening sun cast long shadows as we walked past the rows of stalls selling native clothing, jewelry, art, and all manner of food that mingled with the salty air and the vague scents of the mountainous countryside that now loomed over the city. Scooters hummed, salesmen shouted, and music drifted through the open doors of all the other public catering establishments. We were just getting into the party atmosphere when a Mercedes spotted her.
  
  
  He grabbed her arm warningly, urging her to keep moving without breaking stride. At first she didn't understand, but when she saw the car, she tensed; it pulled her forward.
  
  
  "Don't look at them. Keep moving."
  
  
  "But... how did they get here? Is he driving a car?"
  
  
  "There are ferries, aren't there?"
  
  
  "Ah. Yes. But why are they simple... sitting here?"
  
  
  "More importantly, how did they know we were going to be here?" We were almost opposite the car. The men inside slowly turned their heads as we watched.
  
  
  mimmo passed, but the expression of ih faces did not change.
  
  
  Kristina shrugged resignedly. "Everyone comes to Corfu. Or... did you tell Tom in math where you rented the boat?"
  
  
  Hers, thought for a moment. "It's possible. At least I told her I'd probably go north."
  
  
  "You should have told emu?"
  
  
  "It couldn't have been avoided. He wanted to know where he was going to go, and if I told her I wanted to cruise the Cyclades, he would think it was weird."
  
  
  "Why is that?"
  
  
  "Look at the map. Pyrgos in the hall is far from the Aegean Sea; it would make more sense to rent a boat in Piraeus if its planned to go there."
  
  
  "Of course. And these people... could they have been the one who tried to avoid this?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. And probably used the one you were originally going to take. Only that doesn't make much sense either." That's not so. If they were using Alexa, and by now I was convinced that no matter what Hawk told me, there must have been a leak somewhere, why were they trying to detain us in Pyrgos? The only rheumatism I could think of was that if we continued to travel by car, it would be easier to follow us. It was not very satisfactory rheumatism.
  
  
  As we walked further behind the Mercedes, he led the girl to a small kiosk where a stunning display of colorful scarves was sitting. "Buy one," I said. "I bought two, but take your time."
  
  
  While she was collecting her loads, her wrinkled old hostess was happily looking around the embankment. The people in the Mercedes didn't move, but they didn't really bother me; they made themselves so conspicuous that I was sure there must be others. But there was such a busy, constantly moving crowd that it was almost impossible to pick out anyone who looked even a little suspicious; there were as many Europeans in dark suits as brightly dressed tourists, and my chances of finding the man who had killed his partner in my room were pretty damn slim.
  
  
  And all day long, Kristina evaded my questions about her contact with Alex.
  
  
  When she picked out a pair of scarves, we moved on. When she was lightly held by ee's hand, the girl trembled.
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "To me... I think it's getting cold."
  
  
  "And...?"
  
  
  "I think it's time." She took my hand, turned my wrist, and looked at my watch. “yeah. We have to go."
  
  
  "I thought it wouldn't be until tomorrow."
  
  
  "I have to do it today... set up a contact".
  
  
  "But we weren't even supposed to be here today."
  
  
  "But we are." Her smile was genuine and too smug to suit me.
  
  
  "You're a sly little bitch." Hers was laughing. "Shall we go?"
  
  
  “no. We'll take a taxi." She pointed ahead to a busy corner where a wide street led from the embankment into the city. "There should be one around them."
  
  
  Once more she let me go freely; he expected more evasion, but now she must have taken me with her after all. He didn't say anything, but held his free left hand to his chest, and Hugo snuggled reassuringly into the scabbard.
  
  
  There were half a dozen taxis parked in the corner in front of a large, sprawling old hotel that looked like the restored ruins of a Greek temple with its tarnished marble facade. "Any particular one?" I asked as we approached the corner.
  
  
  Christina stopped, closed her eyes, and waved her index finger in a small circle, then pointed. "This one," she said, opening her eyes again.
  
  
  It was a dusty old Ford, driven by a bored driver who was busily picking his teeth and ignoring passersby. Several other drivers were standing on the side of the road near their cars, bowing and gesturing, but Christina swam past them to open the back door of her choice. The burly man behind the wheel looked up reluctantly; it looked like he didn't want to take passengers at all. It must have been a taxi driver around New York, I thought as I followed Kristina into the musty car.
  
  
  The driver didn't look back, but sighed and shifted heavily in his seat. Kristina leaned forward and said something quickly in Greek. He nodded reluctantly, started the engine, and put it in gear.
  
  
  After a U-turn, we made our way through the dense traffic on a wide street; soon it narrowed, and the rows of elegant shops gave way to a block of blocky houses built side by side with hints of cool courtyards and massive blind facades. A black-clad woman riding an old colt approached us, ignoring the traffic behind Nah. As we passed it, the driver spat out the window and muttered something; I didn't need to know the language to understand what he was saying.
  
  
  The street began to rise steeply; the houses were farther from the road
  
  
  and we saw children playing in dusty yards, chickens pecking at the ground, nondescript dogs too indifferent to do more than lift their heads and watch a passing car. Soon the city was behind us, and the paved street gave way to a smooth dirt road that slowly began to wind back and forth over a steep, tree-covered hill.
  
  
  We rode in silence until we reached the ridge. The driver slowed down as we approached a small grove of trees that surrounded what looked like a temple or possibly a tomb. In any case, it was surrounded by white marble, with columns in the front, flanked by sculptures with a basin in the front that looked like a bird bath. The taxi driver passed mimmo, then made a sharp left turn and stopped at a small intersection.
  
  
  "Ah, what a beautiful view!" Christina exclaimed.
  
  
  From where we were parked, we could see the entire city and harbor below us like a picture postcard in golden light, but I wasn't interested in the magnificent views at that moment. Her leaned in to whisper to Christina. "Does he speak English?"
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know."
  
  
  I took a chance on her. "This... a place?" He was annoyed; it was a hell of a place for any contact. The road wasn't very busy, but the round-trip traffic was fairly steady.
  
  
  While talking to the girl, she noticed that the taxi driver was slowly turning to look at us. The toothpick was still in his mouth, and he smiled slowly.
  
  
  "So," he said. "They sent you. You don't look the least bit different in all these years, Nick Carter."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The thirteenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before he could say anything, he reversed the car, pulled out onto the road, and continued on his way. Christina looked as surprised as she was. She squeezed my hand tightly, staring open-mouthed at the back of the driver's head.
  
  
  "Al -" she began, but I silenced her with a look.
  
  
  "Yes, it's me." The driver had taken off the flat checkered cap he was wearing; his aim was bald, but now he sat more evenly behind the wheel, and even in the back, and fifteen years later he could see the bull's strength in his neck and shoulders. "Naxos". He named the year and month. "You and me, Nick. Grenades in the cave. I stop her plane, you shoot the man who was going to kill me. Anyway, what are they going to do with that boy sergeant when you bring ego back to Germany?"
  
  
  I didn't answer. Not on corkscrew's ego, anyway. "I'd like to get a better look at your face," I said carefully.
  
  
  "Of course. Pretty soon we'll be where we're going, and then I turn around. Fifteen years old, her age changed, right?"
  
  
  It's hard to say. All I saw when we played this game of training camp was a heavy face with the usual thick black mustache. Its definitely not expected to find Alexa Zenopolis on a street corner in the center of Corfu, and pretending definitely not today.
  
  
  "I'll let you know. Where are we going?"
  
  
  "You and my sister will be having a drink at a tourist spot not far from here. Very sensational view, American bar with martinis and daiquiris. Do you still like bourbon, Nick?"
  
  
  I remembered a story that a pilot at the start of World War II had told me about how ego was shot down over Germany, and when he was taken in for questioning after he was captured, the man across the table from him told em something about himself, even if he was forgotten.
  
  
  "My name is Daniel McKee," I said calmly. "Her yacht broker is from Florida, and daiquiri sounds really good."
  
  
  The driver laughed heartily, shrugged his massive shoulders, and sped off around the signposts, and the road began to climb again. He didn't say anything until we pulled out onto a shrubbery-shaded driveway that led directly to a low, spacious restaurant that was almost hidden from the road. We stopped in front of a dark, dark porch, and as the attendant started down the wide steps toward us, the driver turned to me. He smiled, showing the wide gap between his ego's front teeth.
  
  
  "I've been waiting for half an hour. No more than that. You've got a big night ahead of you."
  
  
  The attendant opened the door; Kristina and I got out and went inside. Alex, who by then had decided that I might as well call ego that, was wrong about the guy from the covered terrace that overhung the slope on the far side of the restaurant. Candles flickered in windproof holders on each table, and in the gathering darkness, the water far below turned to a shimmering receptive glow, turning to pewter and then gradually turning black. From where we sat, the lights of the city were invisible, but there were hundreds of tiny lights in the harbor, like a cluster of fireflies. No one was talking around us, and I don't think Kristina paid any attention to her appearance at all.
  
  
  Alex was waiting for us at the entrance. We were back on the road before he spoke.
  
  
  "Are you still doubtful
  
  
  What am I, Nick Carter? "
  
  
  "Just a little," I admitted.
  
  
  Good. I'm telling you, your people didn't even hint that you were going to meet me. Good insurance; if you don't look like Alex Zenopolis, who should know but you, huh?"
  
  
  "Yeah."
  
  
  He shifted in the seat in front of us. "Kristina, my sister. Simple, its little talk with you. I only remember you as a little girl."
  
  
  She said something to the emu in iht. He laughed.
  
  
  "No, we speak English. Better for Nick, huh?"
  
  
  I had to take risks for a while. "All right, Alex. What should we do next? Why are you here now?"
  
  
  "In our mail business, we don't stick to an exact schedule. Remember, we waited for those smugglers for three days?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "So I should have left for Albania a day earlier. No big deal; we were supposed to vote so meet tomorrow. In the same place, at the same time. Little Christina, she doesn't know anything, does she, Sister?
  
  
  "This is for real."
  
  
  "Are we leaving tonight?" I asked her.
  
  
  “no. You and my sister, you will complete your little romance with a big night on the town. You dance, you eat, you hold hands, and tomorrow you say a sad goodbye as you sail away and the little student returns to Athens. with a slightly broken heart. Isn't that right? "
  
  
  That was what I had in mind. In case we were wrong about being followed, the idea was to make our short novel as believable as possible.
  
  
  "What are you doing in the meantime, Alex?"
  
  
  "I'm moving the two of you from place to place tonight. Then I return you to your boat. You show me where it's moored." I'll go on board before dawn and no one will see me. Her stowaway, right?"
  
  
  "How are you going to do that?"
  
  
  He shrugged. "I swim. I know how to be like a fish-mode in & nb in the dark".
  
  
  He was silent for a while. We passed a small temple; several cars were parked on the observation deck opposite, and one couple sat hand in hand in front of the pillars. I envied them; Christina's hand was cold in mine.
  
  
  "How did you get this taxi?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I have contacts here, my other one. There are others on this island we can't trust. Do you want to know more?"
  
  
  "I told her. - no.
  
  
  Good. No problem?"
  
  
  "I hope not."I was far from satisfied, but I kept my doubts to myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  It was the darkest night of celebration he'd ever had. We had dinner in the "Pavileon" outdoors under trellised vines overlooking the island's most exclusive beach. We ate crawfish taken alive around the water in ih cages just a few feet from our chair. Sergei was subdued, the crowd was bright, and everyone knew it. She knows at least two movie stars, including an actress she was in love with as a teenager. All these years later, she looked even better in close-up than she did then.
  
  
  Later, we went to a disco at the Palace Hotel, where he unwillingly whirled with Kristina on the dance floor. He was so stuck in that it didn't matter what we did, but even in this crowd the girl attracted more than her share of male attention. I didn't like it, but not for the usual reason; there was a sense of controlled desperation in her movements and expression, as if she was listening to the sound of a disaster. Anyone who looked closely at her might think she was on some kind of drug, but hers belongs to them, which wouldn't be too unusual in this crowd.
  
  
  There was another place, and several more after that, always with the relentless Alex driving us around the bustling city. Twice she was spotted by a brown Mercedes, but it didn't bother me much; she was wanted by other observers. A few times I was on the verge of warning Alexa, but this person was so confident and, as I distinctly remembered, so damn capable that I decided to keep quiet. He was right and wrong.
  
  
  At two o'clock in the morning, Alex announced that it was time to go to the boat. We stood on the well-lit embankment while Eto handed a wad of paper money to our "driver" and asked ego to come back in the morning. A young man waiting in the boat was watching us disinterestedly, yawning profusely.
  
  
  "No," Alex spat. "Tomorrow I'll take her across the island to visit my mother."
  
  
  Good. There are other drivers, too."
  
  
  "Yes." He made a deliberately offensive show of counting the money, grunted, and backed away so fast that I had to jump out of the way. Kristina and I watched him drive away, then smiled ruefully at each other as we boarded the boat from the port of bar.
  
  
  For a short trip, we did
  
  
  shopping at the mall, mostly for the lackey walking behind us.
  
  
  "He was so bad," Christina said.
  
  
  "All right, then. It was a good night anyway, wasn't it?"
  
  
  In rheumatism, she kissed me gently on the cheek and then with more passion, just below my chin. "But," she said sadly after a while, " we won't need it tomorrow anyway. When does my flight leave? At two?"
  
  
  One evening, she answered the phone and booked a ticket for a return trip to Athens. "I wish you could stay another day or so."
  
  
  "But that's impossible. And you must also sail to Italy."
  
  
  "I'm not in a hurry." He rubbed her shoulders, put his arm around her, and held her close. The boat's helmsman slowed the engine, all his attention focused on the approach to the Scylla as it made its way to its moorings.
  
  
  "But ... her. Unfortunately." Christina sighed and pulled away from me as the boat pulled up alongside the dark sloop, only the running lights on, low-powered electric lights that drained the batteries very little.
  
  
  I paid for it to the boat's helmsman, and we went down. As we entered the dark cabin, Kristina stopped abruptly in front of me on the ramp.
  
  
  Her hissed " What is this?", my left hand automatically turned away from me, Hugo was ready to get into my hand around the scabbard.
  
  
  "This... it's nothing." She entered the cabin.
  
  
  He quickly looked around; the Saint coming from the port of bar was small, but there was no place to hide either. I went ahead, checked the head and hanging locker, then the other cabin. Us Odin. To nobody. When he returned, Kristina was lighting Odin's kerosene lanterns.
  
  
  "We won't want ih tonight," I said.
  
  
  "But..."
  
  
  "If Alex is going to swim out here and sneak aboard, let's ignore him. All right?"
  
  
  "Oh, how stupid of me." She put out the holy light and turned to me, in the cramped space between the bunks and the table. For a moment, she was in my arms, her target pressed against my chest, and I could feel her sudden hot tears through the thin fabric of my shirt.
  
  
  "What is it?" I soothed her, stroking her hair gently.
  
  
  "Oh... So many things, McKee. Or Nick Carter, or whoever you are." She squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed. "I told her last night that it was our only time together. And she was right, but she didn't think it would happen because of that. I've been hoping it was mine all day... my instinct was wrong. But it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? "
  
  
  Some time ago, hers was exhausted to the bone after a long day of traveling, and a festive evening, but as we stood together in this narrow space, hers seemed to feel all the fatigue pass. "Ego won't be here for a few hours," I said softly.
  
  
  She held me tight for a moment, then pulled away abruptly, " Can we have some bourbon, McKee? And let's sit here alone in the dark until Alex gets here. No matter how her nam feels about you, I don't want to make love when my brother can join us at any moment."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  It was almost five o'clock when Alex silently climbed over the stern of the boat and crawled around the side of the dinghy to the gangplank. Hugo was holding it in his hand when his target appeared in the hole.
  
  
  "Wait!" I hissed, letting the faint light flash on the blade.
  
  
  "It's just me, Nick." Alex shoved the black waterproof bag in front of him and went headfirst down the low stairs to the cabin. She caught a glimpse of the flashlight on him; he was wearing a wetsuit that covered everything but his face. Brylev turned it off.
  
  
  "Have you been seen?"
  
  
  "It's impossible. You put this boat in a good place, my friend, the only things I had to go through were small boats. There was no one on board ih at night."
  
  
  It wasn't an accident, but I didn't have to tell em about it. "Do you want some dry clothes?"
  
  
  He pointed to the bag on the deck in front of him. "I have one. Maybe a towel. Two towels." He stood up, his body almost filling the space in the cabin. "I was a big man when you first felt me, Nick. Now her stahl is a little bigger." He started to take off his wetsuit, ignoring his sister. I came up with a question for you.
  
  
  When he was dry and dressed in dry clothes, we played this game in the main cabin with drinks in hand. The sky outside was already turning gray, but the tiredness that had left me a few hours ago seemed to be gone forever.
  
  
  "We have time," I said. "Time to talk."
  
  
  Alex took a huge swig that emptied Ego's glass of bourbon and poured another. "No talking. You and I, we have a lot of time, Nick. In the meantime, we'll get some sleep. Then, when you go get tickets for my little sister, Kristina, and me, we'll have some time
  
  
  together. Okay?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Hers, went ashore on a speedboat a little after nine. The airline's office was a short walk away, so I didn't have to look for a taxi. The day was overcast, but windless; the water lapping against the stone embankment looked gray and lifeless. It suited my mood.
  
  
  After taking Kristina's ticket, I wandered aimlessly along the embankment. There were several strollers in sight this morning. It's too soon. But the brown Mercedes was parked in a conspicuous spot where the driver and his partner could see my boat. It didn't bother me; if they didn't use binoculars, they wouldn't be able to tell what was going on there, and if they could, it wouldn't make any difference. Alex went to the chain locker in front of the forward cabin, made his nest in the cramped, damp metal links, and announced that he wouldn't come out until we were out to sea on the way to Taranto. "When you hide, my other, you hide. Good night."
  
  
  Her listlessly rummaged through the souvenir shops in I asked for something to give to Kristina. Everything felt right. He turned back and headed for a special old hotel, not far from where the Scylla was moored. He'd agreed to stay away until the siblings met, and I wondered what they could talk about after all these years.
  
  
  The bar was open, and he walked in, the only customer in the huge, high-ceilinged room. The bartender offered a Bloody Mary, he knew the hungover tourist when he saw him, but I decided to settle for bourbon. I don't usually drink in the morning, but as far as my body is concerned, it was still last night; Its not sleeping at all.
  
  
  I had a few slow ones while I was looking at the minute hand of the electric clock that used to hang on the walls of classrooms in schools and may still be there, clicking on the dial. It wasn't even eleven o'clock when the bellboy came in, looked around, and stopped at me.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  He almost said to before he realized what he was saying. Then her father shook his head.
  
  
  "You ... Not Mr. Carter?"He was a wizened little boy, perfect in English.
  
  
  "I'm afraid not. McKee's name."
  
  
  "But the gentleman in barre is getting a call. The lady said that ego's name is Carter." He looked around again, emphasizing that I was the only person here.
  
  
  Lady. "You damned fool," I said indignantly. She must have been on deck and seen me go to the hotel. And where else would it be besides the bar? I stifled my anger, realizing that something must have happened that made her call me, and in the anxious state she was in, she must have made a stupid mistake.
  
  
  "Well," I said pleasantly, getting up, " I'll answer the phone if the lady insists. Show me the way." He dropped the money on the counter and followed the messenger.
  
  
  He showed me a row of home phones down a narrow hallway that led to the rest rooms and the back of the hotel. "Take any phone, and the operator will connect you," he said. I waited until he was gone, then picked up the phone. The operator immediately left. I said hey who's hers, wincing when I said my correct name, and she asked me to wait a bit. He leaned back against the wall to moan, tired and disgusted with all the sloppy work.
  
  
  The soft sound of the door opening behind me wasn't audible at first. Then she heard the creak of a boot, the distinctive rustle of clothing as a hand was raised. I started to turn, and the phone poked into my hand, but it was too late; something smashed against my skull and he fell to his knees. The only pain he felt was the contact with the marble floor, and he was worried about those knee injuries around high school football days when his second kick came and there was nothing to worry about.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fourteenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Its not stahl wasting time trying to figure out where I am. I checked it first with my knife and was surprised to find that Hugo was still in the scabbard under the sleeve of my doublet. I wasn't tied up, and I seemed to be lying on some kind of bed. Her eyes opened painfully; the saint was muffled, like a daylight saint on a cloudy day ...
  
  
  Then noon! He looked at his watch and groaned. It was already two o'clock, and he was due back on the Scylla by noon. I tried to sit up, but a hand pushed me back down on the bed. My eyes weren't focused, but all I could see was a blurry target in front of me at some incredible height, pulsing in time with the blows in the back of my head. He lay still for a while, pale, trying to calm down and see what the hell was going on. Then I tried to push her hand away, but it was hard and firm on my chest. A small hand...
  
  
  Her eyes opened wide; the face above me began to float in focus, a face surrounded by a halo of soft blond curls.
  
  
  Then he saw her lips curving into a smile, her cape slightly curved above them, and her sparkling dark eyes that were no friendlier than that smile.
  
  
  "Sue Ellen," I croaked. "What the hell...?"
  
  
  "Just stay down like a good boy, honey. I wouldn't want you bouncing around so people aren't rude and ugly."
  
  
  "Get your hand off my damn chest. I want to sit her down. If I can."
  
  
  "All right, honey, you try it. But very slowly, do you hear?"
  
  
  Her strong brown hand eased the pressure as hers sat down. After all, hers wasn't on a bed, but on a huge white couch that could sleep up to a sixth person without crowding. I looked around cautiously; if it weren't for the round windows, we might have found ourselves in any ordinary Park Avenue living room. And then hers, I realized that the gentle swaying beneath me wasn't just my head.
  
  
  "Your boat?" I asked her.
  
  
  "As smart as ever, Nick? Uh-huh, that's my boat. Or my husband, whoever he is to us."
  
  
  He was too angry to smile. "What the hell is going on here, Sue-Ellen? Who hit me?"
  
  
  "Oh, one around my sentry measuring instruments. What's your goal, dear?"
  
  
  "What do you expect?" I tried to get up, but she used her index finger to push me back down on the couch. I remembered that Sue-Ellen was the Texas all-girls rodeo champion when she was at SMU, and she didn't relent on us for ten years, us for the three husbands I knew her about.
  
  
  "Too bad. Would you like some bourbon?"
  
  
  "Not now."
  
  
  "Is this morning enough for you?"
  
  
  "Not really."
  
  
  "Well, the voices, what it looked like when you passed out by the phone in the hotel. Lapping at the bar and all that. Fortunately, one of my guard literature came and pulled you out before the police came and arrested you for......"
  
  
  "So one po will meet your guards or hit me." Her sneaked a glance at the clock again; it hadn't been there before.
  
  
  "Oh, don't worry, honey. Your little Greek girl is just waiting for you to come back in the dainty old tub you're traveling in. Ready to be tethered, she goes on deck all the time and looks towards the panel, as if one is around them "whaler captain on widow's walk".
  
  
  "Come on!" I snapped. "What do you want from me?"
  
  
  Her grin was pure imp, mixed with pure whore. She was wearing a pair of bikini bottoms and a shirt that she hadn't bothered to button up. Her, remembered that her breasts were small but firm, like the halves of a melon. At thirty or so, Nah had the muscular build of a professional acrobat, and while her legs were beautifully built, they had the strength of the lifelong rider that she was. Sue-Ellen was barely more than five feet tall, but I had repeatedly discovered that to subdue her, I had to forget that she was a girl. Hey liked that.
  
  
  She collapsed on the couch next to me, letting her shirt fall open to reveal her breasts. "You got me in a lot of trouble last night, Nick. You know?"
  
  
  "Her? How?"
  
  
  "Well ... what was that? A friend of mine saw you a couple of days ago... where was it? Piraeus?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. Painfully. "I remember."
  
  
  "Well, Rhonda, she said you pretended not to remember her. Or me. But I knew from the way she saw and saw you, her, that it had to be Nick Carter. Really? Isn't anyone like you, dear?"
  
  
  "I..." It was hard to know what to say. Sue-Ellen knew I was doing something for the government, because for a while her father was a senator on one of the committees around the world that dealt with the CIA and other Alphabet security agencies. "You know, there are times when I can't even say hello to my old friends."
  
  
  "Uh-huh. Not for old friends like Rhonda who don't know much about beans. But when you show that pretty face in all of Greece like you did, its know you're not on some secret mission, or whatever you did to us for Uncle Sam. A pretty man like you should have used a disguise, because those bad guys in the Kremlin or somewhere else, they attacked you." She pointed at me and clicked the hammer. "So I had to talk a little bit that night, tell them how great you are... well ... different. Bourbon bragging rights, you know?"
  
  
  I knew her. Too good. A couple of times I almost fell in love with Sue-Ellen, but each time her "spoiled little rich girl" habit, fueled by booze, saved me.
  
  
  "So last night, when we all saw you jumping around the dance floor with that ugly Greek girl and you didn't even say hello, well, it burned me."
  
  
  "But I didn't see you!"
  
  
  "No? Even when she was pushing her ass against your m Rivnenskaya pair? It's a disco, its forgotten about what?"
  
  
  "I'm thinking... they were all pretty crowded."
  
  
  "Not exactly crowded, buddy! If you don't know my ass, who knows? " She came up to me licking,
  
  
  "What ... what about your husband?"
  
  
  "Ah, he's. Achillion, he's going to buy ships in Japan or somewhere else. He hasn't been near me more than half a dozen times with them ferrets since we got married."
  
  
  "So he's leaving you here? With the guards and mechanics?" My goal was now quickly becoming clear; oddly enough, a cracked skull would counteract the effects of missing a vault and too much bourbon.
  
  
  "Uh-huh. He gave me this big old yacht and the crew I pay her to play deaf and dumb, but there are these two heavyweights who follow me the most wherever his team goes." She giggled and snuggled up to me. "But not here."
  
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  
  "Ah, he thinks he's cheating on me, but everywhere I go to port here, I see her ih. And that ih big old brown car."
  
  
  "Big Mercedes...?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. Did you notice that too? Everyone noticed."
  
  
  "You were in... Pyrgos a couple of nights ago?"
  
  
  "I planned it, but I couldn't do it. Why? Were there?"
  
  
  "For a while."
  
  
  "Where did you get your whore?"
  
  
  "She's not a whore. And it's not small."
  
  
  "No, it's not big. But he could have killed her with one hand tied behind his back." She was fiddling with my belt buckle.
  
  
  "I have to get out of here."
  
  
  "We don't care. We'll have the evenings, Nick Carter. 7 p.m., open now. And later, all my friends will be back on board, and I'll show them that no one is neglecting Sue-Ellen Barlow . to all her friends."
  
  
  Her, pulled away from nah. "You mean that's why you knocked me out and brought me here?"
  
  
  "Well... that was maybe a little cool, honey. But I stayed up all night with these people, and I could see them giggling because I was bragging about you, and then you made a fool of me in front of everyone. So when my watchdogs said they saw you enter the hotel bar, I was just acting on impulse. These watchdogs, they're good for something, aren't they? "
  
  
  "Yes, I think they are. Where are they now?"
  
  
  "Oh, I've got one outside the door." She waved her hand vaguely. "In case you can't wait to get back to your Greek pie."
  
  
  "She had a plane to catch."
  
  
  "Well, she can wait another day, can't she?"
  
  
  He could see that trying to reason with Sue-Ellen was hopeless. He stood up, removing her clawed hands, and walked quickly to the door. Opening it, I saw her rough face of one of the men around the brown Mercedes looking at me. He was holding a .45-caliber pistol in his hand, aimed squarely at my chest. It looks like he's the ego hotel. He closed the door again.
  
  
  "Honey, do you think I'm going to let you run away from me after I caused all this trouble? Let's go now." She was lying on the floor on a white couch, her shirt on the carpet next to her, one hand tucked into the waistband of her minimal bikini bottom.
  
  
  There was a time when Sue-Ellen was fun and funny, obscene but healthy. It was obvious now that she had, to say the least, changed; I could have had fun with her, but her games turned me off.
  
  
  He walked over to her and took off her bikini. She arched her strong, narrow hips to help. She was turned upside down by the ee of life.
  
  
  "Mmm. Do you want to start out like the old bull and the heifer?"
  
  
  "Why not?"She was very noisy in unzipping her trousers, and when she saw that her eyes were closed, she quickly lifted her shirt. "Give me your hands," I ordered, touching the inside of her thigh so she wouldn't forget that she thought I was doing it. She did as they said, swaying her bottom expectantly.
  
  
  With a sudden movement, ee grabbed her by the wrists and wrapped the cloth around her. Before she realized what was happening, her hands were painfully high on her back, ff had secured her.
  
  
  "Nick!" she wailed. "Son of a bitch!"
  
  
  She struggled, as I expected, but he jerked her to her feet; she was small enough to stand on tiptoe without any effort, and in that position she couldn't use her strength against me.
  
  
  "Now get the hell out of here, Sue-Ellen," he hissed in her ear. "I have things to do, we can play another time."
  
  
  "Bastard!" she screamed, kicking at me with her heels. Her pulled her up a little higher and she gasped than hurt. "Dino!" she shouted. "Dino, come here!"
  
  
  This was something I didn't know about. The door swung open and a guard dog flew in. Even though Sue-Ellen was in front of me, she wasn't big enough to create any kind of shield, not at this distance.
  
  
  "Shoot the son of a bitch!" the girl screamed. "Emu, blow the damn head off!"
  
  
  Dino smiled as he slowly raised the gun .45. He had plenty of time to aim and pull the trigger.
  
  
  But not as much as he thought. He shrugged and released Hugo's left hand. Still holding Sue-Ellen in his other hand, he hurled her double-edged knife, straight at the emu's throat; Stahl didn't wait to see if it hit its target, but dragged her down and out of the way as the shot rang out in the confined space.
  
  
  When she looked up, the watchdog was still upright with a full flag of permission expression on its face. He looked down at the smoking .45 in his hand, then slowly raised his other hand to touch the hilt that jutted out over the ego of his neck. For a moment I thought he was going to shoot again, but the sudden rush of blood around the hole my knife had made settled everything. He slowly collapsed to the floor and landed soundlessly on the thick carpet.
  
  
  It was still in Sue-Ellen's arms when he came to look at the new body. First, the gun was snatched out of her hand by the ego of the fingers, began to throw the ego aside and changed his mind. This may come in handy, and I won't need to go through customs on my upcoming trip. Then her knife was pulled out around Dino's throat, it made a gurgling sound, and more blood was spilled.
  
  
  "Damn you, Nick Carter," Sue-Ellen snarled. "Look what you did to my wall-to-wall rug!"
  
  
  But even a rich and cool Texas girl was shocked by what happened, and he took advantage of it. First, he kicked her on the tail, not too gently, and forced her back into what was supposed to be her clothes. She obeyed sullenly, speechless for a moment. I checked the dead man's pockets as usual, but found nothing to indicate that he was hema-something other than what Sue-Ellen said.
  
  
  "What are you going to do about it?" I asked him further, pointing to the corpse.
  
  
  "Her? What do you mean by me?"
  
  
  "He's your boy. On your boat"
  
  
  "Well, you killed the ego!"
  
  
  "For self-defense purposes. After you kidnapped me."
  
  
  "Ha! Achillion, he'll take care of this mess."
  
  
  "Only he's in Japan. You know, your watchdog will start smelling before your husband gets back."
  
  
  She stared at the bulky body on the carpet and chewed on a fingernail. "To supposedly..."
  
  
  "Where's your team?"
  
  
  "I drove ih mostly on shore leave. Except for a couple of guys in the engine room and one in the galley."
  
  
  "They can't hear?"
  
  
  "I told you. They are deaf and dumb. Oh, not literally, Nick; ih just learning to ignore everything that happens in that big old tub. You know?" She was losing most of her Texas accent, and oddly enough, I liked her better for that.
  
  
  "Will you listen? To an old friend's advice?"
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  "Take your deaf-mute crew and get the hell out of this port. Throw away the body or whatever you think is best, but if you report it to the police, you'll only get in trouble. Did this guy have any relatives? ? "
  
  
  "How should I know?"
  
  
  I figured it out. Good. Do as I tell you. It's up to you now, Sue-Ellen."
  
  
  "Yes..." She was still looking at the corpse, and she looked like a little girl who had just started making fun of her head. Which was also monstrously the size of nah.
  
  
  "Is there a boat I can take? Go back to the sloop?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. Tied up right there." She waved her hand vaguely.
  
  
  "Then I'll go." A heavy pistol lifted her.
  
  
  Suddenly, she rushed to me and put her arm around my waist. "Oh, Nick! Its so fucking sorry, sorry!"
  
  
  "Me too."
  
  
  "Aren't you going to stay and help?"
  
  
  "What do we need, dear?".
  
  
  "Honestly?"
  
  
  "My word of honor. And if you ever see me again, anywhere in the world, you'd better think of the same thing before you do that trick again." She was tapped on the nose by Hey, with a .45-caliber muzzle.
  
  
  She kissed the warm metal and looked up at me. There were real tears in her eyes. "How about Barry next week?"
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "I mean, she should meet some people there. And if you're still in this part of the world, and... and not working."
  
  
  "Oh, Kostya of Christ!" But then I had to laugh. Ee kissed her on the top of the head, she was a redhead the last time e saw her, patted her marble-hard ass and went to day. "Maybe," I said.
  
  
  He took the speedboat back to the Scylla; it was midafternoon, the sky was still dark overhead, and the boat looked ominously quiet. When her husband came on board, she was tossed adrift by a boat; someone would pick up the ego in the busy harbor, and she doubted it mattered much to Sue-Ellen or her absent husband, whether they ever got it back or not. Well, there were many more.
  
  
  "Hello? Kristina?"
  
  
  Alas, there was no sign of life in the gray darkness. When her father approached her, he pulled a .45-caliber pistol around his jacket pocket, but it was too late. Peeking inside, I found myself looking into the black tunnel of death for the second time that day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fifteenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Lay it very slowly, Nick. I'll kill you if you don't." Alex was looking at me from the main cabin, revolver in hand. Her didn't doubt nen us for a second and did as I was told.
  
  
  "You don't need it," I said.
  
  
  "I know her now. You destroyed everything. Everything!"
  
  
  "I hope not. I carefully descended the low stairs while he backed away to keep some distance between us. It was the first time I'd ever seen her, ego, standing in a decent light, and even though he was fatter in the middle of his stomach than he had been fifteen years ago, I wasn't tempted to try to grab him. Even if he didn't have a gun. "Where's Kristina?"
  
  
  "Go ahead."
  
  
  "Look, Alex, there's a problem..."
  
  
  "McKee? Nick?" Christina's voice rang out from the front of the cabin, and a moment later she appeared. "What happened to you?"
  
  
  How to explain to a desperate man and girl you half love that you were kidnapped by a spoiled rich bitch because ..... Well, her, I did everything I could. At the end, Alex was smiling, and Christina looked dubious.
  
  
  "You mean those people in the car were watching her?"
  
  
  "And I think a little bit. All in Pyrgos."
  
  
  She nodded, and her smile was unpleasant. "So you're breaking hearts, where would you go with us, huh, Nick Carter?"
  
  
  Her brother abruptly turned his head and told her to be quiet. Then he put the gun away.
  
  
  "Let's get back to business, Alex," I said. "It's too late to get Kristina back to Athens today for it not to look ridiculous..."
  
  
  "She was already on the beach to cancel her reservation. Now tomorrow afternoon. And the ferret before them, we'll all stay on board. You say that you were taken to this woman's yacht as if you had passed out drunk. Great. Kristina is panicking. You're sick. I think good night to all of us." He turned back to his hiding place in the chain locker.
  
  
  "Maybe we could use the time better than that," I said. "What do you mean, I say I messed up?"
  
  
  "Maybe not all of them. Anyway, you and I can't talk until we're out to sea. Even my sister must not know what I have to say to your people; the danger is too great for them."
  
  
  "Then for God's sake Kostya, why did you drag her into this in the first place?"
  
  
  He straightened up, filling his cabin thread like a genie coming out of a magic bottle. "Because she's my family. I may never see her again; who can say in this world? Do you see how that can be, Nick Carter?"
  
  
  Almost. I never had a family to talk about, but I kind of understood it.
  
  
  Darkness came with merciful rapidity on that overcast day. I slept for several hours, even when Christina was running around the cabin in a huff, and when I finally got up, it was night, black as the inside of a gun barrel.
  
  
  "Kristina?"
  
  
  "Yes?" She was on deck, sitting at the wheel with a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders like a young peasant woman. Her, went up to her.
  
  
  "You don't need to be mad at me. I wouldn't want us to break up with you."
  
  
  "Oh, that's not the point, N... Mackey. But today I was ready to leave, to leave you, to leave my brother, whom I knew only for a few short hours... and now this. This is an expectation. What's the word? Anticlimax? "
  
  
  "That's a good Greek word."
  
  
  It brought a ghostly smile to her pursed lips. "I need to know if I shouldn't"
  
  
  "Anyway, you don't have to worry about those people in the brown Mercedes anymore. They didn't follow you; you can go back to Athens and... everything will be fine."
  
  
  “yeah. Maybe." She turned to me, her face tense. "But McKee... there was another one... in the tavern and in my hotel."
  
  
  "Are you sure it wasn't the same person?"
  
  
  "Why does it have to be? Why did He women's bodyguards follow me?"
  
  
  "Oh, maybe out of nothing to do," she said lightly, not believing her words for even a minute.
  
  
  "You don't believe me."
  
  
  "Of course I believe her."
  
  
  "Oh, no. You are a spy; you expect such things, and when they try to kill you around the cannon, you use the woman's body to protect yourself while you ih kill."
  
  
  When I'd told Alex the story of my problem with Sue-Ellen, I'd completely forgotten about Christina's presence; now I was sorry I'd gone into all the details.
  
  
  "Come on," a vast country, its ego
  
  
  "This is a dangerous case, Kristina. Be glad that you will come out of it at noon tomorrow."
  
  
  "Her? Will I ever know something?"
  
  
  "I don't see why not..."
  
  
  From the way she reacted, we must have heard it all at the same time: the soft approach of the boat to our bow, the soft push, and the quick scramble of leather-soled boots on the forward deck. He slid off the seat and crouched down, reaching for the .45 at the same time. There was just enough light to see a couple of indistinct shapes ahead of the thick mast, moving slowly in our direction.
  
  
  "Nick...!" Christina hissed.
  
  
  The last thing I wanted to do was shoot; the sound in the quiet harbor was like a cannon shot. Hugo put it in his left hand and waited.
  
  
  "Mr. McKee." The voice came from the other side of the mast, soft but clear;
  
  
  I didn't answer.
  
  
  "The girl in front of my eyes. You will answer, or she is dead."
  
  
  He glanced over his shoulder. Kristina was still frozen behind the wheel, her hand at her throat:
  
  
  "All right," I said.
  
  
  "We just want to talk to her. If you don't move, we won't move. Do you agree?"
  
  
  The voice recognized her; it had been in my room in Pyrgos a few nights ago, apologizing as Egos two dragged the corpse to the fire escape.
  
  
  "What do you want from nah?"
  
  
  "Just a few words. If you have a gun, please drop your ego, Mr. McKee. We don't want any trouble, do we?"
  
  
  "Then we'll talk."
  
  
  "In private. Miss Zenopolis, can you please step forward?"
  
  
  Christina started to get up, but her father motioned for her to stay where she was.
  
  
  "She will tell you while sitting still. You told me you were a cop?"
  
  
  "So you remember me, Mr. McKee?"
  
  
  "Yes, supposedly."
  
  
  "Very good. Then you won't have any objections. Miss Zenopolis?"
  
  
  He saw that another shadow was moving along the bypass road, and began to weaken it .45 in the ego direction. Us noise, us noise, I won't let them take us away.
  
  
  "No, Mr. McKee," said the man behind the mast. "I can see you very clearly. Drop it now."
  
  
  I made it. Maybe one of them could have killed him, but not both. But when I put my gun down on the deck, I felt the outline of her flashlight under my hand. She didn't have to wonder if anyone around the men could see what I was doing, but she raised her ego and turned on the four-camera beam.
  
  
  The man on the mast covered his eyes with his hand, and he quickly switched the saint to another. He was blinded for a moment, then staggered back and fell overboard. Before I heard a splash, he made a saint back at the other person, at the same time reaching back to pull Christina into the cab behind me.
  
  
  "Drop the gun," I said in a low voice, and pulled out the .45. He did as the emu was told, his weapon dropping to the roof of the cab with a thud. He was still holding his hand in front of his face. I got up and walked over to him, Hugo in my hand.
  
  
  If he had been ready to shoot him, he would have been dead, but with a sudden movement, he turned and jumped to the side. There was a big splash, then silence. I went to the side to see where it was coming from; my saint caught some movement under the water and then lost it. I started forward, but Kristina grabbed my arm.
  
  
  "Nick! Nick! " To me, her voice carried at least a couple of miles in a & nb that was being listened to by a thousand ears. "It's a man! The one who chased me!"
  
  
  "Which po?"
  
  
  "That one... first. The one who fell first."
  
  
  My saint turned it off and ignored the sound of the boat pushing off from Scylla's bow, because I could see very clearly the face of the man Sergei had hit first. He had a magnificent drooping moustache, and just a few nights ago, he died in my arms, shot in the chest by his partner.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  "So where the hell have you been, tailor?" I demanded after entering the forward cabin and opening the door of the chain locker.
  
  
  "Her? I'm not here. Remember?"
  
  
  "Of course. So they kill your precious sister, and you stay in this hole like a rat?"
  
  
  "If they kill you both, maybe I'll go to the front hatch and kill her. Then there is no other way. But I have a lot of respect for you, Nick Carter; I can hear those stupid shoes, and I know you can handle them without opening up."
  
  
  "You could have killed ih with a knife. From behind. She wasn't asked to shoot, so they left."
  
  
  For the first time, Alex looked unsure. Maybe you're right, but..." He looked over my shoulder at his sister, who was still clinging to my shoulder.
  
  
  "Nick?" she said. I was annoyed that she was using my real name, but all we had together was now that I was feeling bad.
  
  
  and now it seemed to me that we didn't know each other at all.
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "Don't leave me here, Nick. I can't go back to Athens now, never."
  
  
  "Look, this is impossible..."
  
  
  "But why not, Nick?" "My own sister, she's in danger, huh? We should take her with us."
  
  
  "Alex, from here, if we're lucky, it'll be a good two days before we can get to Taranto. The whole idea of this operation is that we don't do anything that would distract us from the road. If Christina comes with us, with me, it could blow this whole thing up."
  
  
  "And if she stays, most likely she will die. No, my other, he couldn't let that happen. It's my fault, yes, that I brought her into this case, but now it's up to the two of us to do everything we can to make her do it. don't suffer for it."
  
  
  Her hand was shaking in my back, and that solved me more than Alexa logic. Good. Let's go. Open now."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sixteen
  
  
  
  
  
  Her left the harbor under running lights, using the onboard auxiliary equipment. When there were no other boats in sight, Alex crept into the cockpit and sat down on my feet.
  
  
  "You don't know these waters," he announced. "Light buoys tell you where not forever to go. I'll tell you where to go."
  
  
  Under ego's guidance, we followed a secret channel that lay between the island and the mainland; one cluster of bright lights, he told me, marked the border between Albania and Greece. "They have such fortresses! Not a single eel could pass mimmo at their place on the darkest night of the world."
  
  
  "How did you manage that?"
  
  
  "No, my friend. But where they have placed so many people and equipment to protect their borders, then there must be other places where there can't be so many of them. Maybe not even enough, huh?"
  
  
  "I thought the coast of Albania was well guarded everywhere."
  
  
  “yeah... not bad. But maybe not good enough."
  
  
  "How's the northern border?"
  
  
  "Eh?"
  
  
  "Along Yugoslavia? Are these parts of Greece?"
  
  
  Alex straightened up. "Do you know about this, Nick Carter?"
  
  
  "That's enough," I lied. "You said you had something vital to tell us when you came out. You're gone. What is it?"
  
  
  He grinned and pointed ahead. "When we pass through this strait, where we get hit by Albanian machine guns so close that you can smell the gunpowder in the ih cartridges, then I'll tell you one or two things. It's time you found out."
  
  
  He was right about being close to the Albanian coast; when he pointed out the navigation lights, I had the feeling that I could almost reach the shore on both sides. A tanker coming in from the other side of the channel scared the hell out of me for a while; there didn't seem to be any room left in the nen for even our small boat. Alex advised me to ignore it.
  
  
  When we left the strait behind and got out to sea, he was almost relieved again, but it wasn't too early for Stahl to be happy. The wind picked up, and as soon as we left the barricades of Corfu, it blew openly in our teeth. When we started experiencing heavy bumps, Alex went ahead to lift the jib, then the lift. It was like throwing a couple of hamburgers on the grill and standing back to watch them get charred.
  
  
  "We're sailing, Nick Carter. Are you a good sailor?"
  
  
  "I'm doing fine."
  
  
  Good. This is still your pleasure cruise, and when dawn comes, you must go down again. If anyone gets close ... Well, my beautiful sister can't bear to leave you, can she? You wave hey and you'll be happy, and if they look hostile, you'll shoot and kill them."
  
  
  "Alex?"
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "What the hell is all this, tailor? We have left the strait."
  
  
  “yeah. And that's what I have to tell you, because if I don't survive, you have to know. Do you know if Hema has been there all these years?"
  
  
  "Defector".
  
  
  "Oh, yes, that, but don't be so suspicious, my friend. In my country ... well, look at it today. Is a communist a bigger threat than one around those loyal to the current government? Or the one who was just a Communist in the past? No . I'm not making excuses, Nick, I know that. Her discovered unbearable corruption in my own country, and so her went to Albania, where they were very happy to use my services. These are strong people, these Albanians who are sometimes called Mongols. Europe. Different from everyone else, did you know? "
  
  
  Her understood it, vaguely. They were strong, secretive, hostile to outsiders, and fierce fighters who had resisted potential invaders for centuries. More than half of these people were Muslims, and they fought in their mountains as fanatically as their brothers in the desert countries of the Middle East.
  
  
  "What happened?" I asked her. "What made you come back?"
  
  
  "Well, my other friend, it will take Sundays to tell you all about it. You see, communism is a great leveller; even in Albania, it turns proud warriors into petty bureaucrats. But it's not rheumatism your corkscrew, eh?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "So, her, I will tell you, and you should listen carefully. The great movement of world communism has all but stopped; your president is meeting with leaders in China and Moscow, and the Vietnam War is over. For now." He chuckled. “yeah. But there are members of this great Movement who don't like this development, my friend. They still listen to Marx, Lenin, and Stalin and believe that communism must always expand until the system controls the whole world. . Once upon a time, believe me, hers was almost the only one around them. But not now, Nick, not now. In any case, they are still active, these fanatics, and they are preparing a monstrous action that cannot better contribute to the ih cause. more than twenty Vietnamese."
  
  
  "What's that?"
  
  
  "Do you know the two lakes on the border between Albania and Yugoslavia? Near Greece?"
  
  
  "I do."I remembered Hawk's lecture on the map very well.
  
  
  "Even now there is an army there. They don't belong to us, no matter what country; they are Greeks, Albanians, Yugoslavs, but they are all loyal Communists of the old hard school. Through ... yes... they will start operating in two days. a series of guerrilla attacks from this neutral zone between the three countries that engages completely confuse the world powers. Ih will lead, as you Americans have coined the phrase so well, a Vietcong contingent ... "
  
  
  He let go of the steering wheel and whirled around to look at Alex's broad, calm face. "What!?"
  
  
  "Actually, my friend. Who is better equipped to conduct such military operations than the Vietcong? With their primitive weapons and their small, underfed troops, they fought the French and Americans to the hilt for as long as we can remember. . Is it unthinkable that they would pass on their knowledge and their idealism to a group that is now gathered in this remote area, between Lake Ohrid and Lake Prespa? Think about the possibilities! On the one hand, a staunch ally of the United States, albeit a military dictatorship these days; on the other, the most repressive communist regime in the Western world; and on the third, in Yugoslavia, more compatible with the West than with the Russians. Who will act against them when the ih raids begin? By which country will they buzz And even if ih can be found, what will any of the other great powers do? Will ih bomb the United States? Will the Russians send tanks through Yugoslavia? No, my friend. And yet, what-what can be done, eh? Because along with this campaign of terror and death will be a propaganda campaign that engages in not allowing the outdoor pool to ignore what is happening in our small corner of the world. Sooner or later, measures must be taken, and this must inevitably lead to a conflict between the West and the communist powers."
  
  
  "It sounds pretty grim," I admitted. "But how do you know all this?"
  
  
  Alex laughed. "Because I, my other self, helped set it all up until I realized what I was doing."
  
  
  "You mean you didn't know?"
  
  
  "Don't be so skeptical, Nick. She is an expert in her field, and like many such experts, I wasn't told more than I needed to know about the overall purpose of any plan."
  
  
  "But you found out?"
  
  
  “yeah. I realized it. And her, I found that I couldn't live with the knowledge I had. So..." He looked around at the dark, oppressive sky above us. "So, well done=)".
  
  
  He got behind the wheel before dawn, but he didn't even try to sleep. There were too many questions to ask ih.
  
  
  "You told our agents in Greece that no one will miss you in Albania for a few days. How did you manage that?"
  
  
  "Well, that wasn't so wouldnt be difficult. It's a country with mountains all over it, you know, and very bad roads. I had a lot of freedom to travel around my duties. Back and forth through the mountains; its never been to South America, but from what I've read, there are countries like Chile and Peru with roughly the same conditions. All the time cars and buses leave the roads to descend from some remote mountain slope. Clean transportation for a few days and pretty parts. "
  
  
  "But they'll be looking for you, won't they? Even on the mountainside?"
  
  
  "Oh, right. My driver and I, we picked up an old man on our last trip. A big old man, almost as big as her. Her emu promised to give ego a ride to the coast; I have a lot of friends among the people of Albania during my travels, you know? He draped his uniform jacket over Emu's shoulders to keep him warm in the cold mountains. Stahl didn't take the documents
  
  
  around the pocket, it wouldn't be such a long way. And then my driver makes the wrong signposts, and I somehow manage to get out before the car goes over the mountain. There's a lot of fire down there. The old man will never freeze again, eh? "
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  He was back at the wheel, fighting the heavy waves, when Kristina came up on deck. Her face was swollen, and it wasn't because of the coke. She didn't speak to me, but picked up her coffee mug and leaned against the roof of the cab, looking ahead.
  
  
  "Hello," he called softly.
  
  
  It took her a long time to respond, but in the silence, she finally turned to face me.
  
  
  "Did you sleep well?"
  
  
  "I suppose so," she said Aryanly. "How soon will we get to Taranto?"
  
  
  "Probably tomorrow morning. We didn't have much luck with the weather on this cruise."
  
  
  "No, we haven't done that yet." She came down without another word to us, and I was alone for long hours until the sun came out again.
  
  
  Alex surprised me by coming on deck in broad daylight, but his explanation made sense. "Listen, my other friend, we're halfway to Italy, aren't we? If they think I'm on board this boat... He made a dive-bomber gesture with his hand. "I don't like being out there when the sun is shining. Not if I don't have to."
  
  
  Kristina soon joined us, bringing steaming cups of coffee and a neatly arranged plate of sliced spam and feta cheese. Alex applauded when he saw this.
  
  
  "Now this is my good Greek sister!" he roared, grabbing a handful and shoveling the meat and cheese into his mouth. Kristina smiled faintly. He made her get behind the wheel while he went downstairs to shave and change.
  
  
  He was just scraping the last of the foam from under his nose when he heard the distant roar of powerful engines. Feet scuffed on the cabin deck, and her husband looked out the door just in time to see Alex dive into the main cabin.
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "A big motorboat. It's coming openly at us." He took the revolver from the rack above the galley sink, checked the charge, and went back to the gangplank.
  
  
  Her razor dropped, wiped the last of the shaving cream off her upper lip, and took it out .45. A lousy weapon from over twenty feet away, but that was all I had. Mimmo Alexa pushed past her and climbed into the cockpit, where Kristina let the wheel swing up into the wind, watching the boat pass us.
  
  
  "Keep her moving," he ordered, and tucked the gun under his shirt.
  
  
  It was a large black-hulled cruiser, cutting through the waves as if nu didn't exist. From our angle, all I could see was the bow and a small section of the cockpit with a large searchlight mounted on it. He came at us like a midfielder chasing a tackle who was lucky and couldn't get off the grass. She was cursed again by Hawke and the whole ego sailboat plan.
  
  
  Her gun was out, holding ego on his leg, hiding it from view. The boat accelerated, coming too close to our stern, before slowing down a bit and veering off to the side. He was about to raise his gun and shoot when he saw the man behind the wheel.
  
  
  "Hello, beautiful!" he shouted through the spray of the ego corps. "Next time you're on Paxos, leave that stupid American behind, okay?"
  
  
  A Frenchman with a shock of hair and a shy, confident smile waved his hand, blew a kiss to Kristina, and threw a lot of water in our direction, starting the engines and heading off at right angles to our course.
  
  
  "Son of a bitch," I breathed, tucking the gun back into my belt. "I keep the money, he's heading to Bari."
  
  
  "What?" Kristina asked. She was pale and trembling, and he didn't blame her.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. I'll drive her."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  We still hadn't come ashore before dark, but I knew we were on the heel of an Italian boot. As long as there was no sign of pursuit, hers, thinking I might relax, I went to the forward cabin to see if I could get her four or five hours ' sleep. For a while, I could hear Kristina in the main cabin making coffee and rattling plastic dishes, doing the cleaning that I think all women were born to do, and I know how to do it. Then I heard her approach the cockpit, and there was complete silence except for the sound of waves lapping against the hull an inch or so from my head ...
  
  
  It was a nightmare, and my first thought was that this was going to happen. There was a cold breath on my face, a cold steel in my throat. He tried to escape through the vaults, but in the pitch darkness the nightmare did not pass. I could feel the blade of the blade slicing through his flesh, and he knew I wasn't dreaming.
  
  
  It must be hers, he screamed, jumping away from the knife. Software for my site
  
  
  I think I was hit in the head by the stiffening ribs of the boat's hull next to the narrow bunk. I was stunned, I felt my hair twitch, and the target snapped back. The knife sank deep into my adam's apple, then disappeared with an explosive growl from somewhere behind me.
  
  
  I realized it was a dim saint, my flashlight, and in the ghostly light of it I saw two twisted faces bending over me forever. They didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before: wide-eyed, tight-mouthed, nothing to be heard, just heavy wheezing sounds like an old car about to take its last breath.
  
  
  I sat up abruptly, grabbed the .45-caliber pistol, and found it still tucked into my belt.
  
  
  "Don't worry, Nick," Alex growled. "She didn't get it."
  
  
  He held his sister's neck with his forearm around the oak stump, and as he watched, he coolly twisted her fingers until she dropped the knife around her hand, Hugo.
  
  
  I told her. "What the hell?"
  
  
  "Wake up, Nick." He pushed the girl across the narrow hut to another bunk: "Do you want to kill her, or will I do it?"
  
  
  Her, looked at Nah in the faint light, her face hidden by a thick curtain of hair. "Kill her?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  "Your sister?" He was still half asleep.
  
  
  "Sister?" he snorted and grabbed ee's chin, forcing her to look at Brylev. "She's not my sister, Nick Carter. And now it's a vote-a vote will die."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes," she said. "Kill me."Her target fell on Alex's bear paw as if she couldn't hold it any longer or didn't want to.
  
  
  Her pushed away her brother's hand and pulled the knife down the sloping deck between us. "Isn't that your sister, Alex?"
  
  
  "Of course not."
  
  
  "How do you know?"
  
  
  "I knew it from the first minute I saw her walking to my taxi. My sister was still a baby when I last saw her, but she looked just like me. Pretty, yes, but with thick legs and a body like mine. Not so big, maybe. but it couldn't have been so perfect." He ran the faint beam of a pencil along the length of the girl's huddled body to highlight him and her, but he had to agree that there wasn't much resemblance.
  
  
  He held out his hand and forced her to look at him. "You tried to kill me?"
  
  
  "Yes." She said it without hesitation.
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "Because I had to."
  
  
  "And Alex, too?"
  
  
  Hey, there was nothing to hold back.
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "When you die, ego would have shot him." She pointed to my belt, where the .45-caliber pistol was stuck.
  
  
  "And then what?"
  
  
  "Oh, kill me! Please!"
  
  
  "Come on, Kristina. Then what?"
  
  
  She took a deep breath. "And then... I had to throw my brother's body away... Alexa board and deliver yours to the Italian coast. Taranto, if possible, but anywhere."
  
  
  "What was the goal?" I didn't want to dig into nah so much, but now it's time to find out the truth.
  
  
  "Me... I should have said that Alex was wrong about the information. That you two got into a fight, killed again, killed again, and... well, okay. Isn't it obvious?"
  
  
  "Are you working for the other side?"
  
  
  "Not by choice!" She looked up wildly, first at me, then at Alex, then into the depths of the open chain locker. She sobbed."What else can he do to her?"
  
  
  It was Alex who was sympathetic. "What do they have on you?" he asked.
  
  
  "My son," she murmured.
  
  
  "Son?"
  
  
  “yeah. She was... Her trip to Bulgaria. My parents were Greek, but they emigrated during the Civil War. I was born in this dirty country, but I grew up Greek."
  
  
  "And your son?"
  
  
  "I have one son. Emu is now four years old. It is owned by the state. And her...."
  
  
  Hugo slid it back into its scabbard and checked it .45 and put the ego on the cot next to me. "Kristina? Is that your name?"
  
  
  "Ah, yes. That was a problem!"
  
  
  "Was that it?"
  
  
  She lifted her head, looked openly at me, then at Alex. "I'm Christina Calixos. I'm twenty-four years old. When I was nineteen, I had a child, but I didn't have a husband. The state took my ego away from me. She couldn't even see him. When my mother and father died, I had nothing. I left, so I moved across the border to Greece, where I got hers, hoping that I would be more free and somehow get my son back. For almost a year, her veins were terrified, because I had no documents; then I was in Prevez." She looked at me. "In Preveza, she was on the beach when a young girl drowned. There was a big crowd, and there were her things nearby. I looked her up and saw that her name was Kristina. IH took her and became Christina Zenopolis. I dropped out of nursing school, even left my lover and moved to another part of Athens so that no one would doubt my identity
  
  
  this, and it worked until they found me."
  
  
  "They?" he asked her.
  
  
  "Yes." She glanced at Alex. "That was... what? Two months ago? Six weeks? They found me and they told me who she was and all about my son in the state house. And what would have happened if she didn't cooperate with them. I knew very little about Christina Zenopolis, but now I know her better than I know myself. They knew you were coming out, Alex. I don't think they knew exactly how to use me, but they were very lucky, weren't they? "
  
  
  Alex tugged at the end of his mustache. “yeah. They were very lucky. What if I hadn't insisted on contacting you?"
  
  
  "I assume they knew your every move. I can't say. But I know her... " She turned to me. "Nick? The man who fell off the boat when they attacked us? You thought ego was killed a few nights earlier."
  
  
  "Not her. Ego partner".
  
  
  "Ah, yes. But they told me how it should be done with a wax bullet filled with blood, like what some stage magicians use? They knew you couldn't be fooled empty-handed."
  
  
  "That sounds pretty damn hard to me," I said. "Why didn't they just kill Alexa and be done with it?"
  
  
  "I can't say that. I only had a small task to complete..."
  
  
  "A couple of murders."
  
  
  "Yes! Two deaths of people I didn't know in the life of my son! Would you choose otherwise?"
  
  
  "Okay, okay."It was hard not to respond to her passion, but as I sat across from them, her, I saw Alex thoughtfully stroking his ex-sister's shoulder. Somehow, I found it easier to continue. "Let me speak openly. You weren't followed when we were there... together?"
  
  
  "No, no. They made it up to make you think I was in danger. And they, the people who came on board last night... well, you know."
  
  
  "So you'll have to go on a trip with us."
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "And kill us."
  
  
  For a long time, the only sound in the crowded room was Kristina's sharp breathing. Then Alex cleared his throat like an alligator purring for its monthly dinner.
  
  
  "Are you satisfied, Nick Carter?"
  
  
  "More or less."
  
  
  "Then why don't you go up and see, kuda, tailor take it, this boat is coming?"
  
  
  Just after dawn, we crossed the heel of an Italian boot and were halfway to Taranto when the first helicopter flew over us. During the night, he laid out three orange lifebuoys on the forward deck, as we had agreed, and when the helicopter spotted us, a hand flew out to tell us that he was tied to the Scylla. In less than an hour, another helicopter, or maybe the same one, sel in the wide bay next to it to take Alexa and Kristina on board. I was left with Hawk and the lifeboat that had been lowered from the helicopter. the weather was bad again, and before my boss had been in the cab for more than five minutes, his face was beginning to match the swirling green of the water around us.
  
  
  "How long will it be before you can get this thing to port?" he asked.
  
  
  "Maybe a couple of hours."
  
  
  He paused before answering. "Ah, I see her."
  
  
  "Is there something you want to talk to me about?"
  
  
  "Well, maybe. I take it that the girl was the only one around them?"
  
  
  "She was like that. It wouldn't be Stahl's idea to put her on it now."
  
  
  "Ouch?"
  
  
  "New love." Her, saw how Kristina and Alex looked at each other before they got on the helicopter.
  
  
  "But ... they're brother and sister!"
  
  
  I filled it out with details. Hawke nodded wisely. "Maybe she can help us too."
  
  
  "If you can do something about her baby."
  
  
  "It's possible. I have to work on it."
  
  
  We drifted in silence for a while before he spoke again. "How are you, N3? No wounds? No bruises?"
  
  
  "There's nothing to talk about. A lot of things."
  
  
  Good. When we get back to Washington tonight, I need to talk to you about..."
  
  
  "Wait a minute."
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  I tapped him on the steering wheel. "I need to get back in the boat."
  
  
  "That can be taken care of."
  
  
  "I'd rather do it myself. I may have to come back here someday."
  
  
  "Good..."
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Oh, her, I guess you're right. How long will it take?"
  
  
  "A few days. Depending on the weather."
  
  
  Good. But don't take too long, Nick. We need you."
  
  
  "I won't," I promised, and began mentally plotting a course for Bari. For a while, she was almost hooked on Kristina, but even at Sue Ellen, she never put a knife to my throat. It's time to have some fun. This is my method.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Code
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Code
  
  
  Dedicated to the people of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  I didn't make it to Kirby's funeral. He was in Singapore at the time, wearing a beard and glasses and posing as a missile defector seeking to sell American secrets to Chinese Communists. He played his part well enough to eliminate one of Mao's key agents and hack into the information pipeline he had set up to get a couple of bullets in his side and get an encrypted telegram of congratulations from Hawke, the leading genius of the unit where I work. We call the ego AX. We're the good guys.
  
  
  When I received the belated news of Kirby's death, she was being treated at a British hospital on the north coast of the Malay Peninsula. Hawke had enough contact with the British to find me good doctors, a soft bed, and a beautiful nurse. The news about Kirby had ruined everything.
  
  
  Kirby was one of AXE's best agents, smart and reliable. We worked together on some difficult tasks in Latin America that put you through a lot of challenges. I haven't forgotten how Kirby, a tough man in the clutch and an experienced helicopter pilot, grabbed me off a boat in Cuban waters candid before the ship broke into smaller pieces than a jigsaw puzzle.
  
  
  Now he was killed, and no one knew who the killer's ego was. Finding ih was my next assignment.
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  The plane took me to a private runway in Florida-Cis. A tall man with an expressionless face leaned against the hood, waiting for the car. Her knowledge of ego. He was one of two AX agents who worked as Hawk's bodyguards. Ego's name was Smith.
  
  
  It was one of Smith's most talkative days. He only said eighteen words when he called me to meet Hawk.
  
  
  "The old man will hold his teeth together," he said. We sped down a deserted road, the speedometer pointing the limo toward 70. "I can't remember ever seeing him - ego is in such a nasty mood."
  
  
  The cause of Hawke's misfortune is not difficult to find out. No one will be left indifferent after losing an agent like David Kirby.
  
  
  The limo turned the corner and she saw a lone cottage sitting at the end of a paved road. Beyond the cottage, I explored the empty dock into a quiet bay. The Gulf of Mexico shimmered in the distance like colored glass blocked by the sun.
  
  
  The wind was blowing across the island, ruffling Hawke's white hair. He was waiting outside the cottage when we arrived. A copy of Smith, the expressionless second operative who was usually found near Hawke, was sitting by the window.
  
  
  "This is the place where the murders took place," Hawk said, waving his hand at the house with a quick laugh. "I'll take you inside in a minute."
  
  
  "Thank you for sending for me."
  
  
  "I'm not provoking you into a vendetta, Nick. I sent him for you because I need you."
  
  
  He glared at me and continued. "We managed to recover some details. The killers were driving a small truck. They stopped there, "he pointed out," and cut the telephone wires leading to the house. They then went to the house and convinced someone to admit that they were the signalmen, probably under the pretext of checking the phone. We think they were dressed like fitters. They caught Kirby and the man Kirby had brought here to meet by surprise, and killed ah and two others who were in the cottage at the time . There was a hint of bitterness in Ego's voice as he added ," We still don't know what they were, and we can only guess at ih's motives."
  
  
  "How many people are we looking for?"
  
  
  "As an educated guess, I would say four of them. At least two of them were armed with submachine guns. One of them had a shotgun. We found traces of Odina circling around them at home to approach him from behind. He broke down the back door, and they caught the men inside in a crossfire. It was a terrible job ."
  
  
  The wind blew against us as we walked toward the house, and Smith followed in silence.
  
  
  "What was Kirby's assignment?" I asked her.
  
  
  "He came here to talk to the person renting the cottage. That person was Frank Abruz."
  
  
  That name made me stop in my tracks. "Mafia's Frank Abruz?"
  
  
  "And no one else. The legendary Frank Abruz. Odin is around the few people the mafia has ever agreed to let go with honors. He suffered a heart attack and decided that he wanted to spend his last days in Sicily. The mafia board of directors voted for Ego's pension and decided to pay em a small pension for loyal service." Hawk allowed himself a small smile. The pension was somewhat better than a gold watch. As a matter of fact, I say two hundred thousand a year. We learned that Abrouz would be leaving the country within a few weeks, and Kirby made contact with him."
  
  
  "I'd be interested to know what they were talking about, an AX agent and former mafia capo."
  
  
  "Abruz's journey, Nick. He was a man trusted by the warring factions inside Kota, and when they had a sensitive errand to solve abroad, oni parts were sent to ego." Hawk touched my arm. "Now let's go to the cottage."
  
  
  
  
  
  Another bodyguard named Corbett opened the door for us. He almost flinched when we went inside. The place had been closed for several months, but it still seemed to smell of death.
  
  
  "Frank Abruz was an interesting person, an individualist. I can't say I respected her ego. Ego's record was too bloody, "Hawk continued," but he was one of the leaders who spoke out against the mafia's involvement in the international drug trade. It has been fighting this fiercely for the past two years, when the American branch of the mafia was offered a deal by an Asian group that " controlled the choicest opium fields in Indochina."
  
  
  "Was that before the heart attack that drove ego to retirement?"
  
  
  "Actually. Then, when Abruz managed to change the Communist-partizan position in the deal, everything skyrocketed. He presented his findings to the mafia's high council and invited them to review the proposal. This time the vote was in his favor. there were dissenters, but the board decided to cancel the deal ."
  
  
  "I understand. Abruz had information about opium fields that we could use. Kirby was trying to convince ego to pass it on to us."
  
  
  "Abruz's virtues were few, but one of them was the belief that communism was not the wave of the future. There was reason to hope that he would cooperate with us. Kirby also suspected that Abrouz had read some information about the Communists. Perhaps ih mafia contacts were connected with them not only in the field of drugs."
  
  
  "What kind of business?"
  
  
  "Kirby didn't know. Abruz only hinted that he knew something that AX might find very interesting."
  
  
  Hawk led me into a room that was riddled with bullet holes. He waved his hand angrily. "The killers didn't take any chances, as you can see. They sprayed enough lead here to kill a dozen people."
  
  
  "Abruz had a tough reputation. Heart attack or no heart attack, but he wasn't the type of person to play with.
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "They were fast and efficient, I admit that. And absolutely cold-blooded."
  
  
  "You said the other two people were Abruz's guys?"
  
  
  "Egos are ' personal bodyguards'."
  
  
  He opened the window and let in a breeze. I thought of the old mafia capo and my friend Kirby lying on the floor with their bodies torn apart by bullets. I took a deep breath of the cool sampling air streaming down my face.
  
  
  "How does the mafia feel about Abruz's death?"
  
  
  "My usually reliable sources say they are dismayed that virtually all of the ih trusted senior figures have been short-handed. But remember that Abruz's views have been refuted by some and that he has made enemies in his time. What matters to me is that one of our main agents was killed in different circumstances, which I can't explain. I'm not going to give up on this any more than you are. I want the killers found."
  
  
  "There are three ways," I said. "Communist agents, old enemies of Abruz, or someone who didn't like that he was restricting an Asian drug deal."
  
  
  Hawke spilled cigar ash on his trousers and brushed away the ih. "Four days. Do you remember her mentioning Abruz's $ 200,000-a-year pension? He had a first-year payment in his house. She disappeared along with the killers."
  
  
  "Kill one of the mafia's most feared capos? It takes a madman to come up with such an idea."
  
  
  Hawk stood up abruptly. "Look at these bullet holes. Do you think the person responsible was sane?"
  
  
  He was right.
  
  
  He followed Hawk out into the street. "I've seen, at home, and heard this story, but you didn't rush me here just because of that. What else?"
  
  
  "There was another person in the cottage who escaped the massacre. We finally found her."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The girl looked like a million dollars to inflation. She was blonde, young, and leggy. Although she was wearing a coat with the collar turned up, she caught a glimpse of her face as she walked around the restaurant to the street. Nah had high jutting cheekbones and wide dark eyes , a slight tailor's look that wasn't marked by the cynicism and rigidity he'd expected.
  
  
  "Freeze right here," Hawke said to the math supervisor at the projector. We sat in the dark projection room of one of the main AXE bases, studying the still image on the screen. "Her name is Sheila Brant, but she doesn't call herself that anymore," Hawke said. "It's been a hell of a long time since we found her."
  
  
  I found it hard to believe what Hawke had told me about Sheila Brant. It didn't go with a thin face and soft eyes.
  
  
  "Are you sure she was Frank Abruz's mistress?"
  
  
  "Without a doubt. But we know very little about where she was before Abruz picked her up in Vegas."
  
  
  He sighed in frustration. I don't think there's a law that says a beautiful twenty-two-year-old girl can't find happiness in the company of an aging mafia capo. "The old mobster had taste."
  
  
  "Very much like yours, actually," Hawk said sardonically. Then he continued: "When we found out that Sheila lived in a cottage in Florida with Abruz and wasn't one of the victims, we started looking for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She hid her tracks well."
  
  
  "Who is she running away from? Ah, the law, the mafia?"
  
  
  "Probably out of all three. And maybe someone else. You'll be happy to know that I'm going to arrange for you to install this corkscrew to Sheila."
  
  
  I was looking forward to it. He glanced at the glowing dial of his watch. Even though he knew he needed her, he was beginning to feel the sharp end of impatience. I couldn't wait to hit the road and follow the trail of David Kirby's killers. This night was already too cold to suit me.
  
  
  "This movie was shot in a small town in Idaho called Bonham. Sheila Brant has been living there for the last two months. You'll have a cover story to explain your sudden appearance. We don't want to scare the girl into running away. again, " Hawke told me. "But after you arrive, you will have to blow up the ego."
  
  
  "Let's watch the rest of the movie," I suggested.
  
  
  The projector switched back on. We watched as Sheila Brant walked toward the parked car, one hand tucked into the width of his coat. There was a smooth grace to her movements. When she opened the car door, her target jerked abruptly, as if she had heard a sound that made her nervous. When she realized that the sound was harmless, relief touched her face.
  
  
  She got in the car and drove away, the camera following her until she turned the corner.
  
  
  "Our man made a film of the hotel window across the street from the restaurant. The girl works there as a waitress, " Hawke said. That was eight days ago. Our man didn't try to make contact. That's your job. Establish contact with Sheila and, if necessary, relationships. We need to know what she knows. All of it."
  
  
  The projector turned off, and Sergei lit up, filling the room with brightness.
  
  
  "Well, did the movie tell you anything?" Hawk asked me.
  
  
  "You were right. She's scared. She had a gun in her right coat pocket. Besides, nah has good legs."
  
  
  "I thought you'd notice all this," Hawk said dryly. "Make sure you watch out for her right hand as well as for her feet."
  
  
  He handed me the folder he'd been holding on his lap. It contained an AX file on Sheila and a summary of my cover art. I had the rest of the day to memorize the ih, prepare a fake ID, and familiarize myself with the special equipment I would take with me to Idaho.
  
  
  I left Sheila Brant's file at the apartment building where I was admitted, then took my fake ID. Ned Harper, pictured on the driver's license, looked exactly like Nick Carter. He had a hard face, but I rather liked it. Along with her ID card, she was given a suitcase full of personal items that fit her role in Idaho. Shvedov did not look new to us, we sewn, but it was perfect for me.
  
  
  I spent an hour in the armory. It was checked by a crate that contained, among other deadly items, a high-powered rifle with a long-range scope. Together with my personal weapons, this gave me the same firepower as some police departments.
  
  
  Another stop I made was the base's electronics department. On Hawk's orders, our specialists assembled a kit for me. It looked like a shaving kit, but the nen had sensitive listening devices, a camera, and a tiny tape recorder. I doubted I'd need this equipment, but Hawk didn't miss a beat.
  
  
  I had one more visit to make, to the shed where the mechanics were working on the car I was driving when it was discovered by a man named Ned Harper. One of the mechanics was a burly, short man in his forties who said he'd heard a lot about Carter's Nike and wanted to meet me. He decided not to tell him that half of what he'd heard was probably untrue.
  
  
  "We ordered to provide you with a car that didn't look like it was bought at a cheap second - hand price, but which doesn't really go anywhere," he said with a smirk. "A vote on what we did. This little girl isn't pretty, but I think you'll fall in love with nah. She responds like a French whore."
  
  
  We went to the other side of the seraglio. The mechanic pointed to a small section of road littered with obstacles. "Voting, where we will test it. The test driver is going to try it out for himself."
  
  
  A three-year-old Ford with flower spots and dents on one of its wings purred at the end of the obstacle course. The driver, wearing a helmet, waved at us and slammed on the gas pedal. The car took off like a scalded cat.
  
  
  "I promise you'll be able to get from nah 120 an hour, at the very least," the little mechanic said proudly. "We created it like a concert violin."
  
  
  The car raced with obstacles. I thought he'd get in first, but the driver cut a tire at the last minute. He zigzagged the car along the course, tires squeaking. At the end of the race, he abruptly hit the bullying button and put the car into a deliberate spin, turning the ee with Hollywood stuntman flair before straightening up and driving back to us.
  
  
  "This man has to go to Indianapolis," I said.
  
  
  The mechanic's smile widened.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do you like surprises, Carter?"
  
  
  I realized what he meant as the driver got out, circled the car, took off his helmet, and shook out his mane of bright red hair. Even with her body hidden by a shapeless coverall, there was no doubt that the test driver was a woman. .
  
  
  Her wands flashed, and she came up to us, swinging the helmet in her hand.
  
  
  "What do you think, N3?" she said, using my assassin rank instead of my name. For girls who looked as striking as her, she tried to encourage a little more dating than that.
  
  
  "About the car or the driver?" I asked her.
  
  
  Her green eyes flashed with fire. "Cars, of course. I don't care what you think of the driver."
  
  
  He glanced at the mechanic, who shrugged and backed away diplomatically. He didn't want to be a witness when that gorgeous redhead chopped the famous Nick Carter into tiny pieces with her disdain.
  
  
  "What did I do to you?" I asked him, a little confused.
  
  
  "Nothing at all. Let's see if it stays that way, N3."
  
  
  And again-the name instead of the name. He took it, and the glint of fire in her eyes was a challenge. "I thought you were showing off a little when you were driving a car," I said. "Was it for me?"
  
  
  "Of course you think so. You were probably surprised to see that a woman can drive a car better than you can." Her proud lip curled, but that made Stahl's full mouth even more attractive. "Let's remove the obvious right now, N3. Some of the girls here may worship you as a bedroom athlete, but your reputation doesn't impress me."
  
  
  "What impresses you - the performance? Maybe frolic review."
  
  
  She laughed, as if the suggestion amused her. She tugged at the zipper of her baggy coverall. "Do you know what I was told, N3? I was told that if you were on a plane that crashes, you would still find time to propose to a flight attendant."
  
  
  It's true, " her father said. "Actually, I told her that.
  
  
  She shrugged the coveralls off her shoulders and wriggled out of it, managing to make the routine as exciting as a striptease. Beneath her work clothes, she wore tight slacks and a sweater that clung to her curves like leather.
  
  
  "I respect you as a professional. Rank N3, what-what does it mean, " she said. "But let's continue the conversation on a professional level, shall we?"
  
  
  I couldn't think of anything I was less interested in, other than perhaps giving a lecture on abstinence to the old maids ' home.
  
  
  "The car handled well for you, but I'd like to test the ego for myself," her husband said.
  
  
  It was put under the steering wheel, this is the only gear, the engine and reversed. Then he shot her. He went through the course just as fast as the girl, and ended up braking the car by making a sharp double sign. When I got out, I threw my keys to her and said, "That'll do," I thought, and she'd spit in my face.
  
  
  "Now, who's showing off?" she said, but there was a hint of surprise mixed with sarcasm in her voice.
  
  
  "The car wouldn't be that good, but it has a lot under the hood. You look like a big woman, but maybe not so much. I'm curious enough to ask myself this question." A duplicate key to her room was thrown into her hand. "If you want to use this, it should be tonight. I'm leaving the base in the morning."
  
  
  "What makes you think I would consider using it?"
  
  
  "Maybe you're just as curious as I am," I said.
  
  
  Back in his cabin, he pulled off his jacket, revealing a stripped-down luger in the quick-release rigging under his left arm. The weapons she was tested on at AX varied from task to task, but she was never without her own personal weapons: a luger that Wilhelmina had given her; a stiletto, Hugo, in her sleeve; and a tiny gas bomb taped to the inside of her thigh by Pierre. A bomb could kill everyone in a closed room in seconds; all it took was a few pointers to break the ego shell.
  
  
  Opening a drawer in her chair, she pulled out the folder Hawk had given me. He flipped back the cover and frowned in exasperation. I thought I remembered that I left a copy of my cover on top of the file. Now the first page was a sheet with a description of Sheila's appearance and a still photo around the movie that had seen her earlier that day.
  
  
  I told myself that I must be wrong. Her thumbed through the contents of the folder, but there was no sign of a one-page story. Well, there's nothing to worry about now, I thought. It would be difficult for an outsider to enter the AX base like smuggling a steamer into a football stadium.
  
  
  Still a little worried, he began to reread the file on the Brant girl. Just like Hawke said, there are no details about her past. She could have been born on their weekend when Frank Abruz picked up ee in Las Vegas. However, after AX found her in Idaho, the data was painstakingly complete - the hours she worked as a waitress when she usually went to bed, and even a pencil sketch of the plan of the house she was renting.
  
  
  
  
  
  Many times I wanted to have a photographic memory. Since I didn't have an ego, I developed my own methods for anchoring key facts in my head. I made notes in the pocket notebook I carry with me and reread ih, looked at the layout of Sheila's house, then stretched out on the bed, throwing out everything around my thoughts except the material I was reading to her.
  
  
  She must have dozed off. When I woke up in the dark, I was alerted by a sound so faint that I couldn't identify myself.
  
  
  It came again, just a faint scratching sound, metal touching metal. He jumped out of bed and landed on his haunches, luger in hand.
  
  
  The door opened and a yellow streak of light ran across the floor. The redhead said, " You have fast reflexes, N3."
  
  
  He relaxed, realizing that the sound he was hearing was her key turned to day. I didn't mind being caught with a gun in my hand. The instinct that made me get up from the trash has saved my life more than once.
  
  
  "Turn on Brylev. Click on the groan button behind you, " he told his girlfriend.
  
  
  She flipped the light switch, then tossed me the key. "If you're leaving tomorrow, I won't need it anymore, will I?"
  
  
  The key clamped down on her, grinning. "So, you were curious."
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I just needed to find out if everything I was told about you was true."
  
  
  "Why don't you close the door and introduce yourself?" I told her.
  
  
  She closed it, not taking her eyes off me. The challenge still shone in the ih green depths.
  
  
  "Patricia of Style," she said.
  
  
  I took off my shoulder strap, slung her ego over the back of a chair, and holstered the Luger . "How long have you been working at AX?"
  
  
  "For example, a year. Now ask me how a nice girl like me got into this business."
  
  
  "Let me make a guess. You have to prove that you can do everything a man can do."
  
  
  "Ah, you sly bastard," she said without any visible malice.
  
  
  "I have a bottle of whiskey," I said. "A gift from our boss. Can I open her ego?"
  
  
  "I didn't come here to drink," she said. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed ego onto a chair.
  
  
  She was wearing a black lace bra. Well, half a bra. Her glasses were overflowing. "Well provided for" is one vote on all the inadequate descriptions that came to my mind when I looked at nah.
  
  
  Brushing her bright red mane of hair, she smiled at me. The smile was partly mocking, partly promising.
  
  
  Her remembered her line around that day. Its a repeat of this. "Now who's bragging?"
  
  
  "Hers," she admitted. "But you like it."
  
  
  Still smiling, she pulled down the fly of her zippered trousers and climbed out of the sob they'd placed on her leg. Now she was wearing only a black bra and a matching strip of black lace underneath.
  
  
  She calmly walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She unbuttoned her bra and pulled the ego off her large chest. With a flick of her hand, she draped her clothes over the head of the bed, and then the bed over my pillow.
  
  
  "I'll leave you your panties," she said. "I thought you'd want to rip ih off me."
  
  
  There was something other than challenge in her eyes now. Excitement, desire.
  
  
  When his clothes were thrown off and she saw a hairpin and a gas bomb, she exclaimed: "My God, you're a walking arsenal."
  
  
  Her indecent chuckle. "You pack a couple of cores yourself."
  
  
  Her laugh was hoarse and uninhibited. She could prove that she was the equal of any man, but she definitely didn't mind being treated like a sex object. "Go, N3," she urged.
  
  
  "Nick," her father said. "The bed is no place for formalities."
  
  
  "Nickname. Nick, "she said," I'm ready."
  
  
  I tore off her lace underpants. She was right. I enjoyed doing it.
  
  
  Pat was a strong girl. As we embraced, I felt the muscles in her back quiver. Her mouth was soft and warm, and her tongue was quick and fast. I buried my face in her chest, and her fingers dug into my hair. When her father played with her hard nipples, she writhed and growled like a hungry cat.
  
  
  My hands slid down to her buttocks, and he lifted her up to meet his first thrust. I sank deep into nah and heard her moan. Her body pressed against mine. When her raised her movements, she shuddered and shook the bed. Nah had the flexible strength of an animal.
  
  
  "Nick," she breathed. "Let's finish this together."
  
  
  As far as she's concerned, her timing was perfect. Actually, everything was perfect.
  
  
  Her hand slid down my thigh, exploring. "Muscles. You're a real piece of meat, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  "So you are."
  
  
  "I wasn't ready for this. You're even better than I was told."
  
  
  "I understand that. Her honorific is more than your professional respect."
  
  
  She was laughing. "Can I sleep here tonight?"
  
  
  "You can stay the night,"I said," I do not know how much sleep you will get."
  
  
  Two
  
  
  In the morning, he got up early and started packing until the redhead woke up and rolled over in the trash.
  
  
  "Nick," she said, " that was great. Especially the last time."
  
  
  He stuck a gas bomb to the inside of her thigh. Last night was last night. Today everything was as usual. I fasten it
  
  
  
  
  He strapped a stiletto to her forearm and checked the spring mechanism. I flexed her arm, and the thin knife slid into my hand, ready to go. "The look on your face is a little scary," Pat said.
  
  
  I gave her a smile that almost reached my eyes. "I'm not exactly the boy next door."
  
  
  Then he put on his Ned Harper outfit, put on a Luger ,threw a zip-up jacket over her, and looked at himself in the mirror. As far as I could tell, hers looked like a drunk truck driver. When he moved to the city where Sheila Brant was hiding, he told her that he would like to get a job.
  
  
  "I shouldn't ask this," Pat said, " but what happened to N1 and N2?"
  
  
  "Well, we're out of luck," her father said. Like David Kirby, I thought.
  
  
  It was slammed shut by the suitcase provided by AX. He was ready to leave. All I had to do was say goodbye.
  
  
  Red saved me the trouble. "I know. Ships that pass in the night, and all that. Stay lucky, Nick."
  
  
  He left for Bonham, Idaho, at two in the afternoon. The city had 4,700 residents, and it looked like 4,695 around them decided to stay at home.
  
  
  Turning into a gas station that advertised instant service, he pulled up to the tank cars. The instant service was not implemented. He left through the cars and went inside, where he found a man dozing at a table littered with dust, road maps, cracker cans, and packed auto parts. He tapped his knuckles on the clean edge of the chair.
  
  
  Ego's eyes were cracked. "Yes sir?" he yawned.
  
  
  He pointed to his car. "I want some gas."
  
  
  "Ah," he said, as if the possibility had never occurred to the emu.
  
  
  While he pulled out the hose and inserted the nozzle into the Ford's nearly empty tank, he stood by and stared out at the sleepy street in the pale late-spring sunlight.
  
  
  I haven't seen her, we don't have traffic lights, we don't have neon signs. Bonham looked like a Norman Rockwell painting of a small town. Her, felt out of place with all my deadly weapons strapped to my body and locked in the trunk of my car. Bonham didn't look like the sort of place a former mob boss's mistress would have preferred to hide. This is probably why Sheila Brant chose ego. Hey, give me credit for the brains, I thought.
  
  
  He straightened her tired shoulders. Her ferret was traveling fast and for many hours every day with them as it left TOPOR base on the Carolina coast. Later that day, I'll contact the AX agent who was following Sheila to make sure she didn't miss us.
  
  
  The attendant at the service station started wiping the windshield of the car. "You have enough dead insects here to fill buckets," he complained. "You must have been driving all night."
  
  
  "Yeah," I said. He was observant, if not instantaneous.
  
  
  "Tourist?"
  
  
  "No, I told her.
  
  
  The ego target turned, and the ego eyes were no longer sleepy.
  
  
  "I'm a truck driver," I said. "I hope to find a job here."
  
  
  "Is there a particular reason you chose Bonham?"
  
  
  "I like small towns."
  
  
  "There are many other small towns."
  
  
  Damn, I thought. Emu was definitely curious. I said, " I like the look of this one."
  
  
  While he was checking the oil level, he went into the men's room and slid the bolt on the inside of the door. He threw cold water on her face. I was tired of being glued to the car seat for so long, I told her myself, otherwise I wouldn't have been annoyed by the staff questioning me.
  
  
  He knocked on the door. "Hey mister, I need to see you."
  
  
  He unzipped his jacket to get to the Luger quickly, then opened the door. "Yes what?"
  
  
  "About Sheila Brant," he said, then grinned. "Her agent you should meet is N3."
  
  
  Its never seen its contact and never taken any chances. "What are you talking about?"
  
  
  After slamming the door, he reached inside and pulled out a lighter identical to mine. He passed the ego on to me. "I've spoken to a couple of people who have worked with you in the past, Carter. I thought I recognized you from your descriptions. art. Some like Hawke, she told herself. My name is Meredith, by the way.
  
  
  He turned her lighter over. What looked like the manufacturer's serial number at the bottom was actually a code that identified the owner as an AX employee. "All right, Meredith. But I'd be more careful if I were you. Don't forget that the reason for all this business is his damn good agent squad." It wasn't Stahl who insisted on it. I didn't have the ego to say, " What's new about our girl, Sheila?"
  
  
  "She's still here and acting cool. He tried not to get too close, so as not to arouse Nah's suspicions. I took this job because I was afraid that the townspeople would start wondering why I was holding it up. we'll stay at the hotel. See you tonight and talk some more." He hesitated. "I understand that I will be a mainstay in this task, and I look forward to working with you. Don't judge me by what just happened. Its usually not so casual."
  
  
  "I hope not," I said.
  
  
  He drove slowly down the main street of the city
  
  
  
  
  
  by noting the location of the two-room police station, post office, and economy class city hall. Her, thought you could pack the whole city in a shoebox. Between two large buildings, there was a nook bar with a "Cold Beer" sign in the window. Four storefronts below her found everything, a relic of the days when Bonham was a railway station, was bigger and thrived. Now the two-story building needed painting, and he saw that some of the upper windows had no screens.
  
  
  Getting out around the car, she was carefully examined by the restaurant across the street from the hotel. Sheila Brant wasn't on duty until 4:00 p.m. and if things hadn't gone well, she wouldn't have been needed. There were no customers in the place.
  
  
  He walked into the dim hotel lobby, where the furniture was a quarter-inch thick with dust and old age. There was no elevator, just a stairwell, and the potted plants mimmo passed through needed a & nb just as Bonham needed to breathe new life.
  
  
  Klera greeted me as if he were a politician greeting a crucial vote. He said they closed their canteen a long time ago, but I can eat well at the restaurant across the street. "Try it, you'll love it," he said.
  
  
  In her room, she took off her clothes and gear, and took a shower. Although I didn't show it in my features, my insides coiled up like a spring. The thought kept running through my head that I was close to a girl who might be able to give me some answers about David Kirby's death.
  
  
  I had a good view of the restaurant from the second-floor windows. As he buttoned up his shirt and put on his trousers, he thought of Sheila Brant. He wondered if Ay had managed to escape around this cottage alone, or if the killers had decided to let Ay escape alive for some reason.
  
  
  Meredith gave me the number of her room, which was usually a few doors down from mine. I walked down the hall toward him. Meredith turned out to be a genuine article, but I was a suspicious character, and he was going to check it out.
  
  
  Thanks to AX's training and especially to her Stahl's hands-on experience as a lock-picking expert. The door to the hotel room was not difficult. A twelve-year-old boy could pick a lock with a penknife.
  
  
  He turned the knob and entered the room quietly. A man was sitting in a chair by the window. He grinned at me. "It would be just as easy to knock."
  
  
  I couldn't think of any clever beginnings. All I could manage was, " Who are you?"
  
  
  "Meredith, of course. And you must be Nick Carter."
  
  
  If he wasn't Meredith, he was a damn good liar. He seemed completely at ease. "I've been waiting for you. I think you just came in, " he said. "Have you seen the girl yet?"
  
  
  "Not yet."
  
  
  If he'd known that he wasn't the second Meredith he'd met in the last hour and a half, he wouldn't have been so relaxed, I thought. Get her a cigarette. "Any saints?"
  
  
  He fingered a minute of his rumpled brown coat. He was a round-faced man, beginning to go bald and fat, but his appearance didn't tell us anything. AX agents come in all sizes, shapes, and ages. "Where's the vote, Carter?"
  
  
  He handed me a book of matches.
  
  
  "Don't you have a lighter?" I asked casually, lighting a cigarette.
  
  
  "Never take it with you. Damn things always run out of fuel."
  
  
  He grinned and tossed the emu matches. "I think if it could be picked, so would you."
  
  
  He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands on each tribe. Ego eyes didn't leave me with them ferret as he entered the room. "You mean you don't believe I'm Meredith?"
  
  
  Unbuttoning his jacket, he said:: "I know damn well that's not true."
  
  
  His relaxed smile was still there. He had enough self-control. "What did I do wrong?"
  
  
  "The important thing is that you did it. Who are you really, Della?"
  
  
  "I am the person who has his own death sentence," he said. With a deft movement, he lifted his pant leg with one hand. With the other, he drew a revolver from the scabbard attached to his shin.
  
  
  It fell on one of each tribe while it was being drawn. Ego's revolver was equipped with a silencer, and he heard a soft cough as the gun went off. Gawk hit the wall.
  
  
  I flexed her arm, and the stiletto went into my hand. It was thrown by ego as he moved to draw me back into view. The knife sank into the emu's throat and quivered like a dart. Ego's eyes froze, and he leaned down as if to look under the chair.
  
  
  Her caught him when he donkey popped. It was heavy. Her ego stretched her and searched her. There were five thousand dollars in Ego's wallet and some documents that said Ego's name was Coogan and he came from Denver. It didn't necessarily mean anything. The ego papers were probably as fake as mine. By sticking a driver's license in your ego minute. Its got up. Things started badly. Someone knew why he was in Bonham, whose security was obviously compromised.
  
  
  I had to do something with the body. I couldn't leave my ego in Meredith's real room. Making sure that the corridor
  
  
  
  
  
  It was deserted, so she picked a door at random and opened the lock. Obviously, there was no one in the room. Coogan picked her up, carried her across the hall, and laid her on the bed.
  
  
  No Chamber of Commerce would be interested in hiring me, I thought. I've been in town for less than two hours, and a man has already died.
  
  
  He went downstairs and struck up a friendly conversation with the desk clerk, who welcomed the opportunity to leave his crossword puzzle. He told emu that he met a man in the hallway, a round-faced, cheerful guy.
  
  
  "This is Mr. Hobbs. Seller. Checked in today. Room 206."
  
  
  "What does Mr. Hobbs sell?"
  
  
  "I don't believe what he said."
  
  
  Five minutes later, he left the room, went up the stairs again, and picked another lock. Room 206 was deserted, except for the case for the model case. Mr. Hobbs had barely landed when he started waiting for me. He slapped her suitcase down on the bed and opened it. The only sample it contained was a stripped-down rifle with a silencer and scope. Mr. Hobbs, also known as Mr. Coogan and Meredith, sold death. A well-oiled rifle was something like the equipment of a professional assassin.
  
  
  He might have guessed the ego's game plan. He was supposed to intercept me and kill me as soon as I got there, take the girl around the hotel window when she got to work, and then leave Bonham in a hurry. Lying about being Meredith was a quick ploy to catch me off guard and possibly find out if I was talking to the girl. Mr. Hobbs, or Mr. Coogan, was a smart professional, cool-headed, and well-versed in his craft. But even the best have bad days.
  
  
  He quietly walked out of room 206 and down the stairs. Since phone calls all over the country went through the hotel's switchboard, he used the pay phone in the lobby to call Meredith at the gas station. "Don't walk in dark alleys. The opposition has hit the city, " emu told her as he approached the line.
  
  
  "The tailor. Do you have any fixes in them? I mean, who are they?"
  
  
  "They just don't like it."
  
  
  "Well, there's no reason to flag execution authorization," he said. "If we could find the girl, they could too."
  
  
  "I'm afraid we brought ih to her," I said.
  
  
  I could imagine Hawke's reaction when he told em that someone must have broken into my apartment at AX Base, looked through Sheila Brant's file, and used our information to establish a connection with the girl. It will explode like a detonated rocket.
  
  
  The events of the day radically changed the situation. He couldn't play his cards slowly and patiently, as Hawke had recommended. Sheila's life was in danger. I had to quickly establish contact and gain her trust.
  
  
  Hers was standing outside the hotel when she arrived at the restaurant. He watched her open the door of the red Volvo and caught a glimpse of her smooth thigh as she slid around the car. Her legs were as good as I remembered them, and her sexy walk was even better.
  
  
  She noticed me as she moved around the car with long, graceful strides. Obviously, the sight of a stranger made her tense. She stopped and looked at me, and I returned her gaze with my most charming smile.
  
  
  After she disappeared into the restaurant, her father smoked a cigarette. Her request was to give Ay time to shed her coat and wait at the tables. When it stopped, three motorcycles roared into the city. Rockers were just as out of place in Bonham as they were in hers. They drove past the mimmo of the hotel, looking at me through the windows covered with bearded faces. They wore doublets with angry devils painted on the back. Ih the target was a bar. Talking loudly, they dismounted and went inside. He knew they didn't live in Bonham. The city didn't have enough for the ihc hype.
  
  
  "Criminals and homeless people," Klera said in disgust. He leaned against me in the doorway. "They're part of a gang that doesn't show up here a couple of times a year. They call themselves the brood of Satan. They set up camp in the old fairgrounds. Residents of the city would like to expel ih from the territory, but the police do not do this. I want to stir up a riot ."
  
  
  Her cigarette was thrown away. If bikers were regulars, it meant they weren't my business. He crossed the street and headed for the restaurant where business was just beginning. I counted four clients in total. They were all men, and the three around them couldn't take their eyes off Sheila. The fourth, I thought, must have been half-blind.
  
  
  She was taken to a corner table away from the other patrons. Even before Sheila moved toward me, her gaze caught hers, sliding in my direction, sizing me up.
  
  
  "Welcome to Bonham. Are you planning on staying long? " she said as she approached my table.
  
  
  "That's up to you, Sheila."
  
  
  Her fragile face froze. "My name is Susan."
  
  
  "This is Sheila Brant, and before them ferrets, until Frank Abruz was killed, you were an ego lover." My hand flashed across the table, and he pinned her wrist. "Don't get up, it's open. Put a smile on that beautiful face and pretend we're talking about what's on the menu",
  
  
  "It won't be easy to smile. You're going to break the bones in my wrist."
  
  
  Her grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "The people you're running from know where you are. I can't imagine why they would want to eliminate you, but that's what they seem to have in mind. You need help."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "And you're going to give it to me?" Her beautiful mouth twisted. This is the story of my life. Men will always help me. And the more I receive benefits, the more problems I have ."
  
  
  "I'm the person who will change all this."
  
  
  "I was wondering who you were. I know her now. You must be the Wizard Mandrake."
  
  
  "Name is Ned."
  
  
  "Well, Ned Mag, I'll need a couple of miracles to clear up the difficulties in my life." Despite what she said, the dark eyes were filled with interest. "You certainly want something in return."
  
  
  "We'll discuss the terms later."
  
  
  "Oh, hey, I'm sure we will," she said in a sardonic voice.
  
  
  Business or no business, he was hungry. I was told by hey to bring me a thick coffee and black coffee.
  
  
  "Do you believe that I won't run away for this?"
  
  
  "Cinderella didn't run away from her fairy godmother, did she?"
  
  
  She was laughing. "I'm not Cinderella."
  
  
  Her, thought she might play her part. She looked like a girl that a prince would bring her slippers to and take away, even if the slippers didn't fit. Only her Prince Charming turned out to be Frank Abruz, a mafia capo.
  
  
  When she returned with my coffee, she brushed past me by placing the cup next to my hand. I interpreted it as a sign that we were going to get along.
  
  
  "It looks like you're not pooh. And you're not alone, around Abruz's friends. So who are you? " she asked.
  
  
  "I'll also explain it later."
  
  
  The door slammed and three bikers entered, bringing a stench with them. None of them had touched a bar of soap in weeks. The man behind the cash register, presumably two people from the restaurant, looked at the trio with displeasure. He could have lived without the ih business for at least the next ninety years.
  
  
  They decided to sit at the table next to mine. They were talking loudly, laughing at each other's jokes. To amuse herself, she was asked who was the ugliest person around them. The contest ended in a draw between the one with the knife-slashed scar curling down his cheek and the one sitting closest to me, a stocky man wearing a bead, a greasy headband, and leather bracelets. The one in the middle, with long hair and a copper-colored beard, looked the most presentable.
  
  
  Scarface ran a hand down her leg as Sheila followed ih's orders. She took offense, with surprising composure. Copperbeard slapped his companion on the arm. "Behave yourself," he said in a flat voice.
  
  
  The one sitting next to me caught my eye and showed his teeth, some of which were missing. "What are you looking at, Buster?"
  
  
  "At you," I said. "I admired your dental work." "Once a policeman stepped on my face. Do you want the same?"
  
  
  "Not particularly," I said, resisting the temptation to shove my cup of coffee down Emu's throat.
  
  
  Copperbeard gripped his friend's shoulder. He squeezed so hard that the man with the missing teeth winced. "Don't mess with a gentleman, Georgie. He might think you're serious. The last thing we need is a misunderstanding. Really?"
  
  
  "That's right," Georgie said. He didn't seem sincere. He looked like a frightened man with a hand on his shoulder.
  
  
  I finished it calmly and told Sheila that I would be waiting for her when she left work at midnight. Back in his hotel room, he settled into a chair by the window to keep an eye on the restaurant. As far as he knew, the dead killer had accomplices who would have tried to help the girl.
  
  
  In the soft twilight, the bikers came out and wandered down the street, still bragging and laughing. Only the one with the copper-colored beard was silent, striding between the others, a head taller than ih, moving smoothly like a leader. They were walking back to the bar. He watched them until they were out of sight.
  
  
  Long before Sheila arrived, she began to worry about Meredith, who didn't show up and call. Without taking my eyes off the restaurant counter, I put the phone on my lap and asked the night clerk to give me an outside line. She dialed the gas station number and got no response. As I sat there in the dark, listening to the hum, I had the feeling that things had changed dramatically again.
  
  
  Sheila walked out of the restaurant at a brisk pace, looking around as she headed for the Volvo at the curb. A light rain began to fall. Her, I saw drops forming on the window pane. Sheila was wearing the long coat she'd worn in the Meredith movie. He might have guessed that Nah had a gun in her pocket.
  
  
  "Baby, you're tricky," I said softly.
  
  
  It wasn't midnight; it was only 22:00. She left early - I missed her.
  
  
  He pushed back his chair and reached the door in three quick strides. He hurried down the stairs, past the startled clerk, and out into the street just as Sheila was leaving.
  
  
  The sound of motorcycle engines starting up merged with the pulse of the Volvo's engine. The bikers passed mimmo without noticing me. They followed the car. Hers, saw the red glow of the taillights in the far corner as he raced toward his battered Ford.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was caught up by ih as they raced around the city in pursuit of a Volvo that was moving very close to the speed limit. When the city was left behind, he cursed. Sheila tuned in to what the bikers had in mind.
  
  
  I gave her Ford some more gas and approached them, only to see the leader stand next to the Volvo and wave the girl to stop. She ignored ego and tried to accelerate around her car.
  
  
  When my headlights hit them, they knew someone had caught fire at the party. Odin Poe's bikers turned back, crashing into my path so suddenly that I clicked on scare to avoid a collision. He saw the ugly face of a man named Georgie as he rolled down the rain-soaked sidewalk. He gritted his teeth and went into a tailspin, starting the Ford up again. He resumed the chase.
  
  
  My headlights caught Georgie first. He moved between me and the others, keeping a slower pace to see if I would stay with them. Looking back, he bared his missing teeth in a crude mock grin. He seemed almost pleased that I hadn't crashed the Ford. Now he had another chance at me.
  
  
  He turned the bike around and pulled out a short chain from somewhere behind the seat. With the chain dangling in his hand, he grabbed the bike and lunged at me.
  
  
  He didn't push the bullying button or slow down. Hers swept steadily forward, the beam of my lanterns licking the night. Georgie was approached by Licks. When he saw that I was going to stick to my course, even though he was in my way, he swerved the bike into another lane of the highway.
  
  
  He could have turned the car and hit him, but he was afraid to do it on the slippery asphalt. He didn't want to get caught in a skid again. After giving the Ford more gas, his car picked up speed instead. Georgie flashed past my window, and I saw Ego's hand move. He cracked the chain like a whip.
  
  
  The sudden speed bump that forced her to step around the car caused Georgie to lose her way. The chain slammed hard into the window behind me, not the one near my face. He shuddered involuntarily when he heard the glass crack. Then I put more distance between us, because the emu had to slow down to get the bike to turn around again. Hers, saw the ego lantern hanging behind me as hers raced around the bend and up the hill.
  
  
  As he reached the top of the hill, he noticed Sheila and her pursuers. The man on the lead bike was running alongside the Volvo. He caught up with the car and began swerving into the driver's path, forcing it to swerve to the side of the road to avoid a collision.
  
  
  She was so engrossed in a duel with a cyclist that she couldn't make the next signpost. As the Volvo pulled off the road, it bounced and dodged like a paper boat in a rushing downpour. I was afraid it would roll over when it hit the ditch, but the push only slowed it down. Sheila was smart enough to avoid a sudden push for bullying. Judging by the vibration of the car, he guessed that she had switched it to a slower gear. Then she sawed off the bullying. The Volvo shuddered and slipped, but didn't roll over.
  
  
  When she finally stopped the car in an open field, the bikers turned around. One of them leapt over a ditch full of horse-riding crafts and raced across the field to the car he was chasing. Ego wheels churned up the mud.
  
  
  The second biker didn't have the courage to jump into the ditch. He stopped at the side of the road and saw me coming out in the night. He was solving research problems with a motor and got off his motorcycle.
  
  
  Slowing down, he glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Georgia. He was still on my tail and gaining momentum. He'll catch up with me soon enough.
  
  
  Her overturned on the side of the road near the field and solving research problems of the car. When he got out, he left her headlights on. The waiting biker was the one with scarface rolling down his cheek. He reached inside his doublet and pulled out a knife. When he came up to me, a light flashed on the blade.
  
  
  "Mister, you'd better get back in the car and get the hell out of here."
  
  
  "If I don't do it?"
  
  
  "I'll slice you up like bacon ready for the pan."
  
  
  Bending one to each tribe, he half-turned. My left hand flew out. He felt a sharp contact with ego's kneecap. A Japanese karate master taught me this move, and it was a good exercise. Scarface fell as if the ground had been ripped out from under him.
  
  
  Rising to his haunches, he made a pass with the knife. Hers shifted, and the blade lashed out in front of me, inches from my life. Ego grabbed her by the arm with both hands, brought her down on every tribe and broke her. Scarface howled.
  
  
  It was picked up by ego knife and thrown into the darkness on the other side of the highway.
  
  
  Then Georgie arrived. He rode straight at me, swinging the chain. I knew that if he hit me in the face, I would blind him or injure him for life. I heard the chain howl as I ducked. Then Georgie passed me. Before he could turn around, he was unzipped
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulled out the Sledge Driver.
  
  
  He shot him through the saddles, and the bike continued on, flying out into the middle of the highway before falling on its side and sliding off.
  
  
  Without giving Georgie Nam a glance, he went back to the car, turned it into reverse, and shone his headlights across the field.
  
  
  Copperbeard dismounted and pounded on the window of Sheila's car. He stopped as the yellow beams of my headlights illuminated him.
  
  
  The Ford put her in low gear and drove through the ditch. The bounce lifted me off my ass. Copperbeard ran back to his bike. Hers came first. I twisted the wheel at the last minute, so that only my bumper hit the bike, but the impact made the car spin. Copperbeard was now racing toward his friends, probably hoping to get to one around the ih motorcycles. It was turned by the Ford so that Ego could see it clearly in the headlights. He got out around the car, aimed at the luger, and shot the fleeing man in the leg.
  
  
  Sheila Brant pushed open her car door. She was holding a .38-caliber revolver. Copperbeard didn't know it, but he could have saved Emu's life.
  
  
  "Mister," Sheila said reverently,"you're something else."
  
  
  It got a Luger in the left rear wheel of the Volvo and punched a hole in the nen. She was passed by mimmo looking at nah Sheila and shot in the left front wheel. Then the hood lifted it and yanked out the wiring.
  
  
  "Are you crazy?" she demanded.
  
  
  "You ran away from me once. I'm making sure you don't do it again."
  
  
  "I didn't know if I could trust you. I don't even know who you are."
  
  
  "I told you. Name is Ned."
  
  
  "I'm used to running. I thought it was the right thing to do."
  
  
  "You can probably use this gun," I said, " but could you handle all three Boy Scouts? Use your head, Sheila. You need protection."
  
  
  After pulling out the keys on his own car and putting ih in a minute, he returned to Copperbeard, who was lying on the ground, clutching his leg.
  
  
  "You will live," emu told her. "If I decide to let you."
  
  
  He licked his lip. "What does that mean?"
  
  
  He leaned down and shoved the luger blade between Ego's bushy eyebrows. "Tell me the reason for the night's activity."
  
  
  "We found a blonde. What else?"
  
  
  Ego poked her with the barrel of his gun. "I thought you might tell me something else. Something more interesting."
  
  
  "Dude, I'll tell you everything you want to hear. But the truth is, we know Babu. She charmed us in the dining hall, so we decided to hang out and have some fun with her when she finished work . "
  
  
  "No one hired you to take care of her?"
  
  
  "Like who?" He managed a shaky grin. "Dude, what did we get into?"
  
  
  I wasn't sure I trusted emu. He said, " I won't be bothered to round you freaks up and take you to jail. But stay out of my sight. If I hit them again, I'll kill you."
  
  
  "Dude, I'll avoid you like a draft."
  
  
  Sheila was sitting by the open door of my car. "What were you two talking about?" "What is it?" she asked when he returned.
  
  
  "Her emu gave her doctor's name," I said. "Get in the car. We're going back to Bonham."
  
  
  She hesitated, then obeyed me. She slid under the steering wheel and walked over to the passenger seat, her skirt sliding up her legs. Hey grinned at her, holstered the luger ,and got in. Then she slammed her .38-caliber fist into my ribs.
  
  
  "I know it's a bad way to express my gratitude," she said,"but a girl should take care of herself."
  
  
  Three
  
  
  It was broken by one of the oldest passages in my own book. A smart agent never holstered a gun while someone else was holding his own. Now he found himself in what was, at best, an awkward position. In the worst case scenario, it can be fatal.
  
  
  "I deserve it for my carelessness,"I confessed to her, the girl who had already shoved the revolver in my ribs," but she would like to have it explained to me."
  
  
  "Keys, Ned. I need your car keys. Then her, I want you to leave. I'm not going back to Bonham. Someone might be waiting for me there."
  
  
  "Are you going to abandon me and fly away alone again?"
  
  
  "I'll take my chances. Her surviving ferret is still there."
  
  
  "You'd have had a hell of a time tonight if I hadn't shown up."
  
  
  While her, argue with her, her was assessing her situation. My right hand, which was closest to her, rested lightly on the steering wheel. I knew how fast I could swing that arm around in a karate kick that would hit Sheila Brant's beautiful white throat like an executioner's axe. But I couldn't risk seriously injuring the girl, and the impact might cause her to pull the trigger of her revolver and put a bullet in me at close range. I didn't like one of these opportunities.
  
  
  Sheila's voice rose. "I'd rather not shoot you. But I'll do it if I have to."
  
  
  "Shoot, baby," I said. "I don't give you the keys."
  
  
  We sat there, no one moving around us, while she decided if she was going to pull the trigger. I felt a tiny drop of blood trickle down my hairline.
  
  
  He didn't know Sheila Brant well enough to put his life in her hands. She may be involved in the death of AX Agent David Kirby; she may be panicked enough to kill me out of fear;
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tailor boy, as far as I know, she hated all men and would have liked to put a bullet in one. But I couldn't let hey leave again. There was something I had to have in the heads list that was so important that someone decided to make sure Sheila never shared it with me.
  
  
  "You have a lot of nerves," she finally said.
  
  
  With a shaky sigh, she pulled the gun around my side and leaned back in the seat. "I guess I'll have to tie you up with a rope. I don't seem to have what it takes to kill you."
  
  
  "I'm glad to hear it." He took out his keys and turned the car around.
  
  
  "Where are you going to take me?"
  
  
  "Sincerely now, back to Bonham. As soon as I can get everything organized, somewhere where your life won't be in danger."
  
  
  Jumping over a field, she was passed by Copperbeard's mimmo, who began crawling towards his friends, dragging his injured leg. Scarface was sitting on the side of the road, clutching his broken arm, and the man named Georgie was curled up in a motionless ball. A wonderful group of All-American boys, I thought. As the car rolled through a ditch on the highway, Sheila said, " I'm not sure.: "Aren't you going to shoot the man who was shot to see if he's dead?"
  
  
  "No," her father said. "I know he's dead."
  
  
  The accelerator hit her, and my battered car shot up like a streak. Her, thought the little AX mechanic would be proud of how ego-driven the kid was tonight. In fact, the car was the only thing that didn't work according to Hawk's well-laid plans.
  
  
  Her plan was to take Sheila somewhere safe under AX's jurisdiction, but first I had to call Hawke and set him up. I also needed to find out what had happened to Meredith, why he hadn't shown up at the hotel.
  
  
  "I've never used that gun," Sheila said. "I never shot anyone. Maybe that's why I couldn't shoot you."
  
  
  "I was hoping you had another reason. Maybe you've fallen in love with me."
  
  
  "Not yet," she said. "But I suppose it can happen."
  
  
  My hand brushed her warm thigh. She didn't seem to mind. "Give me the gun," I said.
  
  
  After a moment's hesitation, she dropped the weapon into my hand. As a sign of trust in her, thought I'd made some progress.
  
  
  "Why do you need this?" she asked me.
  
  
  "Just updated". In case you panic enough to target me again."
  
  
  It was a .38 caliber that shoved it into the left pocket. The speedometer needle jittered at 70 as we sped back to the city.
  
  
  "These three men. Ih was sent to kill me, Ned?"
  
  
  "Well, the leader said no." I couldn't make out her expression in the dark car. "He said all they had in mind was a little friendly rape."
  
  
  "What are you planning for me?"
  
  
  "A few things."It was passed by a long signpost without slowing down. "Rape is not included in the ihc."
  
  
  "Under certain other circumstances, this would not have been necessary."
  
  
  Her, grinned in the dark. "How did you happen to meet Frank Abruz?"
  
  
  "I failed in Las Vegas after I couldn't become a dancer. He came with it. He was old enough to be my father, but he had money."
  
  
  "Did you know what he was doing?"
  
  
  "I wasn't born yesterday." She was silent for a long time. "There are a lot of beautiful girls in Las Vegas who are looking for a breakthrough. He was just one around many. When its discovered that my face is my condition, its started using its own body."
  
  
  It was muffled by a saint when a Greyhound bus passed us by Mimmo.
  
  
  "I'd like to take this bus," Sheila said. "All right, Ned, I've told you part of my story. Don't you think you should tell me yours?"
  
  
  "Which part do you want first?"
  
  
  "Who are you, why did you come out of nowhere into my life, and how did you know about my relationship with Frank Abruz?"
  
  
  "Let's just say I work for an organization that has an interest in finding the killers of Frank Abruz."
  
  
  "But you're not in the mafia." That was half the question.
  
  
  “no. Maybe you remember a man named David Kirby. He was my friend."
  
  
  "I remember the name. He came to see Abruz. That's all I know about your Mr. Kirby. It does not ask Abruz questions about the ego of the"business appears".
  
  
  "Four people died in that cottage , but you got away alive, Sheila. How did you manage that?"
  
  
  She didn't answer me. Instead, she said: "You want her to point out the killers. In return, your organization will promise to protect me. Is this the case?"
  
  
  "This is the case." He saw the Bonham lights ahead of her and slowed down. "What are you saying?"
  
  
  "I'll think about it."
  
  
  "The way I see it, baby, you don't have a choice."
  
  
  Small town early bench press to sleep. Only the restaurant, bar, and hotel remained open. He stopped at a darkened gas station. "What time do these people usually close?"
  
  
  "About eight o'clock. Why do you ask?"
  
  
  This meant that Meredith was at least an hour and a half late before she left the hotel to chase bikers. With a flashlight in one hand and a Luger in the other, I got out and walked around the station. Finally, she found Meredith lying in a tangle of weeds, about fifteen paces from a pile of abandoned oil barrels.
  
  
  He said he would be careful,
  
  
  
  
  
  but he wasn't careful enough. Ego's throat was cut.
  
  
  Sheila came up behind me. She gasped when she saw the twisted body pressed against the beam of my world. "I know this man. He worked at the station."
  
  
  Brylev turned it off. "Yes, supposedly."
  
  
  "But he didn't work here for long. Who was he really, Ned?"
  
  
  "The other is my other. He was watching you."
  
  
  "And now he's dead." Her voice was high, and nen was panicking. "How are you going to protect me when your people are in danger?"
  
  
  Her, thought it was a fair spin.
  
  
  Sheila turned away from me and ran across the wasteland, through all the weeds. She probably didn't know where she was going. All she knew was that she wanted to leave.
  
  
  Her rushed after her. As I ran, wet weeds flapped against my pant legs. I heard the girl banging loudly before I caught up with her. Making a lunge, ee grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him.
  
  
  "Let me go," she panted. "I don't need your protection. I'm better off without nah."
  
  
  Her nails dug into my face, but his caught her other wrist. Her breasts were pressed against my chest, and her breath was hot on my throat as she tried to pull away. Ee hugged her and made her stand still.
  
  
  "Meredith made a mistake. I won't make it ee." He spoke softly, hoping to calm her down. "I'll drag you around this town tonight. We'll go to your place, get her settled, and then we'll leave Bonham behind."
  
  
  "Ned". She identified my name in a voice as low and soft as mine. "I know what a man likes." No longer struggling, she sat with her chest to me, her hips to mine. "I'll be kinder to you. Oh, so good. But please let me go."
  
  
  I wasn't offended by her suggestion. She was desperate and resorted to her best serve, and I couldn't blame her for that.
  
  
  "You make it sound attractive. But it's my job to find out what you know. I can't let you run away alone anyway. It'll throw you at Willie. Someone is very serious about getting you out of the way. Serious enough to run down Meredith and try to do the same to me. Serious enough to send a killer after you, Sheila. I ran into him at the hotel today. He was packing a rifle and intended to knock you out of the hotel window when you arrived at work."
  
  
  She froze in my arms. "You think Abruz's killers did all this?"
  
  
  "This is a fact. You are the web who could ih identify."
  
  
  A bitter laugh escaped nah. "I don't have the faintest idea who sent the assassins, but I can tell you one thing for sure. They weren't the ones who shot Frank Abruz and Kirby. No, really. They want her to be alive."
  
  
  "Baby, you're full of a little surprise." Wrapping his fingers tightly around her wrist, ee pulled her to the car and shoved her into nah.
  
  
  I hated to leave Meredith's body where it was, but the ego killer might still be around, looking for us. I needed to get the girl to safety as quickly as possible.
  
  
  "Tell me about it, Sheila," I said, starting the car.
  
  
  "You won't be happy."
  
  
  "I probably won't do it. Tell me anyway."
  
  
  "Frank Abruz didn't pick me up in Las Vegas by accident. She was presented with an emu. This man who knew her came to visit me and said that Abruz was in town and emu liked my ghost. He said he could arrange a meeting for us, which he did. It wasn't until later, after Frank decided he wanted to keep me, that the man contacted me again. He said I owed emu, and he was willing to take the money."
  
  
  "Do you think he planted you with Abruz so you could spy for him?"
  
  
  "Something like that. He knew that the mafia was going to deliver $ 200,000 to Abruza's cottage. He demanded to be informed by emu when the money arrived. He said it would be a robbery, and Emu believed her. She was afraid that he would kill me if I didn't do as he said. So I called him when the money came in."
  
  
  I digested her story as I drove to her house.
  
  
  "You know what I'm telling her, don't you?" she asked in a wild voice. "You know what that meant when she got the call."
  
  
  He unlocked the door of her house and lit it with a saint in the living room. She looked around, Luger in hand, and went to the phone.
  
  
  "Abruza set him up," Sheila said. "They came and killed my ego, the ego of the bodyguards, and a man named Kirby. They shot ih all of them. It was a massacre."
  
  
  "You didn't know what they were going to do," her husband said.
  
  
  I gave the long-distance operator the emergency phone number. No matter where Hawke went, and that covered a large area, the girl who answered the emergency number knew how to get in touch with him quickly.
  
  
  Sheila opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. "I told myself that. But that doesn't help the hell out of it. Frank Abruz was a mobster, but he treated me well. Her ego killed her." She picked up the bottle. "Do you want to film this?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. I had Hawk's girlfriend on the line. I said the code words that convinced her I wasn't cheating: "Aberdeen Blue." I told the girl I wanted to talk to this man.
  
  
  "I'll pass on the message, N3," she said
  
  
  
  
  
  
  a clear, effective voice. "Give me your number, and hung up. He'll call you back within fifteen minutes."
  
  
  "Hurry up. Time burns my coattails."
  
  
  I hung up on her. Sheila took the bottle to the kitchen. I followed her and found her standing at the sink, crying.
  
  
  She rubbed her eyes. She took out a glass, poured two fingers of bourbon, and downed the ego like a sip of tea. "This Kirby. How well did you know ego?"
  
  
  "We were friends."
  
  
  "He picked the wrong day to visit Frank Abruz." She dropped her glass and it shattered on the floor. She buried her face in my shirt. "Who could have sent the killer, Ned? The mafia?"
  
  
  "Maybe. Maybe they found out that you framed a respected senior figure for ih."
  
  
  "I was afraid they would do it. She was running away from them and from the Abruz murderers." Her fingers dug into my sleeves. "You're blaming me for these four deaths, aren't you?"
  
  
  "Not as much as you blame yourself."
  
  
  She pulled at me, pressing her lips to mine. Her lips were warm. "Ned, take me to the bedroom."
  
  
  "I'm waiting for a phone call."
  
  
  "You were thinking of making love to me. Do it now. I need it now."
  
  
  It's true that this thought has crossed my mind several times. Let's say a dozen. The first time ee saw her was in a movie directed by Meredith. But questions remained unanswered between us.
  
  
  He stroked her soft blond hair. "Later."
  
  
  "It will make me feel better. Please."
  
  
  "Later," I promised again. To prove that I meant it, her, bent down to her lips. Her, felt her wet lips parting, felt her swift tongue. My hand crept up to her round chest. She wasn't wearing a bra.
  
  
  When her heard the noise, his turned away from nah. Her, pressed the switch with groans and turned on the light for the next day. The courtyard was quiet. He went outside, luger ready, and listened, testing the air like a hound on the prowl. Something went wrong. I felt it. Sheila rented a house in a cul-de-sac. The nearest neighbors were too far away to hear anything but the explosion. Ih the lighted windows formed little orange squares in the deep shadows far below. Sheila's hotel is private, but privacy can be a trap. Her, I thought how easy it would be for someone to corner us.
  
  
  Inside, the phone rang. He backed up to the door and bolted it, then quickly walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Her phone was picked up from the chairs by stand.
  
  
  A clear and efficient female voice said, " Hold the line, N3. Mr. Hawk is coming."
  
  
  "What's up, Nick?" he asked.
  
  
  "I have my package that you sent me to pick up. Its ready to deliver it."
  
  
  "You have achieved results quickly."
  
  
  "They helped me. Denver okay?"
  
  
  "Take her there. I'll call you in advance and arrange everything for you. What is the nature of your resistance, Nick?"
  
  
  "I can't give you a clear opinion on this yet. But Vlad is very strong. I think we can deal with two different groups, " I said. "Meredith dropped out of school."
  
  
  "Then we shouldn't waste time talking. Get out of there." He hung up.
  
  
  "If you want to take some things with you, pack ih," he told her to Sheila. "We're leaving. It'll be all right."
  
  
  "Do you really believe that, Ned?"
  
  
  "Of course I know. And its a damn good prophet." He was trying to calm her nerves. In fact, it wouldn't have been Stahl paying for it! safe until we were surrounded by people I trusted.
  
  
  "You should have asked me another spin. When are you going to ask ego?"
  
  
  "I thought I'd let you tell me your own path," I said.
  
  
  Good. Maybe you're wondering why Abruz's killers want me alive? Rheumatism - they think I have $ 200,000."
  
  
  While she packed her things, he stood at the window and looked out at the dark street through a crack in the blinds. He didn't see our cars, our lights, our movements. The sound she'd heard earlier might have been the sound of a stray dog or cat, a motor cough in the distance, a dozen things. But my anxiety persisted.
  
  
  Sheila stayed in the bedroom too long. He closed the curtains and went to the bedroom door. He turned the handle and opened the door in the dark.
  
  
  Wondering why she turned off the saint, her foot pushed the door wider. "Sheila?"
  
  
  "I've been waiting for you, Ned."
  
  
  Brylev of the entire room behind me fell on the bed, where she lay on the floor. Her naked body was a white blur on the blue bedspread.
  
  
  "There is one more thing that needs to be taken care of," she said. "Come here and make love to me, honey."
  
  
  She was a beautiful piece of art.
  
  
  "It won't take long, dear," she said, her voice low and husky. "I'm so hot that I'm burning on a short fuse."
  
  
  She was completely blonde, the real thing. One smooth headline buckled, and she turned on her side and held out her arms. Sergei, coming through the open door, caressed her full breasts.
  
  
  "For God's sake, Ned, put the gun down and come here."
  
  
  He took two steps toward her, striding down the lane like a street cat going over a fence. He could only make out the dim outline of furniture in the darkened corners of the room. The bathroom door to my left was closed, and the windows were drawn. Some women liked to do it
  
  
  
  
  
  
  in the dark, but I didn't think Sheila would be alone around them. When her father approached the bed, a warning was constantly ticking in the back of his mind.
  
  
  "I told you it could wait," I said.
  
  
  "Later may be too late."
  
  
  Her voice might have changed a little, but maybe it was wrong. Maybe he just thought there was a message in her words.
  
  
  Hers, leaning over her. Her, heard her breathing. Stern, excited. He ran his hand over her breasts, and there was a bank on them. He touched her thin face with his fingertips and felt her tremble. I understood her, the strong way she held on.
  
  
  "Yes," I said, still touching her. "I think we should do it now."
  
  
  Hers, felt the muscles of her life jump with tension as she took a deep, startled breath. That was also a warning,as far as she could tell.
  
  
  Her, I thought, faster than I should have turned around and taken a step back to the day. Sheila played the part, and she played it well, because her life depended on it. There was an intruder in the darkened bedroom.
  
  
  I wonder where he looked her up and down. At the same time, for my hidden audience, she was told: "You're very convincing, baby. Tell me again how much you want her to go to bed with you."
  
  
  "You know how much, Ned." She tried to sound playful.
  
  
  There was a lamp on the nightstand next to me, but if I pulled the cord, a sudden flash of light might blind me long enough to kill me. Her excluded it.
  
  
  "Take off your clothes, dear," Sheila purred. "Then I'll tell you anything you like."
  
  
  "I'll bet you that," I said.
  
  
  Hey, they told me to undress me, and it wasn't bad from my hidden opponent. A rare medical man holds on to a firearm, removing crates from himself.
  
  
  Reaching out to Sheila, he slid his hand under the small of her back and lifted her off the bed, sinking his mouth into the hollow of her throat. My lips brushed her ear, and she whispered, " I'm sorry.: "Where is he?"
  
  
  He was so close that he could even hear a whisper. He stood on the other side of the bed.
  
  
  He threw the naked girl aside and pulled the luger out of its holster, but he didn't have time to fire. The second man lunged at me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.
  
  
  I didn't expect to fight the team.
  
  
  "Keep your ego," the big man on the other side of the bed chuckled to his friend.
  
  
  Pulling my heel back, I caught the man behind me by the shin, and he swore, but I couldn't break ego's grip. He knew what he was doing.
  
  
  The big guy climbed over the bed and slapped me in the face around the .357 Magnum pistol. He was strong. The blow tore my lip, loosened my teeth, and cut my cheek.
  
  
  I lifted my foot and slapped the big man in the groin, but he saw this move coming and sped away. He was as fast on his feet as a boxer.
  
  
  To my surprise, he laughed. "Looks like we have a handful, Jake."
  
  
  Jake grunted, trying to hold me back. Then he turned around and threw the ego on the nightstand. The lamp fell to the floor, but Jake held on.
  
  
  The big guy came over and hit me again. I felt like I was hitting a wall.
  
  
  Don't kill your ego, Sheila heard her cry. "Please don't kill the ego."
  
  
  The bathroom door opened and another man entered the bedroom. My knees sagged under me as the big man hit me first and second. Heads were ringing. She took a deep breath and threw herself backward, slamming Jake into the headboard. He grunted, which hurt, and snapped her ego grip and lifted his luger .
  
  
  A third man came at me from the side and hit him in the head with the muzzle of a gun. I rocked sideways, dropped the luger ,and would have fallen if my hands hadn't bumped into the big man's coat. I felt a tear in the fabric when I caught it.
  
  
  "Take a tailor, that's the limit," he said. He punched me so hard that I tore off my leg, landed on my shoulders on the floor, and slid on moans.
  
  
  He tried to get up, but couldn't. He was losing consciousness.
  
  
  Climbing around the black pit, her eyes narrowed. I couldn't guess how long hers had been without vaults, but hers was still in the bedroom, lying on her stomach on the floor.
  
  
  The intruders pulled my jacket off my shoulders and down my arms to tie ih, then tied my wrists behind me with strips of sheet. My legs were tied in the same way. He moved his hands together enough to know they'd done a thorough job. She wouldn't have slipped through their bonds.
  
  
  "You've got some cool cookies here, doll," the big man said. Her ego became known for her gruff voice. He came up to me and poked me in the side to see if she was still unconscious. I let emu think I was unconscious.
  
  
  "Leave your ego alone," Sheila said. "It's not ego's fault that he was here when you came."
  
  
  The big man laughed. He had a strange sense of humor. I snapped my eyes at her again as he turned away from me. Without moving her head or giving herself away, only the ego of her feet and legs could see her. His legs were the size of sleepers in dark cotton trousers. I was wearing sneakers.
  
  
  "We had a hard time finding you, doll, but now that we're back
  
  
  
  
  
  together again, it will be fun. Do you still love me? "From the rustle of a foot, and the sound of Sheila spitting like a cat, I guessed that this man had touched her. Laughing, he said:"You'll become friendlier. Even before the night is over, you'll appreciate the friendlier people. "
  
  
  It was like a threat.
  
  
  "I helped you surprise your ego. Doesn't that mean anything?" asked Sheila.
  
  
  "Don't lie to me, doll. You played this little sex scene to perfection because you knew that any slip-up would leave your boyfriend with a big hole in his stomach." Stahl's ego voice is more serious. "Did you hang up? Are you deceiving a citizen, doll?"
  
  
  “no. I just don't want my ego to get killed for nothing."
  
  
  She still played the part, played the bone of my life.
  
  
  Her narrowed gaze shifted cautiously, trying to find the big man's companions. I noticed one around them to the right, squatting on the floor. Like the big man, he wore dark clothing and sneakers. A stocking was pulled over his head, distorting his features. He remembered that Hawke had said that the killers she would have liked were cold and efficient professionals. This man and the gravel-voiced giant certainly deserve a description.
  
  
  They approached the house, prepared to enter without startling the residents. Except for one faint sound I heard her make, a sound I couldn't catch, they managed it. Her guess was that they had entered through the bathroom window, probably pulled out through the partition. They grabbed Sheila when she entered the bedroom, then forced her to take off her clothes and ordered her to lure me into bed and catch me off guard.
  
  
  The man sitting next to me searched my pockets and dumped ih's contents on the floor. He combed through ih with his hand, pushing away what ego wasn't interested in. He looked down at my lighter, then shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. He opened my wallet and checked my identification. He took the money and slung the purse over his shoulder. "Hey, Moose, catch it."
  
  
  "Ned Harper," the big man said, reading my driver's license. He chuckled. "According to this, he's a truck driver. How many truck drivers pack lugers in shoulder holsters?"
  
  
  It was analyzed by the conversation. These people didn't know that her agent was AX, so they weren't connected to the killer at the hotel. For the same reason, they probably aren't responsible for Meredith's murders. This confirmed my theory that I was dealing with two different groups of enemies.
  
  
  Sheila said: "I can't tell you why he had a gun. Ego met her just today. He talked to me in the restaurant. I liked the ego style, so it allowed him to bring me home."
  
  
  "You needed some sex, didn't you?"
  
  
  "It hasn't been eaten lately," she said defiantly to Moose. "I was too busy running away from you to live a normal life."
  
  
  He surreptitiously moved his hand, trying to free the hairpin in his sleeve. No chance. They didn't pull my jacket down far enough to reveal the stash of a knife, but they accidentally managed to block Ego Constellation today.
  
  
  "This bird isn't a truck driver," said the man squatting next to me. "All this suggests that it is there, but I am sure that it is not. You saw how he behaved."
  
  
  "Maybe it was sent to the mafia. It will be a laugh." A big man came up to me and leaned in. He rolled me over and slapped me in the face.
  
  
  Panting as if she had just regained consciousness, her eyes widened. He saw her face masked by a stocking, broad shoulders, and a bull's neck. The hand that gripped my shirt on the front was like two of mine, and mine wasn't small.
  
  
  The stocking bit puzzled me at first. Why did they hide their facial features when Sheila seemed to know so well? Then he realized that they didn't know who else they would meet when they broke into the house. The masks were another safety measure that made ih experts at their dell in the first place.
  
  
  "How are you feeling, stallion?" the big man asked me.
  
  
  My hair was wet with blood oozing down the cut near my ear, and my leg was throbbing more than it hurt. When hers spoke, my voice absurdly sounded like it was being worn by a boxing mouthpiece. "I feel great."
  
  
  The big guy went inside his coat, pulled a gun from his belt, and slammed it into my Adam's apple, making me gasp. "I have a busy schedule, and I can only spare you a minute. Are you an assassin for hire? The mafia sent you here with a blonde contract?"
  
  
  As he struggled to catch his breath, he glanced at Sheila, who was now sitting in a chair, still naked, but with the remains of a torn sheet pressed against her, partially concealing her body. Her fragile face was pale, and her dark eyes were filled with fear. She was worried, not only about herself, but also about me.
  
  
  "Speak, or you have already heard," Moose said to me.
  
  
  "Yes," I said hoarsely.
  
  
  Moose nodded and let go of my shirt, letting me fall. "Do you hear that, Sheila? You have a problem with the mafia."
  
  
  "You killed Abruz."
  
  
  "But they don't know that. All they know is that you were there and you weren't killed, so you must have given your ego away." Elk laughed out loud.
  
  
  Third man
  
  
  
  
  
  he appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was dressed like everyone else. "I pulled all the blinds and took a quick look around the house. There doesn't seem to be any money here."
  
  
  "If that's the case, she hid it well. Sheila is a smart girl. What about you, doll?"
  
  
  "Too bright to challenge you. I didn't steal her money. I told you that."
  
  
  "I left this to you. You were responsible for this."
  
  
  "Moose, if I had them, it would serve ih you. Can't you see that I'm scared to death?"
  
  
  "You're afraid, okay, but people for $ 200,000 will go through a lot. Who knows this better than me? " He pointed at the man in the doorway. "Go down the road, take our car and drive it to the house. We can spend most of the night here, but Sheila will give us what we want."
  
  
  "What if she doesn't talk?"
  
  
  "Sid, I hate it when a man looks at the dark side of things. We've spent months tracking down the girl, and now we've found her. What do you need to do to make you understand that things have gone differently? better?"
  
  
  "Two hundred thousand bucks will help," Sid said.
  
  
  "If she doesn't tell us, I swear to God, we'll check again in five states. We killed four people for that two hundred thousand, and that's ours."
  
  
  Moose grabbed the sheet on the cowering girl. Then he grabbed ee by the hair and yanked her around the chair.
  
  
  Last time I saw her, ee, they were dragging her around the room.
  
  
  He heard Sheila scream, and then her voice trailed off. She was in their kitchen. I didn't know what they were doing to her, but I could imagine.
  
  
  I needed to find something to break my bonds. Her mind flashed back to the broken lamp that had just fallen to the floor when her one fought around the killers with the bedside table. Rolling over, he was able to look under the bed to the other side. The broken lamp was still lying there. Her, rolled over on the bed and under nah. When hers rolled out from the other side, hers was within reach of the lamp.
  
  
  One piece of the lamp base looked sharp enough to cut through the sheets binding my hands. He stood on his back, fidgeted, and found a jagged piece of glass. Since I couldn't see what I was doing, I probably would have cut my hands too, but it couldn't be helped.
  
  
  He was sitting there sawing when one of the men came back.
  
  
  "Look at you," he said. It was Sid, who was sent by the Moose to get the car. "You stupid prick. It will take you an hour to free yourself like this."
  
  
  He heard Sheila's scream again, her voice filled with pain and terror. I gritted my teeth and worked on the chain, squeezing the piece of glass in my bleeding fingers. Until the man in the doorway stopped me, her, he kept trying to free himself.
  
  
  "The girl is telling you the truth. There's no point in torturing ee, " I said.
  
  
  "You don't understand Moose. Emu likes this kind of thing. Even if he trusted you, he probably would have done the same."
  
  
  "He must have taken a lot of hits in Florida when you fired on Abruz's cottage."
  
  
  "Yes, all four of them were lying there dead, and Moose snatched the shotgun from me and gave them another shot. Laughing all the time. He's a crazy bastard, that Moose." Sid said this in the tone of voice that most people would use if they said the other is the life of the company.
  
  
  He cut her knuckle and winced. "Why did you even give money to a girl?"
  
  
  "We had to hide ih. We couldn't turn up rich overnight, could we? For the sixth month, after their murders, any strange dollar that fell in the underworld was going to be reported to the people who run the mafia.."
  
  
  He'd almost forgotten the lie he'd told Moose about me being a professional hitman who'd been sent to take care of Sheila Brant. Its said: "I was just fulfilling a contract. I'm not in the mafia."
  
  
  "We broke two mafia laws. We stole some of ih's money and killed the honored capo. They're looking for us harder than the cops. And the girl, too. We thought we had a girlfriend and the money was hidden in a safe place, but she disappeared."
  
  
  The conversation gave me precious time, and my ego tried to prolong it. "She would like to know how you managed to find the girl. I thought I had an inner voice there."
  
  
  Sid came over to me. On the dell itself, he kicked me in the ribs. "Stop trying. You can't escape, buddy." He took out a revolver and fitted it with a silencer. "Moose always gives me a job that deals with emus that are not interesting. He gets the girl, and she gets you."
  
  
  I realized that he had come to the room to kill me. Assuming I was working for the mafia, they weren't going to let me live to tell my bosses what I realized. Her body was writhing on the floor towards math and with a gun, determined to get out, resisting. He just backed away, despising my futile attempts to reach him. I saw how little of the revolver was raised and pointed at me, like a cold and deadly eye. Falling on its side, it rolled toward the shooter, trying to get the ego out of the counterweights. He backed away again, but the gun didn't waver. Then he shot me.
  
  
  I heard the slam of the silenced weapon, and felt the gawk sink into my chest like a red-hot rivet. He shot me again. Its fallen
  
  
  
  
  
  The stab hurt when the second gawk hit my neck, but now it felt like I was a party to the vaults. The shot was like a bee sting, nothing more.
  
  
  I lay on my back, my shirt wobbly with blood, and watched Sid move toward me, his creeping feet making almost no sound. My vision was blurry. By the time he came up to me, he looked nothing more than a fuzzy shape.
  
  
  He put his foot on me and pushed me in the back. Hers looked at him helplessly. He drew the revolver again. Her, thought he would make a final coup, stare between her eyes, but he lowered his weapon. He decided to let me bleed to death.
  
  
  My eyes were fixed on the ceiling. I was paralyzed with weakness. Sid leaned over and unzipped my jacket to look at the wound on my chest. He seemed pleased. He's gone.
  
  
  I could barely see her now. Darkness crawled in the corners of my mind. He thought about Hawke and how he'd react when he found out he'd lost Killmaster. It seemed to her that he had planted a posthumous letter of commendation in my file before closing the ego for good - an epitaph for an agent killed in the line of duty.
  
  
  I thought of Pat Steele, the redhead, wishing me luck. It may take her a long time to learn that I followed N1 and N2 and David Kirby into the ranks of the unlucky ones. I thought of Kirby and Sheila Brant, and I told myself I'd let ih down by killing myself ....
  
  
  But then, like a swimmer rising for air, it burst through the blackness that enveloped me. I couldn't explain it, but I was still alive. My eyes rested on the ceiling and focused on nen. Her had no idea of the time, no idea how long her had been unconscious.
  
  
  The house was grimly silent. A weak Sergey entered the room as if it was dawn outside the window. The killers are gone, I thought I was alone.
  
  
  I heard her car. I could tell by the sound of the car's engine that it had stopped in front of the house. The car door slammed shut. I lay there and listened, hoping. The front door opened. Shaggy heard her in the living room. They moved toward the kitchen.
  
  
  He worked with his mouth, but didn't give us a sound. Hers was too weak. When she tried to move, the ceiling seemed to cave in, and she almost lost consciousness.
  
  
  Shaggy again, hard and heavy. A man appeared in the doorway and looked in. Nen was wearing a striped suit and hat. Hers was a sound, a strained grunt.
  
  
  He heard me. He came into the room and looked down at me. He saw her, cold gray eyes set in an expressionless, pock-marked face. Finally, he knelt down beside me. He took out a knife, cut the front of my shirt, and examined the wound. I couldn't tell if he was interested in helping me or just interested in how long I had left to live.
  
  
  "Who are you?" "No," he said at last. He had a faint Sicilian accent.
  
  
  My mouth formed a word. Harper's.
  
  
  He got up, went to the bathroom, and came back with his first-aid kit. He knew something about gunshot wounds. He quickly stopped my bleeding, then cut open the sheet and began wrapping strips of cordon around my chest like a bandage. He didn't pay attention to the wound on my neck, so hers was probably just a graze, and not serious enough to be a cause for concern.
  
  
  "Who shot you, Harper?"
  
  
  I shook my head, indicating that I didn't know. He was unable to talk about what had happened.
  
  
  He studied me for a moment, as if deciding what to do with me, then cut the strips of cordon cloth that bound my wrists and ankles. This ego-pock-marked face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't tell who-ego was.
  
  
  Getting up, he looked around the room once more, then left the house without speaking to me again. Her, heard ego's car start up and drive away.
  
  
  The name suddenly popped into my head. Valante. Marco Valante. Her ego saw a picture of her in the newspapers during an organized crime investigation by the Justice Department. According to reports, he was the only one around the people upstairs.
  
  
  When I saw her, I remembered that he had spent a few minutes in the kitchen before finding me, her, and I got up on all fours. Crawling took a lot of effort. It was slowly coming to life when my hand touched the address book. My fingers closed around it.
  
  
  I had to rest anyway. His bench press is on his side, fighting off dizziness, and Stahl is studying a book. It must have fallen out around one pocket around the intruders when we were struggling. Remembering how Moose's coat had torn it, he assumed the book belonged to Emu. Putting ego in a minute, its crawling again. I had to pause and rest three times before he finally made it to the kitchen.
  
  
  Stretching out in the doorway, he lifted her head and looked at Sheila, who was lying motionless beside the chair to which she was tied. The strips of cordon cloth that bound her still hung from the chair's arms and lower rungs.
  
  
  Her voice found its own. "Sheila?"
  
  
  It didn't surprise me that she didn't move or respond. But her name was croaked out again in a voice full of hurt and rage. Then he crawled up to her. Her fragile face was bruised and bloody. The bandits brutally killed them.
  
  
  He touched her outstretched wrist. It was cold. I closed my eyes for a minute, bringing it to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  keeping your emotions under control. Then he pulled himself up to the body.
  
  
  I saw that she was killed by a blow so hard that it broke her neck. The only one who could land such a blow was the Moose. Son of a bitch, I thought.
  
  
  I felt guilty for bringing her back, and I couldn't protect her. Hers was still alive, and she was dead. But the most powerful emotion that suddenly gripped me, filled me with determination, was rage. Her going out around this and getting Musa egos and friends, her thinking I'd do it not just for Dave Kirby, but for Sheila as well.
  
  
  Somewhere, I found more power than I thought I had. He reached out, grabbed the edge of the kitchen chair, and got to his feet. Swaying, she looked around and trudged to the window. He tore down the curtains and covered her naked body with them. He collapsed into a chair before he was strong enough to make his way into the living room and make the incredibly slow journey to the phone. He takes the phone off the hook and dials the operator's number.
  
  
  My croaking words didn't make much sense, but I managed to convey that I needed help. When Odin rounded up two Bonham police officers arrived at the house she was unconscious on the floor, the phone was clutched in my hand so tightly that the emu had difficulty freeing it.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was a novelty for the hospital staff in the county, near Bonham. They treated several gunshot wounds, except during the hunting season, when overworked athletes usually managed to shoot one or two other hunters, and I was additionally attracted to the fact that I was the happiest person they had ever met.
  
  
  "One gawk only tore the hole on your neck. You may get worse, I play touch football, " the doctor said. "But you were very lucky with what hit you in the chest." He picked up the shoulder holster she was wearing. "This slowed down the bullet's movement and strayed it from meeting your vital organs. Gawk went through the leather rigging and deviated from her trajectory. You bled out enough to make the shooter believe that he killed you.You're in luck, Mr. Harper."
  
  
  "Yeah," I said. I was lucky, but Sheila died.
  
  
  "Your good Samaritan also helped. He bandaged you beautifully. I wonder if he had any medical training."
  
  
  He chuckled when he heard mobster Marco Valante being called the Good Samaritan.
  
  
  The day and a half she spent in the hospital brought me back to normal. Hers was still weak, but felt close to par. The doctor said I can move around my room, and if all goes well, I can check out around the hospital during Sundays. He didn't know it, but he planned to informally check it out in thirty minutes.
  
  
  He went to the window and looked out at the hospital parking lot. A battered Ford with a boosted engine was waiting there. Her ego had brought her back from Bonham's this morning. Moose and ego comrades were away from me for almost two days. I wasn't going to let the ih trail get colder.
  
  
  "It's been a long time since a ferret has been seen by a man in your physical condition," the doctor said. The beating you received would make me leave you for a few days. But don't push yourself too soon. You may find that you are not as strong as you think."
  
  
  "I'll be careful, Doc." I didn't even think about what I was saying. Her, thinking about the Moose.
  
  
  After the doctor left through the wards, she took off her hospital gown and put on her street clothes. Gadget strapped on her bullet - scarred shoulder strap, his good luck charm, and checked the Luger .
  
  
  My plans were not agreed upon with Hawk. So far, we haven't had a chance to discuss the events in Bonham in detail. One day we were on the phone with them ferret as the police took me to the hospital, which was necessary because my arrival at the house with the murdered girl required some explanation.
  
  
  At the police station itself, Bonham threatened to arrest me. They were very upset about the fact that on the day of my arrival in ih city, there was an active recreation of fatalities. But Hawk pulled some strings, and suddenly there were no more questions, no more pressure. There were no articles in the newspapers either.
  
  
  He went out through the hospital and up the back stairs. It was quickly picked up in the parking lot as a long car turned off the highway and pulled up next to me. The door swung open and Hawk said, " Nick, I'm glad you're up."
  
  
  Hoping that I didn't look like a schoolboy caught on a hook, I listened to her ego signal and got into the limo.
  
  
  "I assume you were planning to call me. Of course, you wouldn't have left the hospital and started chasing again without telling me."
  
  
  "Of course not," I said.
  
  
  "Weren't you afraid that I would veto this idea and say that you are not in a position to pursue a pack of assassins?"
  
  
  "No, sir," he said, respect in his voice. "You know, I would quit my job if I didn't feel like I could handle it."
  
  
  "When you're too old for this job, Nick, I'll recommend you to the foreign service," Hawke sighed. "I was in Denver
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Since I suspected that you would pull something like this, I approached her. Would you like someone assigned to you as a backup? "
  
  
  "No, sir. I'd rather do it alone."
  
  
  Hawk slid the soundproof glass panel between us and the two men in the front seat.
  
  
  "This isn't just Kirby's spin anymore, is it, Nick?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "There is also a girl. But there's more to it than personal revenge. The person who leads the killers is a sadist who will continue to kill people if the ego is not stopped."
  
  
  Hawk flipped the panel in front of him and pulled out the tape recorder. He pressed the button. In an official voice, he said, " Give me the report, N3."
  
  
  I told her about the events that had taken place since my arrival in Bonham, and then Hawk went to the recorder. "This will take care of the official part. The rest of what is said is strictly between the two of us. I'll let you continue this on your own terms. Get those bastards out of here, Nick."
  
  
  "You do realize that our security was compromised at the base on the Carolina coast, don't you?"
  
  
  "I'll take care of it," Hawke said harshly.
  
  
  "I think the base was infiltrated by a mafia agent. They wanted the information we gathered about the girl, and they wanted the killers of Frank Abruz. They can't let the dissident room kill the person they promised safety and retirement to. This is a direct challenge and insult ."
  
  
  "I agree," Hawk said. "I've come to the same conclusions."
  
  
  "There are some missing pieces in the puzzle. For example, why a killer apparently working for the mafia tried to kill me, but Marco Valante helped me. Ask your mafia experts about it. Maybe they can come up with a theory."
  
  
  "Consider that, that it's done."
  
  
  "The people who killed Abruz and Kirby are now looking for their blood money. Her convinced that Sheila told them the truth and that she didn't know what happened to the money. They killed her for no good reason, except that it was a Moose that did the killing. Well, by the way, three, not four ."
  
  
  "What consequence should follow from here?" Hawk asked.
  
  
  "This address book that Moose dropped when we were fighting last night. There are seven names in it. I'm going to pay a visit to everyone around these people. Maybe the odina around them will lead me to the Moose."
  
  
  "If Moose and ego are accomplices or the mafia doesn't catch you first." Hawk flipped through the address book. "These are women's names, all of them."
  
  
  "And everyone in their own city. Moose has friends all over the map."
  
  
  "Her check on the FBI files. Maybe they can tell us something about Moose and ego friends. According to your description, it's about the size of a Jolly Green Giant. This is the beginning."
  
  
  He reached for the address book, but Hawke was in no hurry to return it: "Nick, this is more than a list of names. If it is a catalog of a sexual nature. Have you read all the comments Mousse wrote about the seven girls?"
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "Pretty juicy stuff."
  
  
  "He describes what everyone around them does best in the sexual sphere."Working in Los Angeles" sounds sensational."
  
  
  "Personally, I liked the recommendations he gave Cora in Vegas. Voice what I'll tell you, let you know how accurate the Moose records are."
  
  
  "You're a solid physical specimen, my boy, but I don't see how you could personally explore a subject, in depth, without exhausting yourself to the bone and bone," Hawke said in a cheerful voice. "For example, Barbara's beauty is such that even Moose couldn't describe it. He just underlined her name and put exclamation marks behind it."
  
  
  "Maybe he did it because she's a web virgin in this company."
  
  
  "I rather doubt that Moose knows virgins," Hawke said. "I guess I don't need to point out that all these girls are probably involved in the underworld, and will most likely be connected to bandits who won't hesitate to kill you if they suspect?"
  
  
  "It's going to be a fun trip, okay."
  
  
  Hawk closed the book and handed it to me. "What else, Nick? Is there anything holding you back?"
  
  
  "No," I lied. "Voting is all. I'll be in touch."
  
  
  He said my name again as he got out, around the car. "Sheila left a strong impression on you, didn't she? What was she like?"
  
  
  "I couldn't tell. I didn't know her that well."
  
  
  He didn't mention that one of the names in Moose's book might belong to a girl we knew as Sheila Brant. X couldn't pin a past on her, but Nah must have had one before she met Frank Abruz.
  
  
  She was haunted by the ghost of Sheila, as well as her killers.
  
  
  5
  
  
  If there was one major drawback to my job, apart from the number of hours I worked and the high mortality rate, it was that I had to spend more time in foreign countries than in my own.
  
  
  I haven't seen her, El Pueblo Nuestra Senora la Reinda de Los Angeles de Porciuncula, known to most around us as only Los Angeles, for two years. The city has not changed completely for the better. The climate, so similar to that of the Mediterranean countries, was still beautiful, and so were the girls. But traffic and smog increased.
  
  
  When I made my way to the phone booth of the pharmacy, I was wondering how it works
  
  
  
  
  
  which deals ranked the first page of a sexy Who's Who Moose, will be compared to some around drunk people sitting by a soda fountain waiting for ih to be discovered. The great American dream of fame never dies.
  
  
  When Trudu asked for her, a woman's voice answered, sounding disappointed. "I'll call hey." While I was waiting for her, I looked at the girls ' feet by the soda fountain and opened the door of the kiosk so that she could use the air conditioner. The days were getting hotter and she was wearing very bandages on her chest.
  
  
  The voice of the Labors seemed sultry, but perhaps my opinion was influenced by Elk ee's brief description of talents in the bedroom. When she was told by hey that the other one suggested I contact her, she invited me to drop by. It was as simple as falling off a bar stool. "I'm crazy about making new friends," she said.
  
  
  I soon discovered the reason for it. Meeting new people was Hard work. She worked in a brothel. She led me up the stairs, clinging to my arm and talking in a blue stripe.
  
  
  "You are highly recommended. "I got your number from Moose," I said.
  
  
  "Moose? Oh, of course." She dragged me into the room, and pulled down the zipper on my pants while hers was still looking around. "I must examine you, my dear, and take a good bath. The lady I work for says that cleanliness is next to prosperity."
  
  
  Her dodged her clever trick. "She must be a real philosopher. I'd love to meet her again sometime."
  
  
  "No, you wouldn't be Stahl. It's as cold as adding up a loan shark's dollar. Most madams are cold. They, the movies where they have hearts of gold , are big Hollywood bullshit. What's the matter with you, dear? touched it? "
  
  
  At least she'd found someone to talk to, I thought. If he had asked her how to get to the stadium, she probably would have added the baseball club's roster and last year's record.
  
  
  Trudila snuggled up to me. She was a big girl, blonde through a beauty salon, and had a lot of plastering to do forever. Her nipples were like bullets in my chest.
  
  
  "What happened to your face, honey?" She touched the incision at the edge of my lip, the stitches the doctor had inserted in my head. "You look like you fell into a concrete mixer."
  
  
  "I had an accident*
  
  
  "I'm sorry."Her hand grabbed me again. "Oh, you're a real man, aren't you?"
  
  
  She probably said this to all her clients, but it doesn't make much sense to make it sound like she mistletoe meant it. I hurriedly stepped back and started to unzip it, knowing that if Hawk saw me now, he would laugh.
  
  
  "I want to ask you about the Moose. When was the last time you saw ego?"
  
  
  "I really don't remember. Is that why you came here, to find out where the Elk is in the hall?"
  
  
  "You're a smart girl. You saw through me right away, didn't you?" She flattered with all her might. "I'm looking for a big clown. We lost contact, you know what I mean?"
  
  
  She leaned in to lick me, and wrapped her left arm around my waist. Her right hand found my zipper again. She was faster than a pickpocket. "Since you are here, you can enjoy visiting. What excites you?"
  
  
  Ee grabbed her arm and turned her palm up. They put three twenties in her curled fingers. "Tell me about Moose."
  
  
  Her friendliness abruptly faded. She carefully finished the bills and stuffed an ih into my waistband: "I sell sex, not information."
  
  
  "Moose and I are old friends. But we lost contact, as I said. Look, he gave me your number, didn't he?"
  
  
  "You could have lied about it. Anyway, I don't remember the last time I saw a moose, and I'm not sure where it is. Even if he's your long-lost brother, I don't want to talk about nen."
  
  
  He got her two more twenties, folded all five of them, and stuffed them into her low-cut blouse. "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "I'm absolutely sure. Moose likes to confuse people, and he's good at it. No one talks about nen with strangers."
  
  
  "Give me your old address, even your phone number. I won't tell you where her ego got it."
  
  
  She fumbled between her big breasts and pulled out the bills. She smoothed out ih wrinkles. "I haven't seen ego for months, maybe even a year. Honestly. And I never knew her address. He used to come here from time to time, that's all."
  
  
  "He had a name, didn't he?"
  
  
  "I thought you were an ego buddy. Friends know the names of another one." She threw the bills at me, and they fell to the floor. "You don't even look like his friend. You look too honest. Take the bribe and fight it off."
  
  
  After failing to negotiate, he tried a more direct approach. He pulled back her jacket so she could see the Luger in its leather scabbard. "I need a name, Worked."
  
  
  She licked her lower lip. "Are you Kopp?"
  
  
  "No, just a man looking for a Moose."
  
  
  "Jones is an ego name." She laughed nervously. "You probably don't believe me, but it's true. The ego's name is Edward Jones. And that's all I can tell you."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, approaching the day. "You can leave a bribe."
  
  
  I waited outside the house for three hours, collapsed on the car seat and tried to look inconspicuous. Hers was near the house
  
  
  
  
  
  He was about to fill himself up with character analysis when Trudy finally showed up and hailed a taxi.
  
  
  Carter, I thought, it's a good thing you're not a trusting soul.
  
  
  I took a taxi that took me across town to a cheap apartment building. I followed her inside just in time to see her climb the stairs. At the end of a long hallway, a busty blonde knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she knocked harder. Then she turned and saw me, and her eyes widened at the flag of permission to perform.
  
  
  "There was no truth in your story," Hi told her, " but I got the value of my money. You brought me here."
  
  
  "Smart as a tailor, isn't it?" she spat.
  
  
  Her tried the door. "Obviously, the Moose is not at home. What do you suggest we do about it?"
  
  
  She ran to the next flight of stairs. He chased her to the roof and cornered her. She struggled and scratched my face, tried to knee me in the groin, and called out a few obscenities I hadn't heard in years. Given my very diverse travels, that said a lot about her vocabulary.
  
  
  Ee pulled her by the wrists and pinned her to the edge of the roof. "Now let's hear the truth about Moose."
  
  
  "You won't push me away. He would, but you won't."
  
  
  "Don't count on it, Trudila. Moose killed my friend and fucked the girl to death. Her ego will find her, and I don't care what I do along the way."
  
  
  She was breathing heavily. "Is it true about the girl? Are you up to par?"
  
  
  "The girl's name was Sheila. Have you ever heard Moose mention her?"
  
  
  "Never. And I haven't seen her - ego lately. He lived in an apartment when Ego knew her. I thought he might know what your ego is looking for. This is the web reason why it was created. I swear it is."
  
  
  "Is he calling himself Edward Jones, or are you making that up?"
  
  
  "He used that name when his ego knew. He probably used a dozen more. If you don't believe me, go back inside and ask the other girls. They will tell you the same thing. He's a burglar. He boasted that he had done some great things."
  
  
  Ee released her. "Great."
  
  
  "Can I go now?"
  
  
  "Fly away," I said.
  
  
  Trudila glanced back as she reached the stairs.
  
  
  "He inserted it to death?"
  
  
  "Yeah," I said. My voice was hoarse.
  
  
  I discovered that the cheap lock on the day of the apartment is easy to open. The rooms were empty, the furniture dusty. The last inhabitant left quite a long time ago. I looked around in disgust. Hers, hoping for more.
  
  
  The company was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I tried not to show my execution permission flag when I saw ee.
  
  
  "What you said made me think," Trude said.
  
  
  "Did it?"
  
  
  "I mean about the girl. Was she your girlfriend?"
  
  
  "No, I told her. "But she didn't deserve to die like this."
  
  
  "I can't tell you more about Moose than I've already told her. But I can give you another name. Do you know how carnivores work? maybe they go to someone in the mafia or a guy who finances robberies with some of the loot. There's a man in Los Angeles named Haskell. Money to rob ."
  
  
  "Thank You, I Worked Hard."
  
  
  "Forget it. And that's what I mean. Forget what I told you."
  
  
  The sign on Haskell's day said he was in real estate. The thick carpet in the hallway indicated that he was making money from it, or part-time work. My voluptuous secretary gave me a smile full of teeth and no sincerity, and told me that Mr. Haskell doesn't see anyone without an appointment.
  
  
  "How do I get an appointment?"
  
  
  She showed her teeth again. It was supposed to advertise toothpaste. "If a person doesn't know Mr. Haskell, they know him on rare medical terms."
  
  
  "I know Edward Jones," I said. "Will it be enough?"
  
  
  She gathered up a few papers and went in to give the name to her boss in private. When she came back, she said that Mr. Haskell was very busy today and, as it turned out, had never heard of Edward Jones.
  
  
  "In other words, I have to leave."
  
  
  The smile bloomed again, this time twenty-four carats. "You got it, Buster."
  
  
  A black Cadillac sat at the curb as it exited her around the building on California's sunny holy day. Behind the wheel was a uniformed driver with a face that looked like someone from the second floor.
  
  
  Her, leaned in to talk to him as mimmo "Caddy" passed by. "You should not wear a tailored uniform. This makes the bulge under your arm stand out like a bump on a tire."
  
  
  He grinned and patted the bulge. "Voice where I carry my recommendations."
  
  
  He parked it half a block away and waited. The driver had obviously come to Haskell. Ten minutes later, a plump man who looked like he was carrying a watermelon under his coat appeared and got into the car.
  
  
  When Caddy passed it, he fell behind. Our goal was a posh suburban country club. The fat man was a golfer. He spent most of the day watching it through binoculars. He had the drive of an old woman. By the time he finally trudged back to the club, she was a victim of serious boredom.
  
  
  It's time to make a move. I picked up my binoculars and went to the parking lot
  
  
  
  
  
  . Moving behind a row of cars, her father walked up behind the driver, who was leaning against the hood of the Caddy with his arms crossed.
  
  
  "Hello," I said softly.
  
  
  He spun around and was slammed into the ego's solar plexus with a pair of blatant punches. Ego pulled it between two cars so we wouldn't attract attention, and then hit ego again. Ego's eyes rolled back like marble, and ego's clumsy hand slid limply from the buttons of his jacket.
  
  
  "Let's take a look at your recommendations," he said, and tugged hard on his jacket. Buttons rained down on the side of the Cadillac. It came out of the holster under his arm with a .38-caliber pistol.
  
  
  "We'll wait for your boss now," emu told her.
  
  
  When Haskell came out through the club, the driver was sitting stiffly behind the wheel. The ego of the rack was because of the gun that stuck it in the emu's neck from behind.
  
  
  "Max, what's wrong with you?" Haskell asked, licking his lips.
  
  
  "His life hurts," I said. Her foot pushed open the right-hand car door. "Sit down, Mr. Haskell."
  
  
  The fat man looked at me from the backseat. He had a smooth golf tan, but now he looked a little pale. "That doesn't support your judgment," he muttered. "I'm a person with some influence."
  
  
  I waited for her for a long time, and I was tormented by impatience. "Get in the car, Mr. Haskell, or I'll spill some of your chauffeur's blood on those expensive Zhirinovsky leather seats."
  
  
  He got into the car and leaned back, grumbling. Putting his plump fingers together, he said ," You'd better have a very good reason for this action."
  
  
  "Success breeds confidence, Mr. Haskell," I said. "I'm not a cheap thug, and I don't care how important you are to me."
  
  
  Ego's small eyes shifted uneasily, but he kept his composure. "I assume that you are the person who claims to be a friend of Edward Jones."
  
  
  "I didn't say that his ego is different. I told her I knew him. I want to share with you some information about where to find Mr. Jones."
  
  
  "We never exchanged addresses."
  
  
  I saw no reason to treat Haskell with white gloves. Despite his chauffeur-driven Cadillac, ego-strewn office, and country club membership, he was nothing more than a sophisticated thug. He pinned her like a revolver to her ego's kneecap. The sharp blow caused an attack of pain.
  
  
  "Who the hell are you, tailor?" online hotel to know.
  
  
  "I'm the man who gave you the corkscrew question about Edward Jones."
  
  
  "He hasn't been to Los Angeles in months. I haven't had anything to do with him for longer than that."
  
  
  "Who works with Jones? He has a couple of friends that he uses in his work. I want to know ih names."
  
  
  He grimaced and rubbed every tribe. "If you knew this person as well as you know her, you wouldn't be interested in looking for it. . He likes to kill people."
  
  
  "That's why I'm looking for her ego."
  
  
  "I can't tell you about ego friends because I dealt with it alone. He was very careful about such details. He stopped coming to me for funding because he found another patron. Someone in the Organization, I think."
  
  
  Its out, around the car. Another zero. A wasted day, except for the pleasure of getting to know Mr. Haskell better, which I could have done without.
  
  
  "Aren't you going to tell me who you are?" Haskell asked.
  
  
  "Why should I? You didn't tell me anything."
  
  
  She was thrown by Ego by the driver's gun in a trash can on the street.
  
  
  He'd called Hawke from his motel room that night. "Let's compare notes," I said as he came to the line.
  
  
  "I have some information about the man who tried to kill you at the Bonham hotel. First of all, ego's real name was Della Coogan. He had a police record. He was a mercenary, one of the best. The FBI seemed a little surprised that you were able to overcome ego." There was a note of satisfaction in Hawke's voice.
  
  
  "Who gave their emu the orders?"
  
  
  "He was an independent contractor. He was hired by anyone who could pay the emu a high fee. The FBI claims that he was not part of the mafia's regular salary."
  
  
  "What about Valante?"
  
  
  "He was Frank Abruz's closest friend."
  
  
  "I'm afraid I don't have much. There's no moose in Los Angeles."
  
  
  Hawk cleared his throat. Did she survive to exhibit a?"
  
  
  There was no doubt about it. My boss had a dirty old man streak.
  
  
  Six
  
  
  Her early bench press went to bed and slept until dawn. For me, this is the only transmission of a hissing sound. His eyes narrowed, and he lay listening, his fingers gripping the handle of the luger. Then I felt a sudden rush of warmth to my face.
  
  
  Tossing the sheet aside, she turned and fell to the floor, crouching, Wilhelmina in her hand. Orange flames licked the wall of my motel room. The hiss I heard was due to the curtains on the glass doors to the patio catching fire. They were already curling up into black tinder, and the fire was burning with moans.
  
  
  She was grabbed by a fire extinguisher moaning in the hall and shivered in the heat as he entered the room. The fire extinguisher quickly extinguished the flames. I won it, but if I had slept five minutes longer, it would have been different.
  
  
  The fire extinguisher dropped it, picked up the Luger again, and tore it off.
  
  
  
  
  
  charred curtains. Someone had made a neat hole in the glass wall and reached out to light the curtains. It was a great professional job. As I stood admiring the hole, a gawk broke through the door near my head. Her, heard as gawk passed mimmo and hit the far wall. A moment later, he was lying on the floor.
  
  
  The gunman hid behind a low brick wall on the other side of the enclosed patio and pool area. In the dim light, I could see her, little ego of the gun, as he pushed ego through the wall. Since he didn't hear the shot, the rifle must be equipped with a silencer. This man was a pro at everything except that he missed my head by six inches. Maybe it shifted a little when he pulled the trigger.
  
  
  I didn't return the emu's fire because I couldn't see the ego clearly. He couldn't reach me either. We played a waiting game, everyone around us hoping for a discovery. Ego's patience has surpassed mine. I decided to move her. Embracing the floor, her, began to retreat.
  
  
  When he was farther away from the door, he stood up. He pulled on her trousers. He trotted down the carpeted hallway, barefoot, and up the stairs to the first-second floor of the motel. If I'm lucky, I can shoot him from above, I thought. But when he reached the railing of the second-floor balcony, he disappeared around his hiding place.
  
  
  The clumps of brush on the motel grounds provided good cover, but the gunslinger had to dart between them. I'll see his ego sooner or later. He was waiting for her, shivering slightly in the cool air. Apart from my trousers, I was wearing only a bandage around my chest.
  
  
  I finally noticed a hunched figure running away from me. Before he could shoot him, he jumped to the far corner of the building.
  
  
  He quickly descended the steps, ran past the mimmo row of coin-operated drink vending machines, and flew out into the parking lot. My man was retreating. He climbed over the wire fence and jumped into a car parked on the side of the road outside the motel. He took the bike and sped off.
  
  
  He could have shot her, but that probably wouldn't have stopped him, and he didn't want to draw a crowd. Her walked back to her room, ask yourself the obvious corkscrew. How does a potential killer know where to find me?
  
  
  Then I left her, drove down the highway, and drove across town to the house where I met Works.
  
  
  A burly Chinese man met me at the door. I didn't see her, " Ego said on his first visit, and I didn't regret it. It was built like a tractor and didn't look friendly.
  
  
  "What do you want at this time of day?" "What is it?" he asked angrily.
  
  
  "Too early for business?"
  
  
  "If you don't have an appointment. But you don't."
  
  
  I leaned my shoulder against the wall as he tried to close it in front of my face. Emu smiled at her. "Tell Trud that someone else has come to see her."
  
  
  "The plant doesn't see anyone today."
  
  
  "You're wrong about that," emu told her. "She sees me."
  
  
  "Mister, don't try to treat me harshly. I can throw you in the next block."
  
  
  "Maybe you could. But when I get back, I'll have to show you hell."
  
  
  He threw back his head and laughed like an outboard engine. "I used to be a professional wrestler. The mighty Shan, Terror of the East, though its born openly here in Los Angeles. Have you ever watched wrestling on TV?"
  
  
  "I try not to do that."
  
  
  "Listen, tough guy, I only work here. But I won't deliver your message if you want to wait."
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  "It's all right. You're entertaining me."
  
  
  He let me in and walked away, still chuckling. He entered the back room on the first floor, closing the door behind him. I heard her voices, one female. While waiting for her, I wondered why the girl who was engaged yesterday was so accessible, today so difficult to see.
  
  
  A blonde woman appeared on the stairs Truda had taken me up the day before. She was very similar to Trud, except that she was younger and heavier in the hips. She was wearing a negligee that hardly mattered.
  
  
  Yawning and stretching, she called out to me ," What do you need, honey?" Her tone of voice indicated that whatever it was, she knew where I could get it.
  
  
  The horror of the East returned and was interrupted. "Get lost," he growled at the girl. Obviously, the ego was no longer amused. He jerked his thumb at me. "Come on, tough guy."
  
  
  He entered a room where the blinds were drawn tightly against the sun. Cheap odorous substances polluted the air, and the furniture was a mix of tikka and Hollywood grotesque. The big Chinese man closed the door behind me, and I heard the lock click.
  
  
  The woman waiting for me didn't look like Trudy at all. She was in her mid-thirties, and must have had an Oriental ancestry somewhere. Her eyes were slightly slanted, and her skin had a mistletoe yellowish tinge. Her black hair was cut close to the target. A sparkling tangerine skirt clung to her slender body, and her long nails were painted in a receptive area. In the dark room, her eyes shone like the eyes of a Siamese cat curled up in Nah's lap.
  
  
  "Is that him, Alida?" Shan asked.
  
  
  "Of course it's him."
  
  
  "You don't
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The other one's working, mister. He grabbed my sleeve, scooping up a handful of ego with his thick fingers.
  
  
  The cat in the woman's lap looked up as if it had heard the threat. Ego's tiny tongue slid over the ego chops.
  
  
  "Wait a minute," I said. "What is the reason for the dislike?"
  
  
  The woman patted the cat and laughed as she looked at me. "I run this house. You came here yesterday under false pretenses. You've caused us trouble."
  
  
  "What's the problem?"
  
  
  "The worst kind. Trudila made the mistake of not telling me about you in the first place. I won't let you see her again. This case you're involved in is none of her business."
  
  
  The Chinese man put a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Is it mine now?"
  
  
  "Not yet," Emu Alida said. She pointed a long fingernail at me. "You got to the girl, saying that the Moose fell the woman to death. Maybe you lied. Maybe you have other reasons to look for an ego."
  
  
  "What would they be?"
  
  
  "For example, two hundred thousand dollars."
  
  
  It was only a tailspin of time before she released Shan against me, and I wasn't going to leave without talking to Bothered. So, with a furious backward movement, he slammed his elbow into Shang's hard stomach. He grunted, which hurt, and asked for permission to perform.
  
  
  Turning, I hit her ego with my knee. Ego's face was anything but mysterious. Lines of pain ran across Ego's eyes, and he bent over like a club-footed man trying to hold a walnut between his knees.
  
  
  When he reached for me, he feinted and then hit his ego with the edge of his right hand. The blow that split the board caught the emu in the side of its thick neck. Ego's eyes are bulging and his breath is whistling through his teeth. Catching ego in his coat, he yanked her ego out of the counterweights and threw it on his hips. He fell to the floor like a piano dropped from two floors.
  
  
  Luger pulled it out. "Where Does He Work?"
  
  
  Alida stood up and threw the cat in my face. She dodged, and the Siamese flew past mimmo, belching out rage. He landed on Shang's back and started to make his way up. The Chinese tried to push the ego away, and the cat sank its claws into the man's head.
  
  
  Poor Shan screamed loud enough to break the glass.
  
  
  He tapped the cat lightly on the back with a Luger. He meowed and jumped to the nearest table.
  
  
  "Are you all right?" Shana asked her, but he wasn't listening. He turned to Aliide, and she opened a drawer, a chair. I had the idea that the lady wasn't looking for a guestbook for me. Ee grabbed her by the back of her tight dress, and it tore as she writhed. When she turned around, Nah was holding a .38 Beretta.
  
  
  She called me by a name that was not known from her Chinese ancestors. It was a 100% American checkmate. Before she could pull the trigger, she was hit on the wrist by a heavy Luger, and the Beretta popped out of her fingers and hit the wall.
  
  
  Her inserted luger tip is candid between her hate-filled eyes. "Was there a corkscrew in where He works?"
  
  
  Alida led me upstairs. The girl was sitting on the bed playing solitaire. She looked at me grimly. "Look who's here. My mascot."
  
  
  "I tried to keep my ego away from you. Take my advice and don't tell him anything," Alida said.
  
  
  I had a one-day black eye at the Factory. He walked over to her and lifted her chin. "Who worked for you?"
  
  
  "A guy named Oscar. Oscar Snodgrass."
  
  
  "I don't think it was an ego name."
  
  
  "There are rumors that a mafia capo was killed and some of the mafia's money was stolen. The moose is wild enough to pull such a stunt. And you came looking for a Moose. Alicia says it's a strange coincidence."
  
  
  "I'm not interested in money. I told you why I need a Moose."
  
  
  The girl looked at Alida. "What will I do? I believe her emu."
  
  
  "I was on my way to see Haskell. He didn't tell me anything I needed to know. But someone tried to kill me, and now I find you and this good-natured madam here in suspense. What's the story, Working?"
  
  
  It ended with the cards in a pile on the bed. "Alida, her name is emu."
  
  
  Then hurry up. Her, I want him out of here. I don't want any more trouble with the mafia."
  
  
  "Two men came here last night," Trude said. "I can't give you ih names, but I can tell you who they work for."
  
  
  "Mafia".
  
  
  "A vote of confidence. They knew you were there to see me. Oni hotels know what you needed. The short freak hit me, and I was scared. I told emu you were looking for a Moose."
  
  
  I thought they were following me. Ih brought her here, just as he brought her to Idaho. They were patient and persistent, and now they knew what they didn't know before, that the Moose was an ih robber.
  
  
  "They'll burn you," Alida said. "I hope they burn you well."
  
  
  Her, went down the stairs. The powerful Shan gripped the arms of a chair and grimaced as a blond man in a negligee applied emu iodine to his hair. The Siamese cat sat licking its paw and laughed as it looked at me as mimmo passed it. "Sweet kitty," I said. He was the real terror of the East.
  
  
  Seven
  
  
  Hers, left Los Angeles at ten o'clock in the morning in the south. The middle name in Moose's little black book was Teresa, and Teresa was in San Diego. I was hoping to talk to her both ends of the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  The race has begun. The Mafia knew almost as much as I knew her. They'll send soldiers to hunt down the Moose. My only advantage was a small black book with seven names on it.
  
  
  I was looking in the rearview mirror, trying to see the car that was going to follow me. I thought it was a brown sedan, a Buick. The driver tried to confuse me: he let the other car get between us for a while, and when it slowed down, he sped several miles ahead.
  
  
  While he was there, he turned off the main road and onto the first available side road. I drove up to the service station and told the attendant to fill up the Ford and check under the hood. He opened it, went inside, and opened a soft drink.
  
  
  The brown Buick arrived before the attendant had even finished checking the oil. There were two men in the front seat. One of them turned to look at the Fords, but they kept going. They were still hoping that nu hadn't noticed.
  
  
  Still holding the bottle of drink in his hand, he went out the side door of the station and up the hill behind it. The attendant called out to me, but I kept walking. He stopped in a clump of trees and squatted down. I could see her clearly at the station, but no one saw me there.
  
  
  The driver of the brown car was idling, waiting for her to reappear. When he didn't, he turned and came back.
  
  
  I finished it and watched the attendant pull the hood of the Ford off. Ego was puzzled by my behavior, but he had my car. He wasn't worried about my bills running out.
  
  
  The Buick was back. The two thugs consulted the man for a moment. He pointed in the direction I was going. The mafiosi discussed it. Then they ran up the mountain. They were afraid that I had abandoned the Ford and was trying to get away from them."
  
  
  Come on, boys, I thought.
  
  
  As they approached, Licking, panting and cursing, slipped behind a tree. The taller man was in better shape. He was three steps ahead of his companion. He ran mimmo of my hiding place, running along the edge of the thicket. A short man called after the emu, "Hi, Joe. Slow down. Do you think this is the Olympic Games?"
  
  
  Holding the bottle with the bottle on a small thread, her walked out from behind the tree. "Hello, shorty," I said.
  
  
  He stopped as if he'd stumbled on a clothesline. "Joe!" he shouted.
  
  
  She was hit in the head by his ego with an empty beer bottle, and he collapsed in a heap.
  
  
  Joe paused. He looked back and saw me coming toward him. Ego's hand flashed under his coat, then reappeared with a .45-caliber pistol. Then he hesitated. He didn't fire.
  
  
  I didn't ask her why he was holding the fire. Her, grabbed it.
  
  
  The bandit wrapped his legs around me and kicked me in the head .45. We rolled on the wild grass and bushes while we wrestled. Ego grabbed her wrist and yanked. Her ego broke her. The sound was like the crack of a dry club. The bandit groaned. Her ego hit him twice and he crawled away.
  
  
  He stood up and knocked the Luger out of my hand. Her ego hit her. He stood up again, his broken wrist dangling, and hit me with his good hand. He was cool. He kept coming. In the end, it was thrown by ego with a right cross.
  
  
  His perseverance was amazing. He struggled to his feet again.
  
  
  Its tired. It was the biggest thing I applied to myself, with them ferrets like me getting shot, and I felt like my energy was being drained. Compared to Joe, the Powerful Shan was an easy target.
  
  
  "The game is over," emu told her. Hugo slid into my hand. "I've been saving you for conversations, but I might change my mind."
  
  
  The sun saint glinted on the stiletto blade as hers moved towards him. Joe held up his good hand. "I'm not going to take that thing away from you. Let's talk."
  
  
  "Who worked on Trudu around you?"
  
  
  "The guy you beat up. But I would do it. Business is business."
  
  
  Lizzie came up to her and put a knife blade to her ego's Adam's apple. "Who's your boss?"
  
  
  "Valante. Marco Valante".
  
  
  "And what was the last thing you had to tell him?"
  
  
  "That you're looking for a robber named Moose. We got this from a girl. Valante told us to stay with you."
  
  
  He gathered up the weapon, tucked Ego's .45 into his belt, sheathed the stiletto, and led Ego back to the Door with the Luger on his back.
  
  
  Joe looked at his partner. "He's going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow. Valante warned us that you were no small thing."
  
  
  "How long have you been following me?"
  
  
  "We found you in Los Angeles, but with them ferrets, as you checked out around the hospital, someone was on you. Valante continued to change the army."
  
  
  Valante was a clever man. If he had stuck to one group of soldiers, ih would have noticed it.
  
  
  Shorty flipped her over and pulled the pistol out of its ego shoulder holster. Her, straightened up and looked at Joe, assuming as much as he knew. He was a young, handsome Italian, neatly and expensively dressed. I couldn't believe that he was just an ordinary bandit. He was too cool, too cool, standing with a broken wrist hanging down, but holding back any signs of pain other than the lines around the ego of his dark eyes.
  
  
  "I'm flattered that Valante put your talent on my tail. You must be ego number one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "I was until it happened. Maybe I won't be here anymore."
  
  
  "Who killed Meredith?" It was asked by corkscrew suddenly, hoping to get a reaction that wouldn't tell me if he was lying.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed in confusion. He pressed his broken wrist to his stomach, shivering slightly. "Who's Meredith?"
  
  
  "He worked at a service station in Idaho. Someone cut the emu's throat."
  
  
  "Not her. I don't know anyone. Valante was in Idaho, but he didn't see any action. When he got there, it was all over. from bleeding to death ."
  
  
  "He was useful to me. He wants to know what she knows."
  
  
  This also worked. Emu had to wait for her to come out around the hospital and let me untie the reins, but the ego boys stayed with me long enough to get the Moose name. In the current state of affairs, my trip to Los Angeles was more profitable for the mafia than for me. Hawke won't be happy about that.
  
  
  "Valante may have his own reason to help you keep you alive," Joe said. "I wouldn't kill Stahl's ego."
  
  
  "Would you like to enjoy the same privilege?"
  
  
  "Alive, you mean?" He laughed nervously. "I've answered all your questions, man. What else do you want?"
  
  
  "You haven't told me any big secrets yet. "Valante wouldn't mind being known, given the circumstances. Difficult questions arise." She was taken out by a Luger emu in the dollar stack. "Now think carefully. How does Valante even know about me?"
  
  
  "He went to the board meeting, the top management of the Organization. They were talking about the murder of Frank Abruz. Your name was put on the chair. The board voted to refer the case to Valante. He had a special interest. He and Abruz were close."
  
  
  "There was another man in Bonham, Idaho. He went there to hit the girl. He tried to kill me." The Luger held her motionless, still aiming the emu at the folded dollar. "What do you know about Coogan?"
  
  
  "The ego Mafia didn't send it. They sent Valante."
  
  
  "What will Valante do now?"
  
  
  "I can't read your mind, man." Joe began to speak in a harder voice. "I can guess, in part. He will ask for a board meeting. He'll call out the Moose's name. That word will go to every family in the country, and they'll start scouring places where the crazy bastard might be hiding."
  
  
  "I take it you heard about Moose before Labor gave you the ego name."
  
  
  "Just gossip. Let's talk about the profession. He's a psychopath. These days, the Organization tries to stay away from his type. That's why it acts on its own. But the rumors about this guy are all over the place."
  
  
  "That's good, Joe. You've helped me a lot." My lips parted from my teeth in a cold smile. "It remains to touch on one more point. Who around you tried to kill me this morning?"
  
  
  "Her, or Shorty, you mean? Valante told us to stay with you, but we didn't have orders to kill. We didn't do that."
  
  
  "Don't lie to me, Joe. This man was a professional, just like you."
  
  
  Joe was sweating. "There's a wild card somewhere in this deck. Meredith, Coogan isn't someone I don't know about. The board of directors didn't want Abruz's girlfriend to die before she sang them a song. I told you my orders from Valante. He said stay with this guy Carter, he's smart, he can help us find the Moose. He said he wouldn't connect you unless it became absolutely necessary. Didn't I have a chance just recently? "
  
  
  "Yeah," I said. "Of course you did. And you're right. There is a wild card in the deck."
  
  
  It's been there since Bonham's time. A man who knew what the mafia knew, and knew a great deal about it. The man who hired Coogan cut Meredith's throat and set a trap for me in the motel. A luger lowered it and left Joe and Ego unconscious on the hillside. It was paid for by a wide-eyed maintenance worker with gasoline, which he poured into the Ford. Then the hood of the Buick lifted him up and ripped out the wiring.
  
  
  "They'll be right there," I said. But they didn't leave the station in time to catch up with me.
  
  
  He drove the remaining 110 miles to San Diego when the speedometer needle was at the limit. By midday it was within sight of the bay. Circling gulls swim stylishly and gracefully in the wind.
  
  
  While hers was rushing to have lunch, hers was making his own plans. I had to call Hawke. There was something that his hotel wanted him to check the security sources.
  
  
  But first there was Teresa, who also inspired the second glowing passage on the Black Book of Musa. By now, he knew by heart all the phone numbers around the world that he dialed. Teresa and spoke to the woman in a whisky voice.
  
  
  "Do you want a date with Teresa?"
  
  
  "Yes, supposedly." Corkscrew didn't surprise me. There was a good chance that every girl in the book was a prostitute or call girl.
  
  
  "Do you have any special personal tastes, dear?"
  
  
  "I'd rather not discuss ih over the phone."
  
  
  She laughed and gave me the address. It was in a run-down neighborhood, not far from the waterfront, in the middle of a street that didn't look as attractive as a prison building.
  
  
  Her locked the door of the Ford as I got out around the car, wondering if even this updated safety car would provide it when I got back. This block
  
  
  
  
  
  it wasn't a part of the city where men go to church.
  
  
  The building he approached was an eyesore that should have been demolished years ago, but the buzzer installed in the worn-out door frame was working. The yellow-haired woman looked out, then looked around the street as if to make sure I hadn't brought a paddy wagon.
  
  
  "I called," I said. "I came to see Teresa."
  
  
  She was suspicious. Maybe he didn't look like her usual customer. "You're not alone, around Teresa's regular friends."
  
  
  "I would love to be one around them. I've heard a lot about her."
  
  
  The woman decided to smile. His teeth weren't the best. Her yellow hair was dyed long ago, and not very well, and her eyebrows were made up like bat wings. She opened the door wider for mimmo to squeeze through, then slid the bolt back.
  
  
  "Are you expecting a raid?"
  
  
  "You never know these days. It's not easy to earn an honest living anymore."
  
  
  He was sure that she knew nothing at all about making an honest living, or even about those who did. She was wearing white boots, tight slacks, and a sweater blouse with zebra stripes pulled tight over her ample breasts. Her blouse was decorated with large nipples like rocks.
  
  
  "You're a good boy," she said, running her eyes over me. "I'll keep the money, you're really cute."
  
  
  I've been called anything, but never sweet. Her forced a grin, to play a role dictated by circumstances. This woman definitely wasn't around them who would be interested in giving out information to a stranger.
  
  
  "And the voice and the Rondo," she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers were the size of a sausage.
  
  
  The man came out a day later at the foot of the stairs leading to the first second floor of the house. The sleeves of ego's shirt were cut off and exposed his broad shoulders. Metal studs glinted on his wide belt. Ego's pants fit as snugly as the woman's, exposing the bulges on his powerful legs. He had the face of the moon, and there was fat at the corners of his small eyes.
  
  
  "Tell us what you want Teresa to do for you, dear," he offered, baring teeth that were in even worse shape than the woman's.
  
  
  He felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck. Hers wasn't in an ordinary brothel. There seemed to be no one in the house but the three of us and a girl I hadn't seen before.
  
  
  "Her hotel should have seen her first."
  
  
  "She's a beautiful chick. You won't be disappointed."
  
  
  "Let him come up, Rondo," the woman said. "It's a reasonable request."
  
  
  Rondo shook his head. "I have a feeling that he is a bell ringer. He didn't give you any recommendations, did he?"
  
  
  "Moose," I said. "Moose gave me Teresa's number."
  
  
  "Good name." He held out his hand. "Lay fifty candid here. It's like paying for a cover story. Working for fifty dollars is the cheapest trick this chick can use."
  
  
  Her hand crossed his ego, and he came up the creaking stairs to talk to Teresa, then waved at me from the landing. "She says get up."
  
  
  The first thing I saw when I opened the bedroom door was a lot of whips and belts laid out on the wooden table. The second thing was a girl. She was really beautiful.
  
  
  "What's your name, darling?" she said in a hoarse voice.
  
  
  A thin slip was her only item of clothing. She was leaning on a pile of pillows on the unmade bed. The furniture in the dim room was old and dilapidated. There was only a comb and a cracked washstand in the dresser, and the faded curtains smelled of dust. The only valuable item here was Teresa. Nah had black hair, an olive complexion, and high cheekbones that tightened the skin of her lean face. Her body was young and lithe, and she looked like she was everything Moose had said in his little black book.
  
  
  But he didn't mention whips.
  
  
  "Ned," her father said. "My name is Ned."
  
  
  "What's your game?"
  
  
  He looked back at the chair. Now I knew what kind of house I was in, and the games that were played here were really very tough. I thought of her. Given Musa's penchant, it was decided that he would wear the number of such a place. Only the girl didn't understand. She was too good to be here.
  
  
  "You'll be surprised when I tell you about my life," I said.
  
  
  "I love surprises." There was perversity in her smile. She was around them women for whom Faust mistletoe soul.
  
  
  "I want to know where the Moose is in the hall."
  
  
  "I'm surprised, okay. And a little disappointed."
  
  
  "I have to find him, Teresa."
  
  
  "You didn't tell Rondo that. If you had told him, he wouldn't have let you see me."
  
  
  "That's why he didn't mention it."
  
  
  Teresa popped a rolled cigarette into her mouth and struck a match on the wooden floor. The coveralls slid off her shoulder, revealing a small round chest. She gave me another teasing smile. "The moose left around the city."
  
  
  The smell that spread through the room told me that her cigarette wasn't the price she would have offered the chief of Police. Her, went to the bed. "If you could find a Moose, where would you go?"
  
  
  "To hell. Voting where it should be." She laughed, showing her teeth. They were clean, smooth, and white. Everything about her was perfect, except for the hem she was wearing.
  
  
  "Did he have any friends in San Diego where he could be found?"
  
  
  "I look at people and immediately, for the first time, I don't know if I'm going to like them or not. I like you." She leaned her head against my leg. Her voice was soft. "If it's important, I'll help you. Why are you trying to find the Moose?" "He killed several people."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She raised her head. "You're not a cop. I can recognize her from ih by her walk." She patted my leg. "You don't feel like a cop either."
  
  
  "He killed my friend."
  
  
  The bedroom door swung open. Rondo and a yellow-haired woman came in.
  
  
  Teresa straightened up, her beautiful mouth twisting. "You should have waited, Rondo!" she screamed: "I could get the ego to tell me more."
  
  
  "We've heard enough." He picked up the biggest whip from the chair. "Mister, if Moose ever finds out that someone around us was following you, we'll all be sorry."
  
  
  "Don't worry. I won't tell her emu."
  
  
  "There will be nothing to tell." He cracked his whip and moved toward me. "I saw your fat wallet when you laid out fifty. You've got a good chunk of money."
  
  
  "Take ego, Rondo!" the yellow-haired woman said.
  
  
  I realized that they were absolutely willing to kill me for the cash I was carrying, or even just as a favor to the Moose.
  
  
  Rondo pulled back the whip, and he picked up a straight-backed chair by the bed. The whip cut through the air and wrapped around the chair leg as ego lifted it to protect his face. Rondo swore and tried to pull out the whip.
  
  
  His took two steps towards him and smashed the chair on ego's head. It shattered, and he fell to his knees. Her ego punched him in the face, and blood spurted out.
  
  
  With a squeal, Teresa jumped on the bed, reached under the pillow, and pulled out a .25-caliber Bauer automatic. They were ready for anything, this gang.
  
  
  Teresa didn't tell me to stop where I was or raise my hands. She made a pistol and pulled the trigger. Gawk hit the wall. She was too flustered to shoot outright.
  
  
  He quickly revised his opinion of the girl. It was beautiful, but I didn't want to run into Nah in a dark alley.
  
  
  "Shoot him, Teresa," Yellow Hair said. She was a great cheerleader. He hit back and dove for the girl.
  
  
  Her stomach hit the bed and she collapsed under my weight. Teresa fell to one side, stamping her feet. She was wearing nothing under her coveralls. The force of my leap carried me across the bed like a hockey puck sliding on ice, and he landed on nah. The fall softened me, but I made a sound like a sick bird.
  
  
  The gun in her vest pocket flew out of her hands and across the floor. Rondo wiped his bloody nose, got to his feet, and staggered.
  
  
  I reached for the Luger, but the Yellow Hair jumped down my back. She must have weighed 160. He turned and threw her over his shoulder, and she collapsed on the bed.
  
  
  Rondo was trying to pick up a small automatic rifle. It looked like the emu was having a hard time seeing this. Ego grabbed her by the neck with one hand and pushed her forward, so that the ego target hit the wall. It spilled all over his face and lay still.
  
  
  Yellow Hair stood on end on the broken bed and screamed. "Rondo. Did he hurt you, Rondo?"
  
  
  "No, dear," I said. "Emus like to bang their heads against the wall."
  
  
  "The bastard. If you hurt Rondo ..."
  
  
  The luger pulled her out, and her voice broke in mid-sentence. "What did you say, dear?" I asked her in a sarcastic voice.
  
  
  She sat up on the bed and looked at me in silence.
  
  
  A stunned Rondo grabbed her by the waist, dragged her to the center of the room, and turned her face up.
  
  
  "Don't shoot Rondo!" the woman screamed.
  
  
  It was the Luger that took her out, despite Rondo's ugly face. Its said: "Why don't I shoot the ego, doll?"
  
  
  "I'll tell you about the Moose. That's what you want, isn't it? He left, around town a few months ago. They hid the loot from the robbery with some girl, and she ran off with it. They were hunting nah."
  
  
  "You said they were, didn't you, dear?"
  
  
  "Moose, Jack Hoyle and the third man. Hoyle is a short guy, as tall as Rondo's shoulder. He's got a tattoo open here." She touched her left forearm. "We've never seen a third person."
  
  
  He dug in Rondo's pocket and got his fifty dollars before he left.
  
  
  8
  
  
  Hers had just arrived in San Francisco, and Hawk was on the phone.
  
  
  "Have you been to San Diego? How many hot numbers are there in the little black book? " he asked in his most sardonic voice.
  
  
  "Teresa. Nice girl, " I said. "And sweet as a coral dragon."
  
  
  "I have to hear about her sometime. But for now, on business. Have you made any progress?"
  
  
  "I have the name and description of a member of the Elk gang. Ego's name is Jake Hoyle."
  
  
  "We can check egos in law enforcement files, but this route hasn't given us much about Moose. The researchers checked with the FBI and ran a computer search for the name Edward Jones. Nothing. A summary based on the sketchy description you gave us, given, they're the same results ."
  
  
  "I'm not surprised. This man seems to be very good at his dell. So good that it has probably never been detained by the law.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can't tell you how many unsolved robberies across the country were ego jobs."
  
  
  "Well, N3, what's next?"
  
  
  He told Emu about the attack on me at the motel, and the information that Lieutenant Marco Valante had squeezed out around him. "There is something that the research department can do for me. Find out the names of Frank Abruz's worst enemies, especially the egos of former enemies who can now sit on the mafia's board of directors."
  
  
  "I can tell you this sincerely around the head. This was part of the Abruz file accumulated before you entered the frame. There's a man named Logii who was Abruz's rival when they were young thugs on their way up. And Rossi . They are both members of the mafia's ruling council."
  
  
  One name was familiar. "Lew Rossi?"
  
  
  "Dr. Lew. Gambling, prostitution, and drugs. He and Abruz had different views on the Asian deal, and they had previously clashed over the drug issue, " Hawke said. "Nick, tell me what you're thinking."
  
  
  "That ace in the pack, the man who killed Meredith, sent the killer to Bonham to kill the girl, and shot me in the motel. I think he's in the top echelon of Organizations. He must have been at the meeting where Valante heard about me. This is the best explanation of ego's knowledge of the mafia and our organization ."
  
  
  "If you're right, what is your goal?"
  
  
  "I think he set up the Moose in the murder of Frank Abruz. $ 200,000 was payback. He said to Moose:"I know where you can get two hundred grand if you do a job for me." Now he is in a desperate situation. He can't let the Brotherhood find the ego. He didn't want Sheila Brant to talk to Hema and me, and he doesn't want us to catch a Moose."
  
  
  "That would explain some of the things that happened," Hawk agreed. "But for now, the best option for us is a small black book."
  
  
  "I'm working on it," I said.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The phone by the bed rang sharply. Her sel. The hotel room was dark. He put the phone to his ear. It was the operator who reminded me that I had left the call at 20: 00.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he turned on the lamp and peered under the bandage on his chest. My skin was healing well, on the surface, but I didn't have any obvious wounds.
  
  
  I dreamed about Sheila Brant. She was relived when her body was found in the kitchen of a house in Bonham. After her death, he thought about her more often than she would have liked anyone to know. Even though I'd only known her for a short time, something passed between us, an electricity that was mostly sexual but promised something more.
  
  
  Around the hotel room window, she saw the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. Now I've come here to look for a girl named Penny, hoping she'll give me a clue to the whereabouts of whoever killed Sheila and David Kirby.
  
  
  Penny's name was the third one that Moose wrote in the little black book that engages joins me in Trudy and Therese. "Penny. Great tits, " Moose wrote at the top of the page he dedicated to the girl. I couldn't imagine her doing any better than that. Under this comment, Moose listed sexual acts that Penny performed with special skill. If Moose was a qualified judge, and apparently he was, a Penny was almost as rare as a Stradivarius.
  
  
  He picked up the book and dressed. I slept for five hours and felt refreshed, alert. It will be an unforgettable night. She was going to Liz Burdick's cafeteria tonight.
  
  
  The mansion, built after the earthquake and fire that ravaged San Francisco in 1906, sat on top of a hill. It was the most famous brothel in the city, and the woman who ran it was a legend of her time. Once the playwright wanted to make the story of her life the basis for a Broadway musical. It is reported that Liz Burdick thanked him, but she did not need to go public. A maid opened the door and ushered me into an old-fashioned drawing room with rich red draperies. The furniture was antique, the carpet an inch thick. He doubted that the governor's mansion in Sacramento was also furnished.
  
  
  Liz Burdick entered the room, and the maid closed the double doors behind her and left us alone. He tried not to look blinded. I was expecting an older woman. Liz Burdick was only in her thirties.
  
  
  Her long dress slid across the carpet as she moved toward me, reaching out a cool, thin hand and looking me straight in the eye. "You're a little early, but I'll call her some girls. Make sure that I have them that you will like, " she said.
  
  
  "It was arranged that I would see Penny."
  
  
  "Yes, we talked about her when you called, but she won't be here today. I was hoping you'd give it to someone else, " she smiled.
  
  
  Her eyes were a cold jade color and appraising, despite the smile she wore. I wondered if I should offer her a bed. I told her that I was a businessman visiting the congress, and also advised me to visit her at home.
  
  
  "Penny is one of our most popular girls, but we have others just as attractive. I could make a choice for you if you trust my opinion, " she suggested.
  
  
  "I'm sure you have great taste, Miss Burdick."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Mrs. Burdick," she corrected me. "I'm a widow. Her long ash-blonde hair shimmered in the light, and she moved with sensuous grace as she walked to a chair and sat down.
  
  
  "But I'm only interested in the Penny." He gave her what I thought was a simple smile. "My friend, did a great job with her."
  
  
  "In that case, you just need to wait until the next time you come to San Francisco."
  
  
  "What happened to tomorrow night?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid Penny won't be here."
  
  
  "Mrs. Burdick, do the visiting fireman a favor. Tell me how I can reach Penny." If she doesn't live here, give me her address. I could call hey and maybe arrange something."
  
  
  "You know, we have rules here. We do not disclose such information about our girls. They have the right to their own lives when they are not working."
  
  
  As he became more insistent, she became steeper.
  
  
  Struck by a sudden suspicion, he said to her:: "Are you trying to stop me from seeing her?"
  
  
  She smiled and didn't respond, but her demeanor was quite responsive.
  
  
  The maid entered the room, knocking gently. She brought a tray with a couple of drinks. I sat there with a glass in my hand, wondering why Madame was giving me VIP service when she clearly wasn't going to let me see Penny.
  
  
  "When I called her, I asked her to talk to Penny, but you caught her. Why was that, Mrs. Burdick?"
  
  
  "Because obviously she wasn't here. At this time, her thought was that she would return later in the day. I was wrong."
  
  
  It was the ice in the glass that shook her, but Stahl didn't drink it. "Where is she?"
  
  
  "I don't think it's any of your business." She hadn't raised her voice, but now her eyes were steely.
  
  
  (Frowning, he held up his glass. Hey didn't trust her. "Our girls are taking vacations, you know. They visit relatives. They get sick. They're just like everyone else, despite what you might hear."
  
  
  She hated pulling out a shotgun in the elegant surroundings of San Francisco's coolest coffee shop, but the renovation seemed necessary.
  
  
  Liz Burdick raised her eyebrows as the Luger slid into my hand. However, she looked less than surprised.
  
  
  "Now we get to the real deal, don't we, Mr. Harper?"
  
  
  "The gun should let you know that I'm serious. Very serious."
  
  
  "Penny left us for a while. I can't say more definitely."
  
  
  Dealing with her was like dealing with a woman covered by an ice wall.
  
  
  She held out the glass. Her every move was like a poem. "Do you want to tell me why you're carrying a gun, Mr. Harper?"
  
  
  "People keep trying to put bullets in me."
  
  
  "I'm sorry to hear that. But we live in harsh times. Now that you've made a weapon out of me, what should I do?"
  
  
  "I was hoping it would shake you up a bit. I underestimated you." He stood up and holstered the Luger. "I'm looking for someone who had the name Penny in their address book. A big man named Moose, and sometimes Edward Jones. He's a cool character."
  
  
  "There has never been such a person in this house."
  
  
  "I want to ask about Nen Penny."
  
  
  "I'm sorry. This can't be arranged. You'd better go, Mr. Harper."
  
  
  He didn't move. Her stood looking at nah, and said, " Name the price."
  
  
  "I don't sell information."
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "I'm not talking about information."
  
  
  This time, she was surprised. "You mean for one of my other girls?"
  
  
  "No, Mrs. Burdick. We will meet your girls on our own."
  
  
  She understood. And, tailor take it, she smiled and met my eyes. "It would be very expensive. The best is always expensive."
  
  
  "I want the best," I said.
  
  
  He stretched out on the bed and watched Liz undress. Her limbs glistened golden-brown in the light of an antique lamp. Her waist was thin and her shoulders were small, but her breasts were large and full. They swayed as she moved toward me. Just like her face, her body was in excellent condition.
  
  
  "What do you think this will do for you? I mean, except for the obvious."
  
  
  "I'm interested in you. "I want to know what drives you," I said.
  
  
  She laughed harshly. "You won't know about a whore if you put her to bed. A whore is an actress, and a bed is a stage." She leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. Her tongue slid between my lips, and her hand slid down my thigh. "But I'm not a whore. Do you understand that?"
  
  
  "Not really," I said.
  
  
  "I don't serve my customers. My girls do it. I'm not for sale."
  
  
  "Then why did you accept my offer?"
  
  
  "It wasn't a suggestion," she said. "It was a challenge."
  
  
  He pushed her down on the bed. My hands slid down her body. I could feel her fingers pressing against the buttons of my shirt. It was helped by Hey, removing the ego. When she saw my bandaged wound, she didn't ask any questions. When her father made love to her, her reserved features turned red. Her tongue poked out for mine, her hands stroking my back suddenly stiffened, and then she threw herself under me with a wild cry ...
  
  
  "How was it?" she asked.
  
  
  "Like you said, you're the best."
  
  
  "So it's you, Ned Harper. Besides, who are you? Thug, cop, what?
  
  
  "Licking to the cop."
  
  
  She touched the blindfold. "It's a bullet wound, isn't it?"
  
  
  "Compliments to a friend of someone you claim you've never met." "Do you think its gonna help you just because you bench press with me in bed? "" I'll find the ego, with or without your help nah. He killed at least five people. One turned out to be a close friend of mine. One was a beautiful woman. He broke my neck."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Stop it," she said in a harsh voice. "Elk came here twice. He wasn't my typical client. He was rude and violent, and he could tell that he was a criminal. But he knew Penny before she started here. She said he was different. I was told by hey that there was nothing good about nei. I was glad when he didn't show up again, then a second visit."
  
  
  Ee kissed her on the neck. "Where is she, Liz?"
  
  
  "She wasn't protected by a moose. Penny was helping her. She said she didn't want to see you, that it would endanger her life."
  
  
  "How did she know that?"
  
  
  "She did not go into details. She left in a hurry as soon as she was promised that I wouldn't hand over command to her." Liz grimaced in my arms. "Maybe Elk was in contact with her. Do you think about it?"
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  "I know where she's staying. I don't know if I want to tell it to you. Information can kill you if there's a Moose with it."
  
  
  "Tell me," I said.
  
  
  She sighed, " It's an old summer cottage outside the city. I'll describe the road for you." She got up and went to the antique desk. She moved beautifully. Nah had a small, hard backside, like a young girl's.
  
  
  He watched her as she sat on a chair, writing on a delicate piece of blue paper. Her full breasts swayed as she moved. Sergey was playing on her smooth shoulders. She was a real blonde, golden between the thighs.
  
  
  Without making a sound, he got up from the bed. He took her in his arms and stroked her breasts. Her took ih in the palm of her hand and fiddled with her nipples, feeling them get hard again.
  
  
  She sat motionless, her head bowed, enjoying my caresses. I could smell her hair, smell the perfume on her body.
  
  
  "I'm glad I came to San Francisco," I said.
  
  
  Slowly, she leaned against me, then turned and dropped her head on my shoulder. "How much time do you have, Ned?"
  
  
  "Quite a lot," I said.
  
  
  Her hand gently touched my face. He picked her up and carried her back to bed ...
  
  
  The house Penny was staying in was high up on a cliff, not far from San Francisco. Liz's instructions were easy to follow. He parked fifty yards from the house on the side of a deserted road, got out around the car, and quietly closed the door. The night air was cool and humid throughout the hotel, and was wet from the summer rain. On either side of me is a forest, the stahl thick, overgrown with bushes at the edges of the road.
  
  
  I saw her car outside the front door of the house. Approaching cautiously, he passed her car and crouched under one of the lighted windows of the house. Two people were talking inside. Ih heard her voice, though ih couldn't make out the words. Odin's voice seemed to belong to a man.
  
  
  My Luger in hand, hers turned the corner of the house. Her voice suddenly felt flustered. My search is coming to an end.
  
  
  Her shell, on tiptoe, moving quickly in the shadows. As her day approached the entrance, she heard the voices getting louder. People were coming out. Turning around, her stahl looked for cover. The shaggy men, loud and sharp, went their separate ways for the day. Her, rushed to a parked car and dived nah.
  
  
  Sergey flooded the night, drawing a yellow stripe on the ground. The figure of a man burst through the doorway. It wasn't a Moose. It wasn't the size of a giant with a thunderous voice. He felt a sharp sense of disappointment.
  
  
  "Lock the door," the man said to his companion, a girl he'd only seen briefly. He went down the steps. Ego's stocky form looked familiar. It was the same with ego's uneven steps as he approached the car.
  
  
  He didn't even look at my Ford, which was parked in the driveway. He opened the door of his car and got in. The front door of the house closed and the girl disappeared.
  
  
  The man turned the key in the ignition. He heard the engine start to move, and felt the car begin to move sluggishly as the man shifted the car into reverse. He grabbed the door handle on his side, and jumped into the car as the man backed away from the house.
  
  
  He clicked on bullying. "What the hell?"
  
  
  "I have a gun, so relax. Enable upper brylev. I want to see what you look like."
  
  
  He had dark hair and a stern face. Nen was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and I could see the anchor tattoo on his forearm.
  
  
  "Name's Jake Hoyle, isn't it?"
  
  
  "You should be dead," he said. "Sid put a bullet in you."
  
  
  "I remember the incident." Her ego hit him in the face with a Luger. Hard enough to make sure I'm completely ego-focused. "Where's the Moose?"
  
  
  "You don't want to see the ego. You're out of your league. Moose eat people like you for dessert."
  
  
  "I thought he preferred to beat up women."
  
  
  "Look, the wisest thing you could do would be to openly walk around this car right now and drive somewhere a thousand miles away."
  
  
  The first night in Idaho burned in my head, bright again, filling me with rage. I remembered Sid calmly putting a bullet in me while hers lay bound and helpless.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Her remembering Sheila Brant and David Kirby.
  
  
  The luger pressed her so hard against his throat that he gasped. "I gave you a tailspin. If you don't answer it, I'll blow your brains out all over the seat of this car."
  
  
  He said hoarsely,"I'm meeting a Moose right now."
  
  
  Good. I'll go with you."
  
  
  "It's your funeral." Or so he hoped.
  
  
  He glanced in my direction from time to time as he drove. "Elk knows about you. He knows you're some kind of federal agent."
  
  
  "How did he know that?"
  
  
  "He has connections. He has them all the way up to the top of the Organization. You'll get yours, mister. You live on borrowed time."
  
  
  He put the cigarette in his mouth. "You have my lighter. You rented it from me in Bonham."
  
  
  "You don't forget anything, do you? I gave her a lighter as a gift."
  
  
  I slammed it into the dashboard. "Go faster. I really want to see Moose again."
  
  
  Cursing, Hale stepped harder on the gas pedal. "Rondo was right. You're crazy."
  
  
  "Rondo told me he didn't know where you were."
  
  
  "He didn't do it, but we have a mutual friend. He rang the bell. I thought you were coming to San Francisco to see Penny." You have found this address book lost by the Muse. "
  
  
  "Only I don't need to watch any more, do I?"
  
  
  “no. This is the thread of your journey, mister."
  
  
  Without changing the tone of his voice, Hale turned the wheel. As the car swerved, I was thrown against the dashboard.
  
  
  I didn't see him reach into his coat, but I saw the flash of gunfire and heard the sound as he pulled the trigger. He was fast. He was very fast. But gawking didn't hit the mark. It had already fallen to the floor of the car. I didn't have time to think about it. She was shot with rheumatism. The luger exploded loudly inside the closed car. Hale made a gurgling sound around his throat and slumped against the steering wheel.
  
  
  The car was traveling on an open sidewalk with no bends. Hoyle chose the spot carefully. If everything had gone as planned, he would have killed me in one quick shot and kept the car from going off the road. But the ego plan didn't work.
  
  
  The driverless car turned left and sped across the road. He hit the ditch as I was trying to reach the steering wheel, and I was thrown against Hoyle's body. The car sped out of the ditches, through the undergrowth, and finally came to a stop. I was surprised that it didn't roll over.
  
  
  He straightened up, pinned Hoyle to the seat, and took his pulse. There was no ego. He was dead. I had no choice but to shoot him. However, it was crushed by the development. She wasn't interested in the ego of death. Her hotel get to Moose.
  
  
  A luger pulled her out and dragged Hoyle's body around the car. The engine was brought in again, and the car went through the gutters and hit the sidewalk again. Her car drove back to the house.
  
  
  I had to get Penny to tell me where Moose was, otherwise I'd be right back where I started.
  
  
  The house was still burning holy. Ego walked around it and found the open bedroom window. I didn't see her, Penny, but I heard her. She was taking a shower. Her, heard the water running.
  
  
  He lifted her to the back step and took off his shoes, then picked the lock for the day. He walked quietly through the kitchen and living room to the bedroom.
  
  
  Penny was singing in the shower. He didn't recognize the tune. Penny wasn't Barbra Streisand. My lighter was on my chest. Her ego threw her in a minute and sat down to wait for her to finish.
  
  
  When she came out, around the bathroom, she was wearing a shower cap, a pair of slippers, and nothing else. We looked at each other. The surprise was mutual. She didn't expect to see a stranger in her bedroom, and I didn't expect to see her in a birthday suit.
  
  
  The note Moose made about her chest was accurate. They were exceptional. Everything about her body was exceptional. She made Raquel Welch look like a teenage boy.
  
  
  "Hey, how did you get in?" she said.
  
  
  "It's my day. Her lock was broken."
  
  
  "You're not a burglar, are you?"
  
  
  "I'm Ned Harper. The person you didn't want to see."
  
  
  "The one who talked to Liz on the phone?" She took off her shower cap and shook out her hair. "You must be some kind of operator to get her to tell you how to find me."
  
  
  "We found a common language."
  
  
  "You know the reason why she didn't want to see you. Hoyle told me you meddle in things that are none of your business. He said that if you showed up, she should avoid you and let em know."
  
  
  "And you handled it pretty neatly."
  
  
  "Not neat enough. It's obvious." She opened the closet and took out a robe. "Is it okay if I wear this? I hate talking business while I'm naked. Later, if you want, I'll take her ego off again."
  
  
  "I doubt we're that friendly."
  
  
  "You never know. Did you happen to run into Hoyle?"
  
  
  "Yeah," I said.
  
  
  "I was afraid of that. What happened to him? Nothing good, I keep the money."
  
  
  "He's not coming back."
  
  
  She accepted it without flinching
  
  
  
  
  
  
  . "He said he could take care of you on his own. Her emu didn't believe her. They tried to kill you once, and you survived it. You handled the Rondo. I'd say you're pretty cool."
  
  
  I wondered if I should be flattered. I told her: "You know quite a lot about my equipment."
  
  
  "Everything Hoyle knew. He was a big talker." She had buttoned up her robe and was sitting in front of my chair. "You're quite talkative yourself."
  
  
  "I always talk a lot when I'm scared," she said. "I'm afraid you'll kill me too."
  
  
  Its said: "Her rare medicinal killing women."
  
  
  "Do you want a drink? I have some alcohol in the other room."
  
  
  "No, thank you."
  
  
  She walked over to my chair and unbuttoned my robe. When hers didn't move, she grabbed my arm and attached her body. Obviously, she thought that the best defense was a good offense.
  
  
  "Let's bargain," she said softly.
  
  
  "What are we trading about?"
  
  
  "My life and all I can get."
  
  
  "I want to know where the Moose is in the hall."
  
  
  Pouting slightly, she pulled off her robe again. "Hale came to Odin's San Francisco. The moose is on its way somewhere."
  
  
  "That's not what Hoyle said. He said the Moose was here."
  
  
  "He lied to you. The moose didn't show up. He let Hoyle come alone. It was a mistake. They underestimated you."
  
  
  Hale must have made up a story about when he called me to meet the Muse. He was stalling for time, waiting for the decision to grab the gun.
  
  
  "Who's connected to Moose in the mafia?" Penny asked her.
  
  
  "He never told anyone about it. There is a person, of course, with a lot of weight, with whom he dealt. The organization generally disapproves of the Moose because they think it's crazy and out of control. But there was one person at the top who financed some robberies for Moose as part of a deal between the two of them. Moose said they did each other some favors ."
  
  
  "Do you know something, Penny? You talk a lot, but you tell me very little."
  
  
  She bit her lip. "I'm doing my best to help you. I want to save my own skin." She ruffled her hair. "Let me think about it. They retreated, trying to follow Sheila Brant's trail. They're trying to find the money she stole. But I swear to you, Hale didn't tell me where Elk and Craddock were."
  
  
  "Craddock," repeat it. "Tell me about Craddock."
  
  
  "Sid Craddock is the third person involved in some of the Elk robberies. He was involved in Abruz's murder. He is a slender man with curly hair and a baby-like face. That's all I can remember about nen."
  
  
  She provided one useful piece of information. Her cheered her up. "Hoyle must have trusted you very much."
  
  
  "He was bragging - trying to impress me. He was attached to me even when hers was the Moose's favorite pastime, " she said. "He showed good taste, Harper. Her name is in this gang."
  
  
  "I believe it."
  
  
  "Can I make you an offer?"
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "I thought you already did."
  
  
  "There's a big wad of money somewhere. Two hundred thousand dollars. That's how much they got when they killed Abruz." She pursed her lips. "It makes me want to think about it. She would have liked it all to turn into money and lie naked in it. Two hundred thousand dollar bills. Could you put a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bill on me? "a dollar mattress, lover?" "
  
  
  "I don't have your imagination."
  
  
  "They left it to Sheila. They split up, then work in Florida and entrust it to Hey. Hoyle told me that."
  
  
  "Moose and Ego friends were wrong about Sheila. She didn't run off with the money."
  
  
  "Then what happened to it?"
  
  
  "Nah never had a chance to tell me. Her guess is that it was taken away from nah. She was afraid of running into a Moose, so she ran away."
  
  
  Apparently, Penny had told her everything that was going on. He got up from his chair. She followed me to the back steps, where I put her shoes on.
  
  
  She doesn't ask me any more questions about Hoyle. He thought she wasn't exactly grieving for him.
  
  
  "Hey, listen, Harper. Let's say you manage to find the money while you're trying to run down a Moose. What are you doing with them?"
  
  
  "I didn't think about it."
  
  
  "Two hundred thousand. It's amazing."
  
  
  He laced up her ballet slippers. "Are you going to suggest that ego hand it over to you?"
  
  
  "Well, we could still share it. It's mafia money. Listen, I know about the book he's an Elk that you have. You wanted girls whose names were on it. I might be able to help you." I know my way. it's very nice around the brothels ."
  
  
  "You said you were afraid of me."
  
  
  "For two hundred thousand. I'll walk through a burning coal bed, dance naked on the White House lawn, and serve the first Cavalry Division. Take me with you. Harper, and let's find the money. We could do a lot about it. it could give you sex that you've never done before."
  
  
  "No thanks," her father said. "You forgot Hoyle too easily."
  
  
  Nine
  
  
  He went back to the little black book and the list of names, which had now narrowed down to four. They were Janice, Eva, Barbara, and Cora. He decided to go to Portland and find Janice first. If a blank had drawn her there, she would have gone back to Reno to Denver and Las Vegas, where the other girls were supposed to be.
  
  
  Moose knew I had an ego address book. He knew I was Shell
  
  
  
  
  
  go through the list of girls, hoping to find out what the ego place is. When he finds out I killed Hoyle's ego friend, he won't sit still, I thought. Somewhere along the way, in one of these four cities, I'll find Moose, or he'll find me.
  
  
  The Portland brothel was an old house located in a faded residential neighborhood near the meat processing district. Her, knocked on the door early in the morning and asked for Janice. A yawning girl with tousled hair waved at me.
  
  
  Coffee early in the morning is not as fragrant as the rose garden. It smells like last night, bodies and sex, and sometimes booze, and if the maids are already cleaning, it smells like an army latrine.
  
  
  A girl with tousled hair was weaving through the maids, her short nightgown swaying with the movement of her hips. The maids looked me over, obviously wondering why I couldn't put off my lust until nightfall.
  
  
  Knocking on the door, the girl said: "Janice. This is the person who called."
  
  
  Janice answered sleepily. "Great." The girl who's been working out joins me for the day, smiles, pats my cheek, and moves down the hall.
  
  
  A leggy brunette in yellow pajamas opened the door and rubbed a twisted fist into her eye. She didn't bother to button up the top of her pajamas. "You say you're looking for a Moose?"
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  She opened the door wider. "Enter."
  
  
  My reflection was moving in the full-length mirrors when his entered the room. Another mirror was installed in the ceiling above the round double bed. There was a naked blonde lying in the bed, who had already turned on her side to look at me, the silk sheet sliding over her white body.
  
  
  "My friend Delia."
  
  
  Her, nodded, and the blonde nodded in rheumatism.
  
  
  "Moose hired us to put on a couple of shows for him and his friends' egos. He wasn't exactly my type," Janice said.
  
  
  "How long ago did you hear from him?"
  
  
  "January," the blonde said. "That was back in January."
  
  
  "He brought someone with him who he wanted to impress." Janice smiled. "I think we impressed the ego, didn't we, Delia?"
  
  
  "You place a bet."
  
  
  "Who was that person?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Mr. Smith," Janice said. "The famous Mr. Smith. We put on a show for a lot of our relatives ' egos."
  
  
  Delia giggled. "He didn't want his real name to be used."
  
  
  "What did he look like?"
  
  
  "Tall and thin. He wore glasses. If he wasn't with Moose, he'd think he was an accountant."
  
  
  "Since he was with the Moose, what do you think?"
  
  
  The blonde propped her chin on her hand. "Go, now. If you're looking for a Moose, you know what kind of business partners it has."
  
  
  "Mr. Smith was a man of organization. Important, " Janice said. She sat down on the bed next to the blonde. They would make great chairs and bookends around them.
  
  
  Unlike some of the people I asked her about Moose, they were willing to help me, but I found that they didn't have any additional information. Ih thanked her and they invited me to come back sometime.
  
  
  "Ask me or Delia," Janice said. "We like working as a team."
  
  
  Thirty minutes after he left Portland, the Lincoln roared past me on the open road. The driver pulled into the overtaking lane and sped up next to my Ford.
  
  
  I saw her face, and then, a little gun. The steering wheel spun her around, the Ford slammed into a heavier car and ducked at the same time.
  
  
  A shotgun blast smashed through the window, but missed.
  
  
  The Lincoln was too bulky for my car to send my ego skidding. The driver pinned ego to the road and yanked his own wheels. The fender made contact with the fender, and then the Ford left the curb, skidded to the side of the road, and entered a picnic area just off the highway.
  
  
  He hit it, taunting it as much as he dared, and slammed it into gear as the back of the car spun around and hit a garbage barrel. He gritted his teeth, trying to control the drift. The car spun around again and hit a wooden picnic chair, then rolled over on its side.
  
  
  Its must have been lived properly. He pushed open the door and got out unscathed.
  
  
  Lincoln kept driving. Her, saw him disappear into view over the hill. There were two people in the front seat, the driver and an armed man. The face I'd seen just before the shotgun went off, I'd never seen her clearly until today, but I knew it belonged to a Moose. He was smiling as he pulled the trigger.
  
  
  "Ford" was injured. I had to leave it in the garage. He rented another car and drove to Reno, stopping only to eat and call Hawk.
  
  
  "I approach the Moose. He can feel my breath on his neck, and Em doesn't like it. He tried to kill me today."
  
  
  "Nick, be careful."
  
  
  "From now on, I will not contact you tac parts. I have a feeling that I'm going to be very busy."
  
  
  "Do you need the information we've gathered about Jake Hoyle?"
  
  
  "No," I said. "He's dead."
  
  
  Eva had no trouble finding him in Reno. The dark trailer camp was located on the outskirts of the city. There were three girls and a madam, each with their own trailer. Eva was entertaining a client, and I had to wait with Madame, making small talk about mutual disinterest. The office was hot and stuffy, and Madame was an I try woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  tried to pretend otherwise. Her blond wig didn't fit, and her red nails were ragged.
  
  
  When the conversation turned to Moose, her comments became more animated. She remembered the big thug; she can't recommend ego as a client or as a decent person. He killed one of the ee girls because emu liked a little violence mixed with ego sex. The madam had broad views, but she can't put up with such behavior.
  
  
  Her tie loosened. The madam continued to speak, repeating the same thing over and over. Finally, Eve's client got out of the trailer and headed for his car. Left her madam still talking about weird sex.
  
  
  Eva was a red-haired girl who had grown a little fat and was mired in frustration. She said there was too much competition in Reno and anywhere else her hotel would mention. Too many divorcees give away their egos. Too many lovers all over the country, too much of this new sexual freedom. "Hippies will do this for any reason or no reason at all. I hate hippies, " she said.
  
  
  The discussion and atmosphere were depressing. It was already paid by the madam, but he took out another twenty and put it on the bed. Eve packed the car like a vacuum cleaner. She said that of course she remembered the Moose. They'd met when she was in Denver, at the best of times.
  
  
  "Her parts are thinking about going back," she said. "Everything was better then, including me." She smiled apologetically. She realized that she wasn't taking care of herself. Ey liked to eat too well, and the only exercise she did was on her back.
  
  
  The conversation was like a river flowing in the wrong direction. It was refuted by the media reports of hey, that I am interested in Moose. "I'm so sorry," she apologized again. She got up, opened two cans of beer,and handed me one. "The moose hasn't been around lately."
  
  
  There was a time when she was obsessed with him, and when he made her something special. But the relationship didn't last long, and he kept in touch mostly with oldies. The last time he visited was earlier this year.
  
  
  "I left for Denver right after he met another girl and stopped coming. She was a waitress. Around a small town near Denver. She was the Moose-loving type. Her, remember that she is with the hotel to have a lot of money. Eve laughed cynically. "I guess he didn't tell you how he was going to do it. I later heard that he put her in a house."
  
  
  And then the monologue stopped boring me. Her, said, " That girl was a blonde? Do you remember her name?"
  
  
  "Name, no. She had what I call an aristocratic appearance. High cheekbones, large dark eyes. You'd think she was a model."
  
  
  She was talking about Sheila Brant.
  
  
  "What happened?" Eve asked, catching an expression on my face that I didn't know I had.
  
  
  He got up and leaned against the wall of the trailer, his back to her. "I don't think you know what happened to her."
  
  
  "I've never heard of it. Maybe the moose left her and went away, just like he did with me."
  
  
  "Later, Moose discovered a big connection," I said. "He should be close to a person with authority. In The Organization".
  
  
  "This is news to me," Eve said. "There aren't many vines here."
  
  
  Cowboy shell trailer environments, ego hat was pulled down to hide his eyes. He was carrying a green shopping bag. I watched him approach me.
  
  
  "You didn't say why you were looking for the Moose," Eve said. She was sitting next to me, opening another can of beer.
  
  
  The cowboy stopped. The ego hat was new and clumsily ruffled. He reached into his shopping bag and pulled out a sawn-off shotgun.
  
  
  I lunged to the side as he raised his weapon and made an ego at me. He hit Eve with his shoulder and drove her out of the line of fire when the shotgun went off. Lead streamed through the trailer's doorway and hit the wall like a city.
  
  
  He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. The cowboy was reloading. He knocked out the window with the barrel of a Luger and shot it. He lost his hat while running for cover.
  
  
  "Oh my God! What's going on?" Eve said.
  
  
  Her father ran to the door while the cowboy was hiding behind Madame's trailer. He descended to the ground like a swimmer diving in shallow water. At the last minute of it, he turned around, hit himself on the shoulder, and rolled over. Her shot fired as she sat down, and gawking eyes flew across the trailer inches from the cowboy's face as he peered around the corner. He disappeared from sight.
  
  
  She jumped to her feet and zigzagged toward ego's hideout. I fired it as I ran, trying to dissuade Ego from firing a shotgun blast. I rolled it up and leaned my back against the moan of the trailer.
  
  
  He didn't make a sound to us for a minute. Then I heard Madame yapping. Girls were peeking out of trailers. One of them shouted at the top of his voice. Madame came around the corner of the trailer, her wig sliding down on her head.
  
  
  Cowboy shell about her, using her as a shield.
  
  
  He hugged her, shotgun in one hand, ready to shoot me. A luger pulled her down and shot her between the legs, ma'am, ripping off part of her cowboy boot. Some of his fingers stayed with him. The ego cry eclipsed the female one
  
  
  
  
  Madame jumped out on ego rook as he fell. She hurried to the trailer, which lifted off the ground.
  
  
  The cowboy sprawled on his back and turned, trying to point the shotgun at me. My next gawk hit the emu in the head.
  
  
  The girls rushed out of the trailers, surrounding me as I knelt down next to the dead gunman. He couldn't tell anything from what was left of his face. He rummaged through his ego pockets and found a wallet with a driver's license issued to Sidney L. Crandall in California. Her, thought that ego's slender physique was correct. He could have been Moose's other partner, the one who put a bullet in me in Idaho.
  
  
  She was returned to emu's wallet in a minute. Ego's trousers, shirt, and boots were also new. He bought clothes for this job to distract suspicion.
  
  
  "I've seen this guy before. He's been stuck here for the last day or so, " said a girl in a black jumpsuit. "He was driving a pickup truck there."
  
  
  I thought that she and Moose had broken up. Moose went to Portland, and Sid came here. They came to finish me off quickly.
  
  
  I hurried to the pickup truck and quickly searched it, hoping to find some clue that would lead me back to Moose. Failed. Documents in the glove compartment showed that the truck was rented two days earlier in Reno.
  
  
  Madame came up to me when I got her in the car. I heard a police siren in the distance. Madame said: "You'd better stay and explain this to the police."
  
  
  "You'll take care of it for me," her father said.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He arrived in Denver at 8:30 p.m. and ate a thick steak washed down with two cups of black coffee. With them ferret as he checked out around the hospital in Idaho, her only got one night's sleep, and the doctor who advised me to relax would have been shocked to know what hers was doing.
  
  
  As far as I knew, Moose was also in town. Her ego cut the gang's ranks by two, but he picked up another accomplice, then Bonham, the man who drove the Lincoln when Mousse tried to shoot me outside of Portland.
  
  
  In her spare time, she thought about this man. AX investigators, then checking the Key West homicide scenes, have suggested that the four killers attacked the home where David Kirby was meeting with Frank Abruz. Only two men came with the Moose to Bonham, but there may have been another member of the gang there all along.
  
  
  I had other factors to consider as I tried to assess the possible odds against me. There was a mysterious ace in the deck, a man she hadn't identified yet. I convinced myself that he was the mob boss who had pointed out Frank Abruz, and that he was the man the charming couple Janice and Delia had described to me, an important figure in the Organization that Moose wanted to impress. The girls said he was tall, wore glasses, and looked like an accountant.
  
  
  Finally, there was Marco Valante, an old friend of Frank Abruz's. Valante once gave me a helping hand, but it killed two ego boys and threw ih off his trail. Valante might not be so kind to me if we meet again.
  
  
  "Well, no one told me it would be an easy job," I thought.
  
  
  I paid for my dinner and stopped at the phone booths in the restaurant lobby to call Barbara, the girl I came to Denver for.
  
  
  Barbara was the only one of the seven girls listed in the little black book that Moose hadn't described in sufficient detail. Her name was underlined, and Mousse followed it with a string of exclamation marks, as if it defied verbal description. Her thought was that if she was so special in the bedroom that Mousse couldn't appreciate her performance, then she should be highly rated among the natural wonders of North America.
  
  
  I had to admit that curiosity was gnawing at me as I dialed her number on the phone. After one call during the call, the recording was interrupted to inform me that the number I dialed was no longer being used. This was a big disappointment, even though he almost expected me to have difficulty contacting some of the girls around the world. All of them were call girls or prostitutes, ih profession was mobile.
  
  
  I was standing at the phone booth, wondering what I should do next. I didn't have a chance to find out when Moose wrote down Barbara's number. Maybe the girl went around town. Even if she only changed the address her was obviously at a dead end. I didn't know her last name, or what she looked like. I had the opportunity to go to Las Vegas and try to contact Cora, the last girl on the list, but I didn't want to give up so quickly.
  
  
  I decided to consult a specialist. A taxi caught her. "I'm looking for someone who knows the local brothels," he told the lanky driver.
  
  
  "Let's see. A brothel is a posh whorehouse, really?"
  
  
  "Technically, it doesn't have to be fantastic," I said.
  
  
  "You have your own man. Emmett Ripley, as written in the license. You can call me Red."
  
  
  "All right, Red. Do you know a hooker?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Barbara Amed? "
  
  
  He thought about it. "Not offhand. But I do know a couple who would like you to call ih Barbara, if that's what you like."
  
  
  "I'm looking for a specific girl." Her sel in the cab. "Take me to someone who knows the subject better than you do."
  
  
  He thought about it. "Well, there is one possibility." He drove me to Mill's Bar. "Go in there and talk to the bartender, who looks like an elephant stepping on an emu's face. I'll be waiting for you."
  
  
  There was no mistaking what Red the bartender meant. He looked like a former boxer. He told emu that ego had been recommended by Ripley.
  
  
  He gave me bourbon and water. "Who do you prefer: blondes, brunettes or redheads?"
  
  
  "I prefer Barbara."
  
  
  "If you mean Barbara, the Bazum Girl, she went around town. You know, she was a stripper. Hustling just worked with her part-time."
  
  
  I told her I didn't know what Barbara looked like.
  
  
  "Well, besides Baz, I can think of another Barbara who could be your girlfriend." He went to the phone and talked, came back and wrote the address in a matchbox. "She says to come."
  
  
  "What is she like?" I asked, getting up from the bar stool.
  
  
  "Venus de Milo is warm," he said.
  
  
  Red Ripley drove me to an address that turned out to be an old building in a neighborhood full of cafes, restaurants, and coffee shops. I got out and paid my fare. "Take off, Red. I can stay for a little while."
  
  
  Her carapace walked down the corridor that needed painting and knocked on the door at the end. Barbara was in her early twenties. She was wearing a deerskin jacket, khaki pants, and sandals. The walls of the small apartment were decorated with posters of rock bands.
  
  
  "What a relief," she said. "The last guy Charlie sent here was older than Henry Kissinger."
  
  
  "How much do you get for a focus?" Sl asked her.
  
  
  "A hundred bucks. Some people think it's too much, but I work at a university." She smiled. "Make two and you can stay all night."
  
  
  "What is your specialty?"
  
  
  "International relations," she said with a straight face.
  
  
  "I'll give you a hundred for information, no game required. I'm looking for her Moose."
  
  
  "And her, thought it would be a fun date. Oh, well. A hundred is a hundred. Give me the money and I'll give you the Moose's address."
  
  
  It was too easy. He said, " Is he in town?"
  
  
  "He came in yesterday. Let's look at cash, " she insisted.
  
  
  I pulled out the money, glad that I didn't have to submit an official bibl. There were people in the AX stationery department who just didn't understand.
  
  
  Barbara carefully finished the bill and shoved it down the width of his trousers. Then she tossed me the phone book. "Moose called and asked me to come. It wasn't there yet, but I wrote her address on the cover."
  
  
  The address from the book ripped it out. "I'm surprised you didn't ask why I was looking for his ego."
  
  
  "I don't care. I don't know if you're a member of the Cub Scout ego squad, but that's none of my business. Just don't tell him I sent you."
  
  
  Her, thought she might look like Venus de Milo, but nah stack a dollar like Chase Manhattan Bank.
  
  
  When I turned to leave, she took a heavy glass ashtray from the end of the table and hit me in the head with it. It was a good shot. He was on his knees, shaking his head, trying to clear it.
  
  
  She also knew karate. She jumped on my back and hit me in the back of the head with the edge of her arm. Its disconnected.
  
  
  Her woke up lying on her back on the floor. My coat was off, and Wilhelmina was holstered under my arm. When I finished telling myself how stupid I'd been for letting hey catch me off guard, I rolled onto my side.
  
  
  Barbara was talking to someone on the phone. "He's here," she said. "Everything is under control."
  
  
  Her, I realized that my sleeves were rolled up. She also drew a stiletto around her scabbard. Maybe he wasn't stupid, but she was smart. Many professional spies searched me and didn't notice this small knife. Barbara didn't do it.
  
  
  She glanced at me when her sel. She picked up the Luger in her hand and shot an ego at my head. Her eyes warned me that I hadn't ignored her. He sat motionless.
  
  
  "Okay," she said in math and on the other end of the line, and hung up.
  
  
  "Moose?" Sl asked her.
  
  
  "You know as much about the Moose's location as I do," she said. "I wrote the address in the phone book six months ago."
  
  
  I felt dizzy. Her said, " So, her is your prisoner. Can you tell me why?"
  
  
  "I collect spies."
  
  
  My eyes started to blur. He ran his hand over them. Suddenly, he checked both of her hands suspiciously. The needle mark was on the right. He looked around and noticed a hypodermic needle on the arm of a chair.
  
  
  "There's nothing fatal about it," Barbara said. "I knew what I was doing. I don't really study international relations at the university. Her nursing student."
  
  
  "What else are you?"
  
  
  "You'll be surprised," she said with a smile. "I've been waiting for you for days, Mr. Carter. I started thinking you weren't going to show up." As she tilted, he slowly turned from one side to the other. Hers slid to the side. "You're going to die," Barbara said. "Just relax and let the drug work. You're running around the country shooting people and beating them up, but you still need to get some rest." "How ..." I found it hard to speak. My words were slurred. "Like you ... You know what?" "Her daughter is Marco Valante," she said
  
  
  10
  
  
  It took me a long time, but I finally made it around the deep well of darkness and opened my eyes. The morning sunlight streamed in through the windows of the girl's apartment. I narrowed my eyes and turned away from him. I had a mild headache, which was probably a hangover from the medication Barbara Valante had injected into my arm,or from being hit by a heavy ashtray.
  
  
  Her, thought that everything has its compensation. At least now he knew why Moose had put exclamation marks after her name in his book. It's not every day that a cheap thug like Moose scores with the daughter of a mafia boss.
  
  
  I could hear rock music playing on the radio in the other room. The volume was high. It didn't help my headache at all. My hands were tied to the back of the wooden chair I was sitting on. My ankles were tied tightly to the rungs at the bottom. He tried to move, but to no avail. The expert put me in a chair so that she could stay.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. The drug knocked me out all night. Barbara's call was supposed to be a long-distance call. This explains why she put me to bed for more than eight hours.
  
  
  The revelation that Barbara was Valante's daughter was shocking. I was wondering how the girl ended up in Denver when her father was reportedly operating on the East Coast. My recollection of what I read about mafia units was fuzzy, but I knew that Lew (Dr.) Rossi was in charge of the Denver Mafia territory.
  
  
  He opened his eyes and called out to the girl. "Barbara!"
  
  
  The radio volume has slightly decreased. Barbara came through the door with a cup of coffee in her hand. This morning, she looked a lot less like a product of the counterculture of the Americas. She was elegantly dressed in a green dress, and her black hair was pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck.
  
  
  "You're different today. You should have been an actress, " I said.
  
  
  "If she became an actress, people would start falling for me, giving me juicy roles as soon as they knew who she was." She took a sip of her coffee and looked at me with clear blue eyes. "I went through a period where I enjoyed such attention, and then she grew up. I came here to get away from the influence of my father and the people who heard about nen. She changed her last name and started studying to be a nurse. "
  
  
  "So you gave me some of the truth last night."
  
  
  She gave me a firm, open smile. When she did, she almost looked like the girl next door. The web difference was that most of the girls in the neighborhood weren't suitable for the Playboy magazine spread.
  
  
  "I'm sorry that I had to hit you with an ashtray, but I was afraid that I couldn't handle you if you weren't stunned. I was told that you are difficult to suppress, and leave. My karate instructor says I'm one of the best students on the ego, but his isn't particularly strong, and felt like I needed this small advantage."
  
  
  "You treated me like an old schoolteacher," I said.
  
  
  She came over to lick me and lightly touched the lump on the back of my neck with her fingers. "This node will fall apart. And you don't seem to have a concussion."
  
  
  "A simple concussion is the least of my worries."
  
  
  "Do you think someone is planning to kill you, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  "Many people have tried."
  
  
  "Don't worry about it. You're in good hands with Valante." She lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. "The voice. Take a sip. That's the best thing I can do for you right now. I have to go to class."
  
  
  She swallowed her hot coffee: "You and the Moose. This combination doesn't seem natural."
  
  
  "I didn't know who Elk was then. I mean, the way he was inside. The fact that he was a burglar made no difference to me. What does it matter to Marco Valante's daughter? "
  
  
  She lifted the cup to my lips again.
  
  
  The radio chimed in and announced the hour. It was 8: 30 in the morning.He began reporting news stories, including a shooting at a trailer in Reno. He didn't say what kind of campground it was.
  
  
  "Moose seemed to me one of those rare people who live their lives without relying on us, on whom," said Barbara Valante. "He was strong and self-confident, he was not afraid of anyone or anything in the green land of God. Later, when she knew the ego well enough, she realized that the ego of power can become cruelty. the result of a fantastic ego. He's so brave, well, well, crazy."
  
  
  "Everyone seems to agree on that."
  
  
  Barbara Valante was an intelligent and eloquent girl. Also sexy. But I hadn't forgotten that she'd set a trap for me. If I could get my hands free, I wouldn't be so friendly. She returned the cup of coffee to the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  . The radio turned off. He heard another door open, which now seemed to lead to the back stairs of an apartment building. Voices whisper. Barbara poured some water into the kitchen sink, apparently rinsing out her cup, then returned.
  
  
  "I have to go, Mr. Carter. My father will be here soon to talk to you. In the meantime, there's someone in the kitchen to keep you company."
  
  
  She called em. He came into the room and grinned at me. He took off his coat and I saw that he had a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver slung over his shoulder. He also had a cast on his wrist. Her name, I remembered, was Joe. He worked in Valante.
  
  
  "I know how you feel, Carter. Confused. You agents are probably supposed to be the best around the world, but one little girl took you alone."
  
  
  "It's not small," I said. There are places where it is not small at all."
  
  
  Barbara Valante laughed. Then she took her purse and walked out the door of the apartment, leaving me alone with her father's lieutenant.
  
  
  "I was a little confused myself about how you brought me to California. This could have ruined the future of an ambitious young man," Joe said.
  
  
  "Apologies. It felt right at the time."
  
  
  Joe sat up and looked at his watch. Obviously, Valante would arrive at any time.
  
  
  "How did you get here?" Ego asked her. "I thought I'd lost you."
  
  
  "Valante understood that. He said you probably have a list of Moose's girlfriends, old and new. Maybe Barbara was on the list. So after you shocked me in California, he sent me here to try to intercept you. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black Elk book. "Now I know where you got your names from. I searched you last night."
  
  
  "You were here in the apartment when her, talked to the girl.
  
  
  "Next door. Barbara called me after putting you to bed." He grinned again. "A perfect girl. I need someone like her."
  
  
  "We both have to."
  
  
  "When Nah had something going on with Los, and Valante got wind of it, there was an explosion that could be heard all the way to Poughkeepsie. Valante really blew up his steak. I thought he was going to kill someone. it would have been better if he had mistletoe. "
  
  
  "I know what you mean." Her father was furtively checking his bonds again. It was useless. If I get out, someone will have to release me.
  
  
  "When Valante set up the paths for nah, she made the ego eat the ego of the word," Joe continued. "She told em that he doesn't control her life anymore. But it worked. Barbara abandoned the Moose. on her own, and Valante forgave her. Now he's even proud that she stayed with him."
  
  
  Young Lieutenant Valante was obviously thinking a lot about his boss. And he thought much more about the boss's daughter.
  
  
  He checked his watch again, got up, and looked out the window at the street below. "There's oni."
  
  
  Shaggy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Joe rushed to open the door. He was so eager to please his boss that it was obvious. Valante came into the room and stood glowering at me. Two men broke up with him. One of them leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his thick chest. The other came and sat down by the kitchen door.
  
  
  "Carter, you've been a challenge to me. That night in Idaho, you bled like a stuck pig and had a bullet hole plugged in it. He let you live. You repaid me by beating up my men and hindering me, " Valante said.
  
  
  "You had your own reasons for playing Good Samaritan. You thought I might lead you to the Abruz killers. You didn't know at the time that Moose was involved."
  
  
  The man inside lit a cigar with a silver lighter. "Smart boy, isn't he, Marco?"
  
  
  "Very smart. I think it's time to see what else he's learned."
  
  
  "Your daughter promised I wouldn't get hurt," Valante told her.
  
  
  "So, her, did you say anything about violence? We just want to ask a few questions." Valante went over and snapped the blinds on the windows. This was a bad omen.
  
  
  "I don't have time for games, Marco. Let's go kill ego now, " the man in the chair growled.
  
  
  He had been furtively watching the man in the chair from the moment he entered the apartment. It's very interesting to find out who he is. The guy leaning against the wall was a run-of-the-mill mobster, with a stolid face and dull eyes. But the man in the chair was dressed expensively, with silver cufflinks and shoes wrapped around an alligator skin. He seemed like a boss of Valante's equal rank. I was particularly interested in him because he was tall, thin, and wore glasses. Except for his neat clothes, he looked like an accountant, not a thug. He looked like the man two Portland girls had called Moose's friend.
  
  
  "I brought you along because this is your territory, Lew. But I'm running this show. And I want to know what Carter learned during his travels, " Valante snapped.
  
  
  Her name was caught. Her name was caught. The man in the chair was Lew Rossi.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lew to the Doctor. An old enemy of Frank Abruz.
  
  
  Joe pulled out a black book and handed it to Valante. "I found this at Carter's. This belonged to Musa. This is where Carter got the girls ' names."
  
  
  "How did you get this, Carter?"
  
  
  "Moose lost his ego during scrap."
  
  
  Valante flipped through the pages. Rossi leaned forward. Ego's eyes shone like bright black metal behind his glasses. If an ego name or one by ego alias is found in the book, the game is over for him. Valante would have suspected that I had just realized that Rossi had hired a Moose to kill Abruz.
  
  
  "Just girls' names, " Valante said, and Rossi seemed to relax. Valante went to the page with Barbara's name on it. He tore it out in anger and crumpled it up. "Bastard." Then he looked back at me. Just need to check, Carter?" "
  
  
  I kept my mouth shut.
  
  
  "You've been very busy lately-demolishing brothels, confusing people, and killing a few ... But you don't have Moose or money yet, I guess."
  
  
  "There is no money. The Moose has ih net. Two of the men I killed were involved in Abruz's murder. They were in Bonham with Moose when he killed Brant's girlfriend, " her Valante said.
  
  
  "I figured it out. But I can't let you have the Moose. Her desire to enjoy collecting the blood debt that is owed to me. Frank Abruz was my oldest friend. We went back. Spend some time here with Lew while I go to Vegas, then Musa."
  
  
  Rossi stood up, his cigar tucked into the corner of his rta. " And I'm going to take care of you," he grinned.
  
  
  Valante might not have seen me die, but Rossi was sure. I was sure he was going to put a bullet in my eyes as soon as Valante left. No hard feelings. Just a thing to take care of.
  
  
  "You've understood some things, but not all of them," Valante told her. "You missed the most important thing."
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "He's slowing down, Marco. You'd better go if you want to catch a Moose, " Rossi said.
  
  
  "What's wrong, Rossi, are you afraid to hear what I'm saying? I have your number."
  
  
  "What are you talking about?" Valante demanded.
  
  
  "About Frank Abruz being booked. This wasn't just a robbery that Moose did in Florida. It was a blow to your friend. Rossi has set a Moose on Abruz, and with them a ferret, he's working against you, and people are trying to stop you from finding out. "
  
  
  Lew Rossi took a step back and joined Valante behind Joe. He suddenly punched Joe in the back. The young man opened his mouth and gasped. He took a step toward my chair and held out a cast-wrapped hand. Then he fell on his face, and she saw the knife between his shoulder blades.
  
  
  Marco Valante whirled around. Her screamed at him. "No, Valante. Another guy!"
  
  
  He realized that he had made a mistake, but it was too late. The man for the day, Rossi's boy, shot him, and ego, his body twitched as the bullet hit. Valante stubbornly refused to fall. He made a full circle of signs, pulling out his gun, and collided with a man who put a bullet in the emu's back.
  
  
  The man pulled the trigger again for a day. Ego's silenced gun picked up the sound of saliva. The gawk hit Valante like a fist in the flesh. Valante finally started to fall, but fired himself. Then it fell to the floor next to my chair.
  
  
  Rossi the bandit was leaning against the wall, his legs spread out, as if he was hoping to pull himself together and not fall. He did his job. He saved his boss. But he was dying. Valante's shot hit the emu in the life. He slid out the door slowly, like a drunk who's decided to sit on the floor. Ego's knees were hanging down. Ego's legs suddenly slid forward, and he collapsed in a coiled heap.
  
  
  Lew Rossi smoothly pulled the knife around Joe's back and wiped his ego on the young mobster's coat. He rolled up Joe's eyes to make sure he was dead. Then he stepped over Joe and kicked Marco Valante. He nudged it again, then looked at me. "Disappointed, Carter?"
  
  
  "Yeah," I said.
  
  
  Finally, Rossi checked on his man. He didn't look heartbroken when he confirmed that the shooter was dead. There were a lot of replacements around. "How did you know?" he asked me.
  
  
  "A lot of fragments came together. Someone in the mob sent Coogan to kill me and the girl in Bonham. It wasn't Valante - na-hotel's job to get the girl to talk, but hers to lead ego to Abruz's killers. When it was discovered that Moose was still in the mafia. It by putting two and two together. Abruz botched a drug deal with the Chinese Communists. Hers, I guess it was your deal. But you wanted Abruz dead for a more important reason than just anger. "I guessed it now. "He knows about Meet your secret relationship with the Communists and was going to talk to you. You were afraid we'd know what we were talking about, so you got rid of Abruz and Kirby. And then they had Meredith, and I had to figure it out before we found out anything. You must have killed Meredith yourself-the ego killer used a knife."
  
  
  
  
  
  .
  
  
  "They don't call me a Doctor because I studied medicine. In the old days, I did a lot of instant surgeries." He flicked the knife and stuck ego in a minute: "I almost caught you at the motel. You're a lucky bastard, Carter."
  
  
  "That's because I'm pure in heart."
  
  
  "You're also very curious. Since you don't intend to leave this apartment alive, I might as well tell you about everything else." He sat down again and lit his cigar again. "I have a good relationship with these Chinese people. The drug deal was just a cover - up-an excuse for me to meet them. He used his own people to infiltrate the AX and pass information to the Communists. Odin around my people at your base in the Carolinas became aware of Sheila Brant's whereabouts by meeting your files. The Communists pay for my help with high-quality medicines. I have the best supply in the country. For estestvenno, the mafia won't be happy to know about my personal affairs. Abruz Stahl was suspicious, so emu had to leave."
  
  
  "How do you plan to explain this scene to Organizations? The work you did with Joe now bears your initials."
  
  
  "You did it, Carter. You're good with a knife. You also killed Valante and my boy over there. This is my story, and Barbara Valante is going to support it."
  
  
  He called Barbara at the hospital and told hey that her father was hurt, and hey, we'd better get back to the apartment as soon as possible. He hung up and sat down, looking at me with a flint smile on his thin lips.
  
  
  "You gave me a hell of a time, AX man. But now I have you."
  
  
  Hers was sweating and frantically tugging at the ropes. Somehow I had to tell Hawk what I'd just learned. But I didn't want to be within a hundred miles of the old man when he realized that the city was being infiltrated by mobsters working for the Red Chinese.
  
  
  Rossi stood up. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it in my mouth. "Barbara should be here in ten minutes. I don't want you to shout or engage in conversation."
  
  
  Twelve minutes later, she ran down the hall and ducked into the apartment. She paled when she saw the gruesome scene: three bodies, one around which belonged to her ancestor. Many women would faint. She only made a strangled sound of agony.
  
  
  Rossi slammed the door and clapped a hand over Ei's mouth. They struggled until he held the knife to her throat.
  
  
  "I know this is hard for you, Barbara," he said in his soft voice, " but you have to stay calm and behave. Your life and the Sump's life depend on it."
  
  
  She nodded, and Rossi released her. She let out a sob around her throat, her eyes begging me to explain what I couldn't give her.
  
  
  "I want you to answer the phone," Hey Rossi said.
  
  
  "Who should I call her?" "What is it?" she asked hoarsely.
  
  
  "Anyone, as long as they are a member of the board of directors. I suggest Sal Terlizzi or Don Corvone. Let's make it Terlizzi. He's always thought a lot about you. He'll believe everything you say."
  
  
  Barbara snorted and took a sharp breath. Her eyes darted to me, and he tried to speak despite the gag, only to find I was gasping for breath.
  
  
  "What am I going to say, Rossi?" "What is it?" she asked in a voice that suddenly hardened.
  
  
  "That Nick Carter guy killed your father, and Joe, and that I'm trying to kill ego. It'll be fine if you have trouble talking. This will make the ego convincing. Then you hang up the phone without giving any details. "
  
  
  Rossi gathered up all the weapons in the room and laid out the egos on the table. He took Valente's Browning, which ness. "Now, Barbara, if you don't deliver the message exactly as I'm delivering it to ego, I'll shoot you, her, in Carter's face."
  
  
  The ego plan was taking shape. The mob boss Barbara was supposed to call will swallow her story. After she hangs up, Rossi will kill us both. Then he will tell the mafia that I killed the girl before he kills me. He must have thought through a few more details to make the last part convincing, but the gist was obvious.
  
  
  He caught Barbara's eye and shook his head. I hoped she understood. When she finished the call, we were both dead.
  
  
  She answered the phone. Rossi shell about her. He rolled over the chair and fell to the floor, desperately trying to break it to free his hands. I didn't succeed, but the impact on the floor made Rossi's head jerk. When his gaze left Barbara, she grabbed the hypodermic needle she'd used the night before and drove it into the emu's shoulder with all her strength.
  
  
  The sudden pain made Rossi cry out. Even her father flinched when he saw the device standing in his hand like a porcupine's quills. Rossi swore and yanked it free. While he was doing this, the girl hit ego with the phone. It hit the wall, and she ran into the kitchen and slammed the door. Despite her height, the girl was thinking fast. Running away was better for Nah than trying to stay and fight Rossi.
  
  
  Rossi shook his head uncertainly. He was so angry that I thought he was going to shoot me, just to let the air out around my spleen
  
  
  
  
  
  Then we both heard the door to the back stairs slam. He realized that emu needed to stop Barbara, otherwise ego's whole plan would fall apart. He ran to the door she'd closed, shouldered it open, and ran through the kitchen. I heard him coming down the stairs.
  
  
  A drawer opened in the kitchen. Barbara burst into the room with a meat cleaver. She was breathing heavily. "I slammed the back door and ducked into the broom closet. He ran a mimmo of me, " she said, freeing me.
  
  
  I snatched her knife from Nah and cut the ropes that bound my ankles. He picked her up with a second silenced pistol and ran through the kitchen to the stairs.
  
  
  Rossi went outside and ducked back inside when he didn't see the girl. He looked up as hers appeared on the second-floor landing.
  
  
  Ego gawk knocked down the shards from the side of the open day behind me. Mine tore the sleeve of his coat.
  
  
  He opened the door that didn't lead to the street and jumped into the nah. By the time I reached street level, he had disappeared around the corner of the house.
  
  
  11
  
  
  When her husband returned to the apartment, Barbara was kneeling next to her father. Pain showed on her pale face.
  
  
  "I know this is going to take a lot from you, but I need your help. Rossi should find her quickly, " I said.
  
  
  "What do you think, tailor take it?"
  
  
  "He's not going to give up his position and run. He'll come up with another story to tell you. For example, that you betrayed your father and joined forces with me."
  
  
  She stood up. "Then we have to stop him before he can contact them."
  
  
  "Exactly."
  
  
  She was driving a small Fiat. When we left the apartment building, she said: "Rossi has an estate in the suburbs. I think he will go there."
  
  
  I took her to the street where I'd left my rental car last night. The car was still there, with the illegal parking ticket on the windshield.
  
  
  "You drive," I ordered. Her sel is next to her, assembling a rifle that was tested at the AX base in South Carolina.
  
  
  Rossi's house was on a hill. An iron gate guarded the entrance, and a high fence surrounded the area.
  
  
  "If you break the gate, the alarm goes off," Barbara said. "You should call the house and ask to be accepted."
  
  
  He slid under the steering wheel and took her place. Then it drove through the gate, opened the lock and knocked out the ih. The car passed along the paved road, one part of the gate still hanging from the hood. The bent wing scratched the tire, but it didn't make much sense, like a carved car.
  
  
  As we passed mimmo, a man dressed as a gardener yelled at us. Then the second man ran through the bushes with a gun in his hand. He picked up the rifle with one hand, crossed his arm over his chest, and stuck his head out the window. He pulled the trigger, and the running man swerved toward the pond.
  
  
  "This is Rossi's car, "Barbara called, pointing to the Cadillac in the driveway. "He's here, okay."
  
  
  He jumped around the car and fired into the Cadillac's gas tank. He pumped her with two more bullets, then pulled out an AX lighter and threw it into the gas that began to seep through the tank.
  
  
  "What are you doing?" The girl asked, puzzled.
  
  
  "Make sure he can't leave," I said.
  
  
  The flames blew up the Cadillac's body, and then the tank exploded. A man in a chauffeur's uniform appeared on the stairs leading down to the apartment above the garage.
  
  
  "Nick!" the girl exclaimed, pointing at him.
  
  
  He leaned against the hood of his car, replaced the rifle, and put a bullet in the driver's chest while he was still trying to get the revolver out from under his doublet.
  
  
  Next to me in the wing, gawk whined. Someone in the house shot at me. I crouched down and ran to the other side of the car, where Barbara was already crouching. Another gun started up. There were at least two men in the house.
  
  
  Holding the rifle on his lap, her father looked at the girl. She was breathing hard, and the color had returned to her face.
  
  
  "Barbara,"I said," you're all right."
  
  
  "So it's you, Nick."
  
  
  "I want you to roll out of the car and hide in the rose bushes," her father said. "Can you shoot the cannon?"
  
  
  "Of course I can."
  
  
  They put her in their Luger in her hand. "Shoot at the house. You don't have to have a goal. Just take pictures. I want her back up."
  
  
  Then he crawled through the open car door and turned the key. I picked up my bike, lying on the seat for my calculations, pressing my hand on the accelerator pedal. He reached out and put the car in gear, and the car rolled down the driveway toward the front of the house.
  
  
  He rolled out onto the lawn and made his way through the bushes to the wall. It crawled under the windows to the corner of the house. There was a patio at the back and a glass-enclosed veranda. Lew Rossi gilles stylish.
  
  
  He picked up a small stone bench and threw it against the glass. A man ran out, looking for me. Waiting for her, I stand with my back to moan. Finally, he ventured out into the courtyard. When he passed mimmo me,
  
  
  
  
  
  Her, went out and hit his ego with the butt of his rifle.
  
  
  He entered the house through the broken glass doors and found a woman in a red dress sitting in the corner. She was in her mid-thirties, and she was so scared that she was shaking all over.
  
  
  "Who the hell are you, tailor?" she said in a shaky voice.
  
  
  "Her Nickname is Carter. Are you a Rossi or ego woman, mistress?"
  
  
  "We need Odin. Its coming around Vegas. And if I ever get out of here, I won't come back."
  
  
  He went into a larger room, down the hall, and a man jumped out and shot me. Her shotgun fired from the hip, and my gawk hit a vase on the long table to the right of the man. He jumped back. Overturning a long chair, he pushed her ego to block the entrance to the hallway. Then her ego used her as a shield.
  
  
  The man put two bullets in my shoulder. Her father lay on the floor and groaned. I counted it to ten before it took a bite. Then I heard him approaching me. I waited until he came to the table and bent over it to find my body. Then hers, swung the rifle and knocked the revolver around his arm.
  
  
  He grabbed my hair, which couldn't have been better. My howl wasn't as fake as my moan. I thought he was going to pull my hair out by the roots. I got up and hit her on the chin with the butt of my ego. Then he stepped over it and walked down a corridor lined with doors.
  
  
  "Rossi," I called. "Are you too cowardly to come out?"
  
  
  No response.
  
  
  He pushed open the empty bedroom door and moved on.
  
  
  "Rossi," I called. "Do you have to kill the man from behind like Joe?"
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  I tried the other door. Bathroom. A woman in a maid's uniform cowered in the bathroom.
  
  
  "You have a great place here, Rossi," I shouted. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do with it. I'll set it on fire if you don't come out."
  
  
  He went out. He jumped out of the linen closet, hit me with the door, and knocked me off my feet, then pounced on me.
  
  
  The knife flashed as he plunged the ego into my throat. He jerked, grabbed ego's wrist with both hands, and began to bend ego's arm back. He fell and broke free, driving his fist into my ribs. Then he stabbed again, cutting a long hole in the leg of my trousers as it rolled away.
  
  
  We met in the hallway, panting. He was on his knees, and she was on hers, and the shotgun she'd dropped lay on the floor between us.
  
  
  "Pick it up, Carter," he said. "Try lifting it, and I'll cut off your arm."
  
  
  Hugo picked it up before leaving Barbara's apartment. He placed the knife in his palm, and when Rossi saw it, he raised his hand to throw his knife.
  
  
  Barbara shot him. She had entered the house and was sitting at the end of the hall. She raised the luger, took ego firmly in both hands, and shot the emu through the back of the head. She walked slowly over to us and stood looking at the dead man. Finally she turned to me with an absent expression and said: "Code ... he broke the Kota code ... the bastard."
  
  
  The next morning we said our goodbyes in black. Her long hair was pulled into a chaste bun around her neck, and her pale face was bare of makeup.
  
  
  "I assume you're going to Las Vegas right now to try and find a Moose dog," she said.
  
  
  "I have a feeling that he will be waiting for me."
  
  
  "Have you read the papers? The police can't figure out what happened. They think there's some kind of gang war going on."
  
  
  "We got out just in time," I said.
  
  
  "Nick, I have to tell her something."
  
  
  "You mean something like, maybe we'll meet again when things get better?
  
  
  "I don't think I need to say it at all."
  
  
  The number Moose had recorded for Cora in Las Vegas was that of the ranch, a legitimate brothel run by a woman named Arlene Bradley. When she became aware that I didn't want to try out the talents of ee girls, the Bradley woman escorted me to a low-end office and sat down in a swivel chair.
  
  
  "Cora left here a while ago. She wasn't meant to be, and she found a different life."
  
  
  "Do you remember a man named Moose?"
  
  
  "He and three others came here to see Cora. For estestvenno, ih didn't question her. But I thought they were people who, hey, I shouldn't have messed with. Like I said, I liked her. ee of an element in such a place ."
  
  
  She took the picture out of the drawer and handed it to me. "I took this. Is that the girl you're talking about?"
  
  
  It was Sheila Brant.
  
  
  "What do you want, Mr. Harper? What is the subject of these questions? " the woman asked.
  
  
  "Cora is dead. Like you said, she's messing with the wrong people. Only she knew her as Sheila Brant."
  
  
  She blinked. The news seemed to hit her hard. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. "You should have told me earlier. I told her I liked her, and I took her seriously. Was the person known as Moose responsible for her death?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "He's in Las Vegas. Ego saw him at the casino last night."
  
  
  "If Mousse shows up here, will you call me at my hotel?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  He hunted her Moose at night in casinos, clubs and hotels
  
  
  
  
  
  but her ego didn't find it.
  
  
  Arlene Bradley called me while I was having her breakfast. "He contacted me. Can you come out?"
  
  
  Hers was driving in the hot sun to the ranch. My pulse was racing, my adrenaline pumping. My search has come to an end.
  
  
  "They asked about you, just as you asked about them. I told her you were here and that you were coming back. They want her to set a trap for you, " Arlene Bradley said.
  
  
  "Did you accept the offer?"
  
  
  She smiled for the first time. The smile was thin, hard, and controlled. "I guess they think that someone around my business can't object to ih. They offered me $ 10,000 to let them leave you alone so they could kill you."
  
  
  "They must have found the money."
  
  
  "Money?" she said with a frown.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. Tell them that you will do it. Tell them you put an ih trap."
  
  
  "And you'll catch ih instead."
  
  
  "I'll try," I said.
  
  
  On the way to the ranch, a mimmo of the old ghost town passed her. We drove to his place and he waded through the dust until he found a building that looked suitable for what her hotel was. He took out a rifle around the car and hid it in the rafters near the entrance.
  
  
  "May I ask her why you're doing this?" Arlene said.
  
  
  "I have a gun that is enough for close-range defense. But they might try to kill me from a distance."
  
  
  She stared out at the deserted street. Though the air shimmered with Savchenko, she shivered. "The perfect place for a shootout. Just like in the movies. Only this is not a fiction."
  
  
  "You have several horses on the ranch. Tell Moose you're going to take me for a walk today, not when. You will bring me here, then run away with the horses and leave me alone."
  
  
  "That sounds perfect. For them."
  
  
  "I want them to trust this. When will they contact you again?"
  
  
  "Elk said that he would arrive at noon. The emu schedule will do. It's the same as leaving you here without a horse."
  
  
  Back at the ranch, she poured me a drink and held her glass to mine. "To success."
  
  
  "To a crime," I said.
  
  
  She smiled for the second time since we'd met. "I keep the appearance of firmness because it's better for business. But I can feel a lot of sympathy for people. Like Bark. Like you."
  
  
  He poured us another one. "Then to friendship."
  
  
  We were driving to a ghost town in the sun so hot that my shirt was sticking to my back. He dismounted.
  
  
  "Do you see ih, Ned?"
  
  
  "I saw a glimmer of sunlight. They're probably looking through binoculars. Come on, take off. They'll be right there. They won't want to miss the meeting."
  
  
  She took off, leaving my horse behind. That wasn't part of the plan. But it didn't matter. The moose will still come. I knew I could count on it.
  
  
  He took her to the sagging verandah of one of the long-abandoned shops and smoked a cigarette. Then a car she knew - a Lincoln-saw her. It stopped at the end of the street and a man got out. A big man. He stood there looking at me, and I felt my dollar stack tighten.
  
  
  My horse made a noise. He looked at the animal and saw another bandit approaching from the opposite direction. He walked while leading the horse. Ego's feet kicked up dust in tiny spirals.
  
  
  They planned to catch me in the crossfire.
  
  
  The stub of her cigarette dropped her. He stood up and moved between the two buildings. Standing against one wall around the huts, hers, waiting for my stalkers to make a move. It didn't take long. Moose came around the corner.
  
  
  "How did you like my girls, Harper?"
  
  
  "Everything was fine with the couple / *
  
  
  "But not as pretty as Sheila? She was cute. I'm sorry I broke your neck. We've been together a few times. But big money will muddy a woman's head, distort her thinking."
  
  
  "She didn't rob you."
  
  
  Moose came up to lick. "Then who did it? I got her a job at Arlene's house, but I never told anyone else about the money. So how could they have disappeared like she said?"
  
  
  My arm was hanging down from the side, and he turned so that Moose couldn't see my hand. Her Luger moved, turned around, and the Moose from the flag of permission for execution hung down.
  
  
  "I think she made a mistake in telling Arlene," I said.
  
  
  "Come on, Harper!"
  
  
  Another man walked around the house and came up behind me. He was crouched down, his gun pointed at me. "I said come on, sucker."
  
  
  "Don't shoot him," Moose shouted. "I want to hear what he has to say about money."
  
  
  The Luger dropped her and backed toward the cabin. "Arlene won Sheila over and earned her trust. She told me that you offered her $ 10,000 for this installation. Is that right, Moose, or did she tell you it was a favor for an old friend?"
  
  
  "She said it was a favor."
  
  
  Then he turned and ducked through the open window of the hut. Her shoulder hit the rotten boards, and they gave way, spitting out dust. I heard Moose and another man shouting at each other. He got up, ran to the rafters, and reached for the rifle he'd caught there. He should have known that the ego would be gone. Arlene came back and shifted her ego. She really set me up.
  
  
  The problem was that I didn't realize she was involved until Moose brought in the money again. Moose said that he got Sheila a job in the house,
  
  
  
  
  
  They made Arlene a liar once, at least because of an oversight. Moose said he still hadn't found the money, which meant he couldn't offer Arlene $ 10,000. That made her a liar twice. And she gave me this line about how much she felt about Sheila and me. She told me that she would wait for her to get out of this trap alive. Probably with a gun.
  
  
  Elk ran down the porch of the house. He looked like a buffalo. He threw himself through the door without stopping and fell through the floor. Alenka's ego was more than the rotten boards could handle. The ego was pinned to the wall. He swore and writhed, looking for me.
  
  
  He took a step towards him and his ego was slapped across the face by a blackboard. The impact was so strong that the board shattered.
  
  
  Another man at sunset through the window. She was thrown at by a stiletto, but went quickly and missed. Her dodged the door. If the other Musa hadn't raised his ego, my Luger would still be lying outside.
  
  
  I trotted her around the corner. The gun was still there, but her knuckles didn't reach for it. Arlene sat between the buildings, holding the reins of a nervous horse in one hand and a medium - weight Mauser in the other.
  
  
  "Go and get it. I came back to help you, " she said.
  
  
  "No, you came back to check with the boys and see if everything was going according to plan. That's not so. Hers is still alive, and they know the truth. You stole money from Sheila. She ran away when she discovered they were missing. I never knew you had it. She trusted you. "
  
  
  She fired a submachine gun at him.
  
  
  It was thrown into the dust by Fiat. He looked up just in time to see Moose's companion lean through the windows and shoot Arlene. Gawk was a .45 caliber and ripped hey, face off.
  
  
  Her screamed and lunged at the man, pulling ego through the windows. He slapped his ego in the face and grabbed ego's gun arm as we rolled down the dusty street. A moose came around the corner. He picked up a boulder, raised his ego above his head, and took a step toward me.
  
  
  The man below me was trying to point the gun in the right direction, but I kept my ego on her wrist. Her ego hit him again. Her, I knew that the Moose would come. At the last moment, it rolled back. The moose released a boulder. Another man was sitting up, and a boulder hit his ego, with a terrible sound, as if a knife was in meat. I had no doubt that the man was dead. Without a doubt.
  
  
  Moose looked baffled by this turn of events. He shook his huge head in disbelief. Then he walked over to his friend. He ripped the .45 out from around the man's fingers.
  
  
  I crawled her to the Luger. Turning around, her Moose shot him in the chest. Twice. I shot him a third time as he stood up, his eyes wild and his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something.
  
  
  Finally, he fell and lay still in the dust. He slowly got to his feet. The ghost town seemed almost silent, like a graveyard. He was the only person in nen who was left alive. The long conference was over, and my work was done, except that I told Hawk about the infiltrators of the AX bases. But tomorrow will be different.
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  I found her at Hawke's ego Club pool in the leafy Virginia countryside, near Washington. He was taking much-needed sun baths. Ego's bony elbows and knees were like ivory doorknobs.
  
  
  "How was the cleaning?" I asked her.
  
  
  "The equipment was taken care of. We had to close our bases in the Carolinas and Denver, but we got control of all the mafia spies. Fortunately, the operation was at an early stage and they didn't pass on any important information. "
  
  
  "In general, the mafia did not know anything about Rossi's deal with the Communists or that he was involved in espionage for AX. Abruz probably didn't know much either. He was just suspicious. But suspicions can be deadly when you get mixed up with people like Lew Rossi."
  
  
  Hawk opened one eye.
  
  
  "It was expensive and bloody, Nick, but it's our job, yours and mine. It's a dirty business, and they don't give you medals for it."
  
  
  "I know," I said.
  
  
  "Are you ready to leave for London tomorrow?"
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  "Nick," he called out as his father moved away. He sat in a chaise longue. "Who, Grandma, is waiting for you in the car?"
  
  
  "Reliable informant".
  
  
  "You mean Valant's daughter?" he said .
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Barbara waited impatiently. "Let's go somewhere and go to bed, Nick. Tomorrow will come very quickly." She moved closer to me licking when her leaving for the club. "Was your boss surprised?"Oh, of course," I said. "He was almost speechless."
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Counterparty Agent
  
  
  
  Nick Carter.
  
  
  Counterparty Agent
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  While chasing dangerous game, the hunter sometimes finds that he has unwittingly switched roles with his prey, and has become the victim. Many wild animals have the cunning needed for ambushes, such as the Mato Grosso killer jaguar, which hid on its own trail to confuse and kill hunting dogs with a single swipe of its claws, always killing the last dog in the pack first. And the rogue elephant Dabi, who developed a nasty habit of ripping off limbs from human pursuers.
  
  
  The man is certainly the most cunning ambusher around, and he carefully considered this fact as he walked down the dark forest path. It was the perfect place for an ambush; and hers, knew it was planned that way.
  
  
  He picked it carefully, slowly, watching every tree and bush for movement, listening for the slightest sound. My Luger, Wilhelmina, lay ready in its holster, but without its gear. The Hugo stiletto lay in a suede scabbard strapped to my right forearm, under the jacket she was wearing. Her mimmo had just passed an overhanging branch when he heard a sound behind him. Even before he turned around, I knew what it meant-the man had fallen from the tree to the ground behind me.
  
  
  He turned just in time to see a hand descending with a knife in it. The thin, sharp blade was pointed almost directly at my chest.
  
  
  Lifting his left forearm to block it, he grabbed the man's wrist. At the same time, he poked the man's eyes with the index and middle fingers of his right hand. But he pressed his free hand to the bridge of his nose, just in time to save his eyes.
  
  
  Ego grabbed her other wrist with both hands, turning and turning away from him, and pulled hard, leaning forward. The man flew over my shoulder and hit the ground on his back. The knife flew out across the ego of the hand. I flexed the muscles in my right forearm, and the stiletto slid into my palm. Before the man could move, he tucked her thin stream of emu stiletto under her chin and held her ego there.
  
  
  "Good luck next time," he told her softly.
  
  
  She wasn't stabbed in the man's chin as usual. Ego held her there until ego's eyes narrowed on me.
  
  
  Suddenly he chuckled. "Very good, N3," he said.
  
  
  "Any suggestions?" I asked, removing the stiletto from Ego's throat.
  
  
  He sat up and dusted himself off. "Well, I might have mentioned that you should use more of your hip in the throw. And that your stiletto isn't a problem, and is considered worse than the German Trapper's Companion that you just took from me. But I think you all know that, anyway. And you seem to be doing your job, us, no matter what."
  
  
  Hugo returned it to its scabbard. "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  She passed the first test at the advanced training courses. My opponent was an assistant Aikido instructor at the AX Academy, and I had to admit that he did a damn good job making sure I remembered the basics of self-defense. We were on the grounds of a super-secret school for AX agents.
  
  
  "Now continue on this path until you come to the intersection with the path leading back to the training center," he told me. "Expect anything."
  
  
  "I always love it," he told her, smiling.
  
  
  I left her ego there and went down the winding path. The moon slid out from behind the clouds, casting an eerie silvery glow over the sky. He moved cautiously, ready for anything. When he reached the intersection, he stopped for a moment. He knew that there was no sound system, which meant that there was a good chance that there was someone else in the hall nearby. I had just started on my way to the training center when a man jumped out through the darkness onto the path directly in front of me. Her luger pulled out and finished off the man to the ego of the weapon. The emu's luger aimed at her chest and pulled the trigger. There was a click in the empty camera window.
  
  
  "You're dead," I said. "Gawk 9mm fold dollar".
  
  
  The figure in the dark suit laughed, and I saw that he was wearing a stocking over his face. The laughter and the stocking made me turn in my head. While he was still trying to figure it out, he heard a slight noise behind him. This man was just a decoy. But that didn't make sense. Instructors have never worked in teams against you, our night exercises.
  
  
  Before he could turn to face the other man, he felt a sudden sharp pain explode at the base of his skull. Bright lights flashed on me in the dark. My knees buckled, all over the hotel, and hit the back of my head. I heard her somewhere, a low moan, a wheezing sound, and it came from around my own throat.
  
  
  A voice heard her. "Is that him?"
  
  
  "Yes, that's him," the other man replied with some sort of accent.
  
  
  He painfully opened his eyes and saw two dark figures floating in the darkness. Both of them
  
  
  wear stocking masks. I managed to ask her. "What is it?"
  
  
  "Real life, Mr. Carter," he said with an accent. "Not school games like you thought."
  
  
  He squinted through pain-blurred eyes to see the outlines of faces under the stockings, but it was too dark to see anything. In any case, it didn't take any brilliant deductions to find out that they weren't instructors from the training academy. I was just trying to guess how they got into the territory when one around them kicked me hard in the side.
  
  
  He chuckled and swore under his breath. The pain was excruciating. A man with an accent pointed a Colt Cobra 38 Special at my face.
  
  
  "It was just to convince you that this wasn't a game, Mr. Carter," the one with the Colt told me. The other man was breathing shallowly and looked like he wanted to repeat a lesson.
  
  
  He shoved the small pistol back into his pocket and pulled out a black envelope from inside his jacket. With a guttural sound, he dropped the envelope next to me on the ground.
  
  
  The one with the accent spoke again. "This is a message for your superiors, Mr. Carter. This concerns the upcoming conference in Caracas. I suggest that your people read it carefully and seriously."
  
  
  My mind whirled in painful darkness. The conference was a meeting between the American Vice President and the President of Venezuela, which was also scheduled to take place at the Palacio de Miraflores, the White Palace, over the next two weeks. It was an important political event that was supposed to strengthen economic and political ties between the United States and Venezuela.
  
  
  She was asked to ask questions so that they would talk a little more. But they ended the conversation. Whoever kicked me earlier was going to give me one last punch before they left. The trouble with him was that he loved his job too much. This time, he aimed his heavy boot at my head. Ego grabbed her by the leg and turned her around, laughing. He heard the crack of bones and screamed, losing his balance and falling heavily on top of his companion. The other man recoiled, and they both fell.
  
  
  "Fool!" The man with the colt shouted, trying to get to his feet, trying to aim.
  
  
  He was on his feet by then, and somehow he was between me and the gun, which was fine with me. He slammed a big fist into my face, but I ducked and it bounced off my jaw. The man with the gun jumped up and ran into the shadows. She was hit by another man, smashing her ego high with his fist. He fell on his back and I threw myself on top of him, but he put his foot in my face and pushed. Hers flew, and by the time hers was back on its feet, it had slipped away into the bushes.
  
  
  But he wasn't going to forget how much emu liked kicking me, and it gave me an energy he didn't even know he had. He let the stiletto drop into my hand and hurled ego emu after him. He hit the emu in the back as it was entering a dense bush. He screamed, clutched his back, and dashed forward, disappearing out of sight into the bushes.
  
  
  As I approached the fallen man, the instructor stepped out of the shadows behind me. "Hey," he shouted, " what's going on here?"
  
  
  He went to the place where he kept it and saw the stiletto sticking out all over the bandit's back. He said. "Jesus!" "What the hell happened?"
  
  
  Her stocking mask removed from the man and saw that he was dead. The face was unfamiliar. "We had guests," I said. "One left."
  
  
  "Did you kill this one?" He looked a little sick.
  
  
  The AX instructors are self-defense specialists, but most around them don't spend much time in the field. They teach us to do nothing, but they never do the dirty work.
  
  
  "Looks like I did it," I said, passing mimmo a karate expert with my jaw hanging open to pick up the envelope my attackers had left with me. Ego opened it and could barely read the message in the dim moonlight.
  
  
  At the upcoming conference in Caracas, the US government and especially the AX intelligence network will be subjected to severe humiliation and embarrassment. This is an open challenge for EVERYONE: to whom, what form of humiliation will take and how it will be implemented, as well as to prevent ego if you can. When you lose, the world will see the inefficiency of the EU and the inefficiency of the United States government in world affairs.
  
  
  Signed simply "Spoilers". The entire message, including the caption, was pasted together from the software's magazine clippings.
  
  
  A pale-faced karate instructor approached me, squinting at the dead man. When he spoke, his voice was cold. "Did these people leave this?"
  
  
  "Actually," I said.
  
  
  "Can I see this, please?" He asked in an instructor's voice.
  
  
  "I'm afraid not," I said.
  
  
  Ego's face filled with anger. "Now listen, Carter. This unfortunate incident happened on the school grounds, what do you want to do. "
  
  
  He shoved the paper into his jacket pocket. "David Hawke will receive the full report."
  
  
  Everyone in AX obeyed Hawke, even the man's boss at the training center. She suspected that the instructor resented the fact that I reported directly to Hawk. When mimmo walked past him to get his stiletto, I thought he was going to stop me.
  
  
  "Do you think you can borrow this paper from me?" he asked her with a sarcastic grin.
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment. I knew that he was very willing to accept the challenge, but he knew about my rank. That single fact scared him, despite his black belt in karate.
  
  
  He stepped aside and took out her stiletto. He cleaned the blade on the dead man's back and returned the ego to its scabbard. "You can take the body to the training center," I said, " but leave the ego there until you hear from Hawke. And don't take anything out of your ego pockets."
  
  
  The instructor just stared at me, indignation written all over his face.
  
  
  "In the meantime, the exercises are finished," I said. "Today is no longer forever hiding in the shadows."
  
  
  He turned away and headed back toward the buildings. I should have called Hawke right away.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A couple of days later, Hawke and hers were sitting at a long mahogany conference table at AX headquarters with the head of the CIA, the head of the National Security Agency, the chief of the Secret Service, and the director of the Venezuelan security Police. Hawk asked these people to meet with us because ih agencies were going to secure the Caracas conference.
  
  
  Hawk was at the head of his chair, talking through a huge, stinking cigar. "You all have copies of the message, gentlemen," he said. "If anyone around you wants to re-examine the original, I have it here." His lean body seemed electrified with energy, and his hard, icy eyes looked out of place in the cheerful face of a Connecticut farmer. He noticed, as he had so many times before,that when the Hawk spoke, people listened intently, and even these famous people.
  
  
  "There's no word on who wrote this?" The CIA boss asked. He was a tall, red-haired man with piercing blue eyes and the manner of a five-star general.
  
  
  "I'll let N3 answer that corkscrew," Hawk said, sticking a cigar in his mouth.
  
  
  He put his hands on the table in front of him. I hate these bureaucratic meetings, especially when I have to answer a lot of questions about intelligence.
  
  
  "It's impossible to track the materials they used for the message itself," I said. "We checked out the paper, envelope, clippings and glue, and these are all the usual things they could buy in any around a thousand stores in the area."
  
  
  "What about the men themselves?" The head of the secret service asked impatiently. He was stocky and fair-haired, with gray stripes at the temples. He looked very nervous.
  
  
  "The man who killed her turned out to be a shoe salesman in a big department store here in Washington. No leads at all. He doesn't have records in any of our departments or the police. And all I can tell you about my ego friend is that he's a tall guy with a European accent."
  
  
  "Russian?" The NSA agent asked. He was an elderly man with white hair and a long jutting chin. He was drawing on a pad in front of him, but he was looking at my face intently.
  
  
  "I can't say for sure," I said. "Maybe it was a Balkan accent. And, of course, it can be fake."
  
  
  The Venezuelan tapped his fingers on the table. He was a large man with an olive complexion and dark, bushy eyebrows. He was the man who successfully frobbled out the Venezuelan government during a series of coup attempts some time ago, and now he was apparently worried. "Then we have no idea who is behind this message," he said slowly, with a heavy accent.
  
  
  "I'm afraid that's the current situation," Hawke admitted. "Even my signature doesn't mean anything to us."
  
  
  "If it was up to me, it wouldn't be Stahl worrying about it," the NSA chief said. "This whole thing is probably some kind of hoax."
  
  
  "Or just some people who have a grudge against you," the head of the secret service commented. "Amateurs who are easy to deal with if they show up in Caracas."
  
  
  "I don't think the Russians or the Red Chinese have ever done missions this way," the CIA man said slowly. "But then it is almost impossible to guess how the KGB and L5 will behave in this or that situation."
  
  
  "The hard and cold fact remains," Hawk said, " that there is a threat." The note talks about humiliation and embarrassment, not just breakdowns. And it is specifically addressed to AX. gentlemen? "
  
  
  There was a brief silence. Finally, the CIA chief spoke again. "Your men don't get to where an assassination attempt is expected,"he said," to block the executioners ' ih with yours." He looked at me
  
  
  "Actually," Hawk said, leaning back in his chair and looking around the chair. "So if AX is supposed to be at this conference, it's possible that someone is planning to kill our vice president or the president of Venezuela, or both."
  
  
  The table was bustling with activity. The head of the secret Service looked at Hawke grimly. "I don't see how we can draw that conclusion from the documents, David," he said. "I think you're exaggerating its importance."
  
  
  The NSA employee got up from his chair and Stahl paced back and forth beside the long chair, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a retired British colonel pacing the room. "I think we all take this too seriously," he argued. "The damn note could be a hoax."
  
  
  Until now, her ferret had been deliberately silent. Hawk wants to hear everyone's opinion before we express our own. But now hers, I thought it was time for me to speak out.
  
  
  "This is too well planned for a joke," Tycho told her. "You remember, these people managed to gain access to the territory of the AX training center. And they knew my name and managed to find me there. The one with the accent who gave me the note said exactly that: I suggest that your people read this carefully and seriously. I looked around the chair. "He didn't look like he was joking."
  
  
  "If she hadn't been killed by a man in this situation, she would also have been forced to take it all rather seriously," the Secret Service official said tartly.
  
  
  I couldn't afford to be out on my own. "One of the men around me had a revolver pointed at me, and the other was fighting with me," I said coldly. "If you were there, you would definitely take it seriously. I used my knife because I needed to stop a person, not because I like to kill."
  
  
  The head of the Secret Service just raised his eyebrows and gave me a condescending smile. "No criticism of your judgment was intended for you, Mr. Carter. I'm just trying to point out that the security services regularly receive such records. We just can't afford to take ih seriously."
  
  
  The Venezuelan cleared his throat. "It's true. But this one seems different to me. And where there is any possibility of an attempt on the life of my president, I cannot risk it. She was found to double down on security at Miraflores Palace during conferences. And since your vice president may also be in danger, I strongly recommend that you take additional precautions."
  
  
  "I just spoke with the vice president," the CIA chief said. "Ego" - it doesn't bother you at all. He told emu that all four agencies will still have people there, and he thinks that's enough."
  
  
  Hawk looked back at the Secret Service man, who had his hands clasped over his mouth. Despite his cynical comments, he was clearly aware that he was primarily responsible for the life and personal well-being of the Vice President.
  
  
  "What do you think?" Ego Hawk asked.
  
  
  He looked at Hawke seriously. "Well, its got to admit that we're talking here about the lives of conference room executives, at least potentially. I will find additional people to travel to Caracas to meet the security requirements in Venezuela."
  
  
  "All right," Hawk said, chewing on his cigar. He ran a hand through his gray hair, then took out an iso rta cigar. "As for AX, we wouldn't normally have an agent in this country for a meeting. But since AX was specifically mentioned in the note, I'm sending my main person-Nick Carter - to the conference." He waved at me. "The vice president thinks it would be nice if she was accompanied by ego, so I'll go too."
  
  
  The CIA chief looked from me to Hawke. "We'll take care of admitting both of them."
  
  
  The NSA man slowly shook his head. "I still think you're going on a wild goose chase," he quipped.
  
  
  "Maybe so," Hawke admitted. "And, of course, there is a third possibility." He paused, enjoying the wait. "A trap," he continued, putting the cold cigar back in his mouth. "The note says that it will be AX who will humiliate you. And all this is an open call to AX. Maybe someone wants N3 or her to be there for some ulterior motive."
  
  
  "Then why go?" The NSA agent objected. "I think it's something you'll be happy to sit out somewhere else."
  
  
  Hawke chewed on a cigar. "Except that's not how I act," he said. "I don't like the idea of burying my head in the sand and hoping that the threat will disappear or that someone else will take care of everything for us."
  
  
  "We welcome your presence, Senor Hawk," the Venezuelan official said.
  
  
  The CIA man turned his intelligent, serious gaze on me. "I hope that your trip will be uneventful," he said.
  
  
  Her, emu chuckled. "Believe it or not, I hope so, too."
  
  
  The second chapter.
  
  
  It was Holy Sunday in Caracas, and the whole city was gathered for the festival. There were bull paints, parades with colorful floats and everyone in bright regional costumes, concerts and exhibitions
  
  
  and dancing in the squares. Caracas was having fun with his hair down. Still, it wasn't the bright, crazy carnival mood that stayed with me when I checked into my room at the El Conde Hotel just six days before the conference. It was the cold, frightening sensation of a strong wind whistling through the narrow cobblestone streets of the old part of town. I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that the city was trying to tell me something that the celebration was hiding from the casual observer. Something evil.
  
  
  The hawk flew out earlier and was already in the city. They thought we should go separately and stay in different hotels.
  
  
  He was supposed to contact Hawke at a small restaurant near the American Express office at nine o'clock that night. This gave me a few hours to myself, so I went to the corner kiosk and bought a newspaper and a bullfighting sheet. I took her papers with me to the nearest cafe on the sidewalk, but because of the wind, I decided to sit inside. I ordered a Campari and drank it while I read all the conference stories, wondering if this forum was going to make real headlines before it was all over.
  
  
  When I finished reading the newspaper, I examined the latest bullfighting items. I've always liked a good bullfight. When you're in the business of killing and trying not to get killed, and you're playing with death - violent death - bullfighting has a special fascination for you. You go, pay the money, and get in the barrera-in the front row. And you know that there will be death on arenea, maybe even the death of a human being. But whether the death strikes a bull or a man, you know that - at least this time-you will come out alive. No matter who dies, they won't kill you or your opponent. So you sit in your paid seat and experience everything with a sense of detachment that you know you'll have to give up as soon as you return to the world outside the arena. But during the performance, you can actually enjoy death, complacent and aloof from the death that haunts you on the streets.
  
  
  While I was reading a newspaper about bullfighting, I looked up and noticed a man watching me.
  
  
  He glanced quickly at the newspaper. She doesn't want the man to know what his ego saw. Her gaze lingered on the page and she sipped her Campari, watching the man out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting at a table outside, looking at me through the window. I'd never seen ego faces before, but it occurred to me that ego's overall build was similar to the man with the gun who attacked me in the training center. It could be the same man.
  
  
  But there are probably a thousand people like this in Caracas. She caught the movement and looked up again. The man was throwing a few coins on a chair as he prepared to leave. He stood up and looked at me very quickly again.
  
  
  After the man left, he tossed a few coins on a chair, tucked the paper under his arm, and followed him. By the time I reached the street, heavy traffic blocked the emu's view. When the traffic stopped, he was nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  Later, at a restaurant near the American Express office, he told Hawke about the incident. As usual, he was chewing on a long cigar. Hawk is a true patriot, but when he has a legitimate chance to get a good Cuban cigar, he really can't turn down nah.
  
  
  "Very interesting," he said thoughtfully, blowing a smoke ring in my direction. "Of course, it may not mean anything, but I think we'd better proceed with extreme caution."
  
  
  "Have you been to the White Palace, sir?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I stopped by earlier today. There are a lot of people there, Nick, but very few organizations. The people around security seem to be more excited about the festival than the conference. I have a bad feeling about this."
  
  
  "I feel like I didn't even go there," I admitted.
  
  
  "I want you to go to the palace tomorrow and take a long, unobtrusive look around. You have a keen nose for trouble. Use your ego and report back to me tomorrow, not when."
  
  
  I asked her. "When will our vice president and his entourage arrive?"
  
  
  "Late tomorrow night. Our Secret Service steamboats will be with him. The boss was going to come himself, but he had to go to Hawaii with the president."
  
  
  "What is the Vice president planning?"
  
  
  "There will be several days of sightseeing in Caracas and its surrounding area with the president and other officials. Banquets, receptions and private talks with the President of Venezuela will also be organized. The conference will then include open talks with the Venezuelan presidential administration. The press, of course, will be there. The conference will have a morning and afternoon session. It would be better if it were shorter."
  
  
  Hawk ran a hand through his gray hair and stared at the thick cup of coffee he'd ordered earlier. We were sitting in a small booth by the window. There were a lot of people in the small restaurant, and all around us there was a lot of conversation in Spanish.
  
  
  "When is the vice president's first public appearance here? "-
  
  
  I asked her.
  
  
  Hawk tapped the ash from his cigar and looked down the dark, narrow street. "Tomorrow night, he has a gala dinner planned at the Ego Honor y Palacio de Miraflores. After dinner, there will be dancing."
  
  
  "I'd like to attend the reception, sir," I said.
  
  
  "I already have invitations for us," Hawk said, chewing on his cigar. "In fact, we have permission to attend all the events that are planned for the Vice president. I don't think we need to visit all around them, since the threat was to the conference itself, and since the Secret Service guys will be at them around the clock, tied to a particularly rich vice president. But we need to be there at the forefront of the event, if only we need to meet with Secret Service personnel in person."
  
  
  "Can we go separately?"
  
  
  “yeah. Everyone but the security staff will think that we are members of the embassy here in Caracas. The Vice president knows our cover and will play along with emu."
  
  
  He could see the worry lines around Hawke's piercing eyes. "You know,"I said," it is quite possible that the authors of this warning are planning nothing more violent than a demonstration in front of the White Palace."
  
  
  "Or maybe it's just a big joke where someone sits and laughs at us up their sleeve."
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "Maybe." But I wouldn't trust that to us for a moment.
  
  
  "You're trying to comfort me, Nick. I must be getting old."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "I just want you to relax, sir."
  
  
  Hawk took out his iso rta cigar again and tossed it into the small ashtray. "I just want to get rid of the terrible feeling that something deadly is going to happen and catch us off guard."
  
  
  He was looking at the chair again. She wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but couldn't think of anything. This feeling also affected me.
  
  
  Early the next morning, she was taken by taxi to the Palacio de Miraflores. It was a huge building, like a thousand rooms. The conference was to be held in a large reception area. Reception, dinner and evenings will be held in the banquet hall and the grand ballroom.
  
  
  He showed his credentials at the main entrance, and was able to enter without difficulty. In fact, it was too easy. The Venezuelan police on duty seemed to be trying too hard to please. The palace was closed to spectators for the conference, but inside it was crowded with people who had special passes or were in any way connected with the conference.
  
  
  There was real order inside. He was impressed. They even left tour guides on duty to help official visitors get their bearings. As I was standing looking at Holst's large oil painting by an unknown Latin American artist, a guide approached me.
  
  
  "Perdóneme, senor. Siento molstarle.
  
  
  "It's all right," he told her in Spanish. "You're not bothering me."
  
  
  "I just want to point out what's down the hall in the Picasso Hall," the man smiled. Nen was wearing a gray uniform and cap that reminded me of the Latin version of Goshawk.
  
  
  "Gracias," I said. "I will definitely see ego before I leave. Did the police set up a headquarters in the palace?"
  
  
  "Yes," he said. "In state apartments. Go straight down this corridor and you will enter it."
  
  
  Ego thanked her and went into the large room that was now used as a security headquarters. The atmosphere was hectic, but relaxed if possible. Phones were ringing, officials were having serious conversations, but other men were joking, laughing, and talking about the festival or bullfight on Sunday. There seemed to be a lot of confusion. Soon the vice president was expected, and the security guards were trying to gather a group to go to the airport.
  
  
  I talked to a couple of CIA people I knew, but they didn't seem particularly interested in the conference. Around them, Odin spent five minutes telling me about a dancer he'd met the night before. No one believed in the threat. He went out through the rooms and walked through the palace, looking at the faces. I do not know what I expected her to do, so look - maybe the person who watched me in the restaurant, I do not know. But I also tried to assess the situation to get an idea of the palace and the security ego, as Hawke did. Unfortunately, my impressions were not better than his. I felt like I was sitting on a slow-motion rigidness that was bound to explode when everyone least expected it. It was an unpleasant sensation.
  
  
  As I was leaving, one of the CIA agents grabbed me.
  
  
  "The Venezuelan security police have arrested a group of radicals, and they will keep ih in cells until this is over," he told me. "There is nothing around Washington, no leads to meet your attackers. On all fronts, everything looks quiet. The problem is that the vice president doesn't take the memo seriously.
  
  
  Her, looked at him. "Well, what I can think of is one reason."
  
  
  "To wouldnt?"
  
  
  "We're professionals," I said pointedly. Her, turned and walked away from him before he could say another word. I wasn't particularly impressed with the new, bright, fuzzy-faced boys the CIA was hiring.
  
  
  The Vice president arrived later without incident. The streets on the way to the hotel where he and Egos were staying were teeming with people waving American and Venezuelan flags. I was at the hotel to watch the arrival and it was noisy. The head of the Secret Service kept his promise about the extra people. Ego agents were everywhere. At the very least, they seemed to be taking their work seriously.
  
  
  In the evening, she put on a tuxedo and took a taxi back to the Palacio de Miraflores. It was like the night of the Academy Awards in Hollywood. The streets were packed with people and traffic was impossible. It was the last long block to the palace. This time, the main entrance was blocked by security personnel. Inside, in a high-ceilinged reception hall, the Vice President stood surrounded by a select few members of the press.
  
  
  The Vice president was a tall man, and he towered over most of the people around him. He was a white-haired noble man, quiet and reserved. His voice was heard only by those closest to him when he answered questions from journalists. Next to him sat Ego, a pretty dark-haired woman in a flowing long blue dress. I found myself studying people again, but I didn't see anything suspicious. I started to wonder if the NSA chief was right. Maybe Hawk and I were taking this too seriously. Maybe the person in the restaurant was just a Venezuelan who just liked to stare at foreigners. Or maybe those people in the training center were just trying to scare me with that gun. Maybe.
  
  
  The banquet was great, but uneventful. The Venezuelan president appeared in full military attire with a chest full of medals. The Vice president sat to the right, at the head of a long banquet chair. Eda was an excellent mix of continental and Venezuelan dishes, and the wines were even better.
  
  
  At dinner, a beautiful young girl sat almost opposite me. She was the most beautiful woman at the table: voluptuous, slender, with long dark hair and startlingly dark blue eyes. She was wearing a black crepe dress with a plunging neckline, revealing the beginning of a breathtaking figure. She caught my eye several times while eating, and once she smiled at me. Later, in the ballroom, she came up to me and introduced herself.
  
  
  "Her name is Ilsa Hoffmann," she said in lightly accented English.
  
  
  She gave me a big smile, and I couldn't help thinking that the more you saw of her, the better she looked. The tight black dress emphasized the swell of her full breasts and the dramatic curve of her hips. She couldn't wear anything under the dress, and her erect nipples were clearly visible through the surrounding fabric. She was taller than he'd imagined, and her legs were long and slender.
  
  
  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ilse," I said. "Her name is Scott Matthews."
  
  
  "Her hotel doesn't stare at you during lunch, but your face seems so familiar. I work here at the embassy in Germany. Could you have seen her, you, there?"
  
  
  "It's possible," I said. "I work at the American Embassy, recently transferred around Paris."
  
  
  "Ah, I love her Paris!" She smiled again. Her eyes were wide and innocent, and her smile attracted any man with living blood in his veins. She was an incredibly beautiful girl. "The prices are much higher than in my hometown of Hamburg."
  
  
  "I also had a good time in Hamburg," I said, wondering about her accent. It was mostly German, but there seemed to be something else going on. But the music was playing, and she didn't want to waste time thinking about it. "Do you want to dance?"
  
  
  "Very much," she said.
  
  
  We stepped out onto the crowded dance floor. A small band was playing at one end of the great hall. People were standing and talking in small groups and loitering around the dance floor. Ilse was holding her very close, and she didn't seem to mind. She pressed her warm body against mine and smiled into my eyes. The effect was sensational.
  
  
  In the middle of the song, the Vice President and the President of Venezuela left the ballroom for a private conversation. A group of plainclothes men went with them. He watched them for a moment, and Ilsa noticed.
  
  
  "I've met your vice president," she said, " and I really like him. He is a real diplomat, so different from the image of the "caricature American"."
  
  
  "I'll keep the money, emu liked you too," I smiled.
  
  
  "He seems like a very gentlemanly, sensitive person," she replied seriously.
  
  
  The music stopped. We were facing each other. I was beginning to wish I had more time for myself in Caracas. Ilse could be a very pleasant diversion. "Well," I said,"I liked it."
  
  
  "You're a very good dancer, Scott," she said. "You have a lot of torero feelings.
  
  
  Do you like bullfighting? "
  
  
  "I watch well when I can," I said.
  
  
  She smiled. "Ah, another dedicated bullfighter!" "I'm going to the bullfight tomorrow, not when. Carlos Nunez is my favorite bullfighter."
  
  
  "I like El Cordobes," I said. I knew her comment was an invitation, but I had more important things to do than watch a bullfight. I also had an innate suspicion of women who were so quick to take the initiative when they first met.
  
  
  "El Cordobes is my second favorite," she said enthusiastically. Her blue eyes revealed what she'd suspected all along - that he liked her just as much as he liked her. "You need to go. It's going to be a great bullfight."
  
  
  My eyes met hers. "Where are you going to sit?"
  
  
  "In the foreground, it's on the shady side," she said. "I'll be alone."
  
  
  "I'll go if I get the chance," I said. "I'd love to see you there."
  
  
  "I'd love to see you, too, Scott."
  
  
  He was about to ask her out for another dance when he saw a man walking out of the ballroom. I only had a quarter of the ego survey individuals, but I was pretty sure it was the person who was watching me in the cafe.
  
  
  "Forgive me, Ilse," I said sharply, and followed the man.
  
  
  He had already passed through the wide doorway. Some people got in my way and stopped me. By the time I entered the corridor, he could only be seen by the back of the man's head as he quickly walked towards the main entrance of the palace.
  
  
  When he got there, he was already outside. He was quickly passed by the mimmo group of guests at the entrance, descended by the mimmo guards on the steps. I haven't seen this man anywhere. He was gone. Her, went down the steps to ground level and watched the mimmo of two couples walking at the end of the building. A dark figure was just turning the corner in the direction of the palace and gardens.
  
  
  He hurried down the path, then broke into a run when he was out of sight. He paused briefly at the spot where the man had turned the corner. Another path passed through the moaning buildings, but there was no one on it.
  
  
  Cursing under her breath, she ran down the path, keeping her eyes on the garden. I'd gone about twenty yards when two men came out of the shadows in front of me. One of them had a gun in his hand.
  
  
  "Pure vaya tan de pris!" said the one with the gun. "Espere un minuto, popshot". He told me to keep my ego open here.
  
  
  Apparently, they were a couple of members of the Venezuelan security police. They didn't know me by sight. The one with the gun was too arrogant.
  
  
  "I work for American intelligence," he told her in Spanish. "Did you see a man coming here?"
  
  
  "American intelligence?" "it's the one with the gun." "It's possible. Raise your hands above your head, please."
  
  
  "Look, take the tailor!" I told her. "I'm trying to catch the person who walked down this path. He's slipping away while you're holding me."
  
  
  "However," said the one with the gun,"I have to check on you."
  
  
  "All right, listen, I'll show you my papers," I said angrily.
  
  
  The other silently approached me with a sullen expression on his face. Hers, he reached for his ID card. as soon as he arrived. He immediately punched me in the face, knocking me off my feet. He looked at the two of them in disbelief. Her, I heard that the Venezuelan secret police are pretty tough, but it was funny.
  
  
  "You were told to hold your hands up!" said the man who hit me. "We'll be looking for you for identification."
  
  
  The one with the gun was holding a revolver near my face. "Now you're going to sit there and vote with your hands on the sidewalk while we search you."
  
  
  I'd had enough. I was tired of working with an army of rude security personnel, and I was especially tired of the stupidity of those two plainclothes policemen.
  
  
  The gunslinger kicked her on the ankle, and the bone cracked loudly. At the same time, ego grabbed her hand with the gun and pulled hard. I didn't care if the damn gun went off and everyone had a heart attack. But it didn't work. A policeman flew past me and hit my face hard. She was grabbed by the gun as it flew by mimmo, and snatched the ego out of his hands. The other man lunged at me. It rolled away from him and he hit the sidewalk. I put the butt of my gun to the back of Ego's head, and he collapsed next to me. He got to his knees just as the first man was trying to get to his feet. She was shoved in the face by a revolver, and the emu froze.
  
  
  With her other hand, I pulled my I. D. out, around my pocket, and held it up to Ego's face so he could read it. "The second cop was trying to sit up, trying to focus on me.
  
  
  I asked her first. "Do you read English?"
  
  
  He stared at me for a moment, panting, then glanced at his crumpled companion. When he looked back at me, there was a new kind of resignation on his face. "Yes," he said. He quickly examined my card. "Are you with AX?"
  
  
  "That's what I was trying to tell you," his father said impatiently.
  
  
  He raised his dark brows. "Looks like a mistake was made."
  
  
  I stood up, and he struggled to his feet. "Now let's look at your card," I said quietly. He took out ego and handed it to me. While he was being tested, he helped his companion up. The man couldn't put any weight on his right leg. When he realized that his ankle was broken, some hostility returned to his face.
  
  
  I. D. verified. Yes, it was the secret police. He returned the card, along with the second man's gun. He silently accepted it.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Now we're both happy." Its started to go away.
  
  
  "Will you report it?" the man with the gun asked.
  
  
  He sighed. "Not if you stop pointing that thing at me," I said, pointing to the revolver. Her, turned and headed back to the front of the palace. The mysterious man disappeared again. And being part of this security system was really starting to get on my nerves.
  
  
  The third chapter.
  
  
  The next morning, she was asked by Collins, the agent in charge of the CIA's operations, to contact the West German Embassy to see if a girl named Ilse Hoffmann worked there. It was Sunday and the office was closed, but Collins knew the German ambassador personally and could call Emu's home.
  
  
  The ambassador said that a girl named Ilse Hoffmann works there, and gave a description that fits.this convinced me that it was my girlfriend I met the night before. The ambassador sent his deputy to the reception and told Emu that he could take another staff member with him. Perhaps Ilse had expressed a desire to go, and he'd taken her.
  
  
  I tried to remember who was sitting next to Ilsa at dinner. I thought I remembered that she was surrounded by middle-aged men. Anyone around them could be on their own. The fact that she later approached me, alone, is not in itself remarkable. It was clear to estestvenno that Hey would want to find a more interesting company.
  
  
  Collins tried to contact the employee at his home, but there was no response. This guy was probably having fun on his day off.
  
  
  The girl looked real, but that didn't make me any less suspicious. I still had a bad feeling about this assignment. Hawk made several recommendations to the CIA and the Venezuelan security police. The guard seemed tighter now, but the feeling didn't go away. Hawke had it, too. Premonitions are not very scientific, but in my dell you learn to pay attention to intuition. They may develop through a series of small facts that are not enough to shock you on a conscious level, but there are premonitions that will light a red saint somewhere deep inside you. I do not know what it is. I just know that I've saved my life many times by following my guesses.
  
  
  Maybe it had nothing to do with the girl, or even the man she'd seen in the cafe, or maybe even in the palace. It may be something unrelated to them, lurking deep in the shadows of my subconscious. But the girl and the mysterious man were reason enough for my wariness, foreboding, or lack of foreboding.
  
  
  I had lunch at a cafe near Ibarra Square, not far from Avenida Baralt. While she was waiting, the parade passed, and his ego clearly saw. There were dancers in costumes, floats, papier-mache heads on poles and bandages. People were having fun, and I started to relax a little.
  
  
  Not when Hawka met her at the restaurant, like he said. He was sitting outside in the sun, wearing a bright blue sports shirt with the collar open and a blue scarf with a loose knot. He wore a dark blue beret on his head, tilted jauntily to one side. He looked like an aging Hemmingway character. He suppressed a smile and sat down across from him at the small table.
  
  
  "Make yourself comfortable, Nick, and don't make any comments about me. I'm trying to blend in with the festive crowd."
  
  
  It's still the same old Hawk under the beret. He pulled one out around his long Cuban cigars, took a bite from one end to the other, and spat it out. Then he put the cigar in his mouth and turned it slowly, wetting it. The cigar seemed incompatible with the beret and shirt. Finally, he ignited his ego and began to be drawn into the shining life. It was a kind of ritual for him, and he never stopped surprising me.
  
  
  "You're beautiful, sir," he said, despite ego's admonitions.
  
  
  He looked at me sharply. "Not as handsome as that black-haired beauty you danced with last night. What do you think is paid leave?"
  
  
  "She insisted," I said. "She seemed very interested to me."
  
  
  "Yes, I know him," he said. "You either have it or you don't." He smiled wryly.
  
  
  "Actually, she put me on my guard," I said, remembering. "I checked on her this morning, but she seems to be fine."
  
  
  "Anything else interesting at the front desk?" he said, swallowing hard on his cigar. "I mean, besides the girl?"
  
  
  He told Emu about the man and his meeting with the Venezuelan security police. "Of course, I'm not sure it was the same person," I said.
  
  
  "Or if it was, it has something to do with the threat." There is nothing wrong with a man going to the same coffee shop, and for consumption, as hers on the same day. Maybe I'm just nervous."
  
  
  The waiter came and we both ordered Pernod. We didn't resume our conversation until he brought the drinks and left.
  
  
  "The girl just asked me to meet her today, not when at the bullfight," I said as he left.
  
  
  Hawke's brows rose. "In the dell itself?"
  
  
  "She said she was a fan."
  
  
  Hawk chewed on a cigar, his lean face grim, his bony frame bent over the table. "What did you say hey?"
  
  
  "I told hey I'd get there if I could. But I have other thoughts. I want to return to the palace today, not when, to see what I can find out about my mysterious man."
  
  
  "It's a refreshing relationship," he said, trying not to smile. "I sometimes get the impression that it's hard for you to squeeze work into your busy sex life."
  
  
  "These are just false stories that were spread by vile KGB officers in order to discredit me," I smiled.
  
  
  He chuckled. "Actually, when you get down to business, you are very persistent. But I want you to be especially careful about this dell. It can be very dangerous for you."
  
  
  "Any theories?"
  
  
  He sat in thought for a moment before speaking. The warm afternoon sun glistened on his white hair and turned his face the color of sunshine. "Nothing special. But if the person who attacked you at the training center was a KGB officer, and if he turned out to be the same person you saw here twice, it may mean that they are setting you up for something."
  
  
  "If I was lucky, they might have killed me at school."
  
  
  "It might not be suitable for ih purposes," he said slowly. He looked at me. "What time does bullfighting start?"
  
  
  "At four. This should be the only event in Venezuela that starts on time."
  
  
  He glanced at his wristwatch. "You have a very long time to do this."
  
  
  "Do you want her to meet a girl at a bullfight?"
  
  
  "Yes, I know. I think we'd better find out what her interest in you is." If it's purely a love story, well, enjoy it, but be careful. If it's not, we want to know about it."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "It's bullfighting."
  
  
  "Come back to me tomorrow morning. I'll be watching it with Picasso at the Museo de Bellas Artes at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.
  
  
  "I'll be there," I said.
  
  
  If you've never been to Nuevo Circo at 3:30 p.m. on a Sunday during the festival, you'll never know what complete chaos looks like. There are so many fans hanging around that it's almost impossible to go from one point to another without breaking through them. There are speculators everywhere, selling tickets for two or three times the price of a regular ticket. Various merchants are clogging up the open area in front of the arena, and hundreds of pickpockets are working hard. I had a hard time finding a speculator with a ticket to the dark section of barrera where Ilsa said she would be sitting. Front row tickets are not so easy to get during the festival. But eventually her got a ticket and entered.
  
  
  Inside, the atmosphere was very different. It was still noisy, but there was an air of silent anticipation in the crowd, not at all like pre-game time at an American football game. He found his seat, which was open near the arena, where everything was visible at close range. At that moment, a bugle sounded, and a man on a horse crossed the arena and took off his hat in the direction of the presidential box. He was a responsible official and received permission from the president of the arena to continue bullfighting.
  
  
  He looked around for Ilsa and after a few minutes noticed her sitting just two sections away. She didn't see me. The man who rented the pillows came down the aisle next to me, and I took one. Without a cushion, these stone bleachers can be quite uncomfortable. The two seats next to me were empty for a few minutes, but then a couple of Englishmen came over and took ih. The bullfighter parade ended and the band stopped playing. The arena fell silent. I looked at Ilsa again, and she seemed to want me.
  
  
  Then the gate opened and a large black bull came crashing out. The bullfighters stood behind the barrier and watched grimly as the bull attacked the burladero frank's shield in front of them, crashed into a tree, and loudly split the ego. Ilsa's pet, Nunez, was the only one around the men watching. He was the first bullfighter on the bill.
  
  
  The Englishwoman next to me seemed to be doing just fine, looking at the initial veronicas and rodillas with a big red cape, because everything was so colorful and beautiful. And I really liked the elegant banderilleros. But she started to turn pale when the bull hit Picador's horse and nearly gored Picador. Nunes was fighting a bull, and the ego cape was nice.
  
  
  but a little flashy. Finally, he went for the kill, and the blood flowed. On the first attempt, the sword hit the bone, and the emu had to pull out the sl. But the second attempt was more successful - the blade entered cleanly. Nunez's cuadrilla chased the bull around until it fell to its knees and the matador finished it off with a dagger at the base of its skull. Then a team of mules came out and dragged the crimson-splattered carcass of mimmo nas as they left the ring. By then the English lady had had enough. She was really green when her husband took her away.
  
  
  Nunes worshipped around the ring. He was awarded the award out of respect for his reputation rather than selfishness. He doesn't deserve it for this fight. Ego cape was pretty good, but he didn't kill the bull well. Instead of going through the horns, which is necessary for a good kill but requires a certain amount of courage on the part of a bullfighter, Nunez stabbed the animal like a butcher's apprentice.
  
  
  When the screams subsided a little, Ilse called out to her. She turned at the sound of my voice, and ay waved at her.
  
  
  "There are seats available here if you want to join me," I called out.
  
  
  She didn't wait for a second invitation, but came straight to me. Ilse was wearing a short suede skirt and matching gillette over a sheer white blouse. When she moved, the skirt revealed her long, tanned thighs.
  
  
  "I'm afraid my favorite bullfighter has had a bad day," she said, sitting down next to me. I gave him my pillow.
  
  
  Her smile was crooked. "Don't we make mistakes from time to time?"
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism and blinded me. Maybe he'll do better in his second bull."
  
  
  "I'm sure of it," I said. "I'm sorry I left so quickly last night. But a man I knew saw her, and he was leaving."
  
  
  He looked at her face, waiting for her reaction, but there was none. I was sure she'd seen the man, too, and I wondered if she knew him. But if she did, she didn't show it.
  
  
  "I know that business is more important than communication," she said. "Unless communication is a business."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Well said."
  
  
  You can tell when a woman wants to go to bed with you, even if she's trying to hide it from you. It's mostly the way she looks at you and the gestures she makes with her hands and body. Sometimes she comes out on top of herself when her conversation isn't at all enticing. It can help you get lost or explain the latest theory of thermodynamics. Ilsa continued to talk about the finer points of bullfighting, but I could tell that she loved me just as much as she loved her. Even if Nah had ulterior motives for wanting to see me, her, I found myself looking forward to this evening.
  
  
  The second bullfighter started, just coming out to touch his bull, a big, beautiful bull from one of the best ranches around. The bullfighter was unknown to anyone, but he took risks to please the crowd.
  
  
  "Ole! Ole! " they shouted.
  
  
  "He's good," Ilse said.
  
  
  "Yes." Hers, I'd seen him perform a mariposa, making his cloak flutter like a butterfly. "Do you know anyone from bullfighting?"
  
  
  "Not personally," she said. "Although I like to watch them perform, they're not my type, you know. Anyway, I don't usually like Latin American men."
  
  
  "How long have you been at the embassy?"
  
  
  "Since my arrival in Caracas, almost a year ago. I thought I wanted to see the world."
  
  
  "And now I don't?"
  
  
  She looked at me with her blue eyes, and then looked back at the ring. "It could be ... it's lonely for a girl in a strange city of this size."
  
  
  If it wasn't for the green saint, her ego would never have seen her. "You went to the reception last night with a bachelor," I said.
  
  
  "Ah, Ludwig." She was laughing. "He's a good person, but he likes to collect butterflies and read long books on ancient history. I'm not even sure emu likes girls."
  
  
  We exchanged smiles. I asked her. "Do you work for him?" He knew that Ilse Hoffmann didn't work for him.
  
  
  She didn't look at me, but kept looking at the bullfighter. "No, not at Ludwig. A man named Steiner."
  
  
  Rheumatism was correct, but I was still not satisfied. "I know Hamburg well. Where did you live there?"
  
  
  "In the north of the city. On Friedrichstrasse. Near the park."
  
  
  "Ah, yes. I know the area. Did you live there with your parents?"
  
  
  "My parents were killed in a car accident when she was very young," she said.
  
  
  That was also true. The ambassador mentioned to Collins that Ilse Hoffmann was an orphan.
  
  
  I'm sorry.
  
  
  We watched a bullfight. I bought two drinks from the clerk, and Ilse seemed to enjoy it very much. Nunes reappeared and performed better than at the first attempt. There were only two bulls left, and they were rumored to be immature calves from a second-rate ranch.
  
  
  "Why don't we leave now and have a drink somewhere together?" she suggested.
  
  
  He looked into her blue eyes and saw the invitation there again. "That sounds great," I said.
  
  
  We had a drink at a nearby cafe, and then Ilse invited her to dinner in El Hardin, on Avenida Almeda. After we finished dinner, she invited me back to her apartment for a drink. Since I still didn't understand her, and since "the seductive promise in her eyes really moved me, I went.
  
  
  Nah had a large apartment near Miranda Square. It was furnished in an old Spanish style and decorated with fine antiques. There was a small balcony overlooking a narrow street.
  
  
  When we went inside, Viacheslavovna turned to me and, I'm standing very close, said: "Well, the voices, and we, Scott."
  
  
  Her lips were soft and full, and she was easy to reach. He closed the short distance between her and kissed her. She responded warmly, as if she had been waiting all day. Reluctantly, she pulled away.
  
  
  "Make us a drink while I change," she said.
  
  
  She disappeared into the bedroom. She poured us a couple of brandies from a crystal decanter, and by the time I'd finished, Ilsa had returned. She was wearing a long, tight-fitting robe that left nothing to the imagination. She closed the curtains, then came over to me and drank some cognac.
  
  
  I took off her jacket when she was in the bedroom and didn't bother to hide the luger and stiletto. Her watched the expression on her face when she ih saw. I was hoping it would be a surprise, and it was. But I couldn't be sure if it was genuine.
  
  
  "What is all this, Scott?" she said.
  
  
  "Oh, just guns," I said casually. "We need to take extra precautions at the embassy when something like this conference is happening."
  
  
  “yeah. Of course, " she said.
  
  
  He studied every detail of her body through the thick fabric of her robe. He held up his glass. She hadn't even tasted it, but somehow that didn't seem important at the moment. Ilsa took a sip and pushed it too. He put his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. Somehow, the robe added to the effect. No curve or curve of flesh was hidden from my touch. I kissed her again, and she pressed insistently against me as my hands moved over her body.
  
  
  "Oh, Scott," she said.
  
  
  He reached down and slowly unbuttoned the robe, letting it fall to the floor. She sat motionless, looking into my eyes. Her body was even more spectacular than hers could have imagined. Her breathing became shallow, and her full, round breasts moved. He removed his holster and stiletto scabbard and tossed ih onto a table near the wide sofas behind us. She helped me undress, then walked over to the couch and sat on it.
  
  
  "Come here, Scott," she whispered.
  
  
  I went to see her. As we lay together, the exhilarating scent of ee woodwind filled my nostrils. Her warm flesh was in my hands, and her sweet taste was on my lips. She moved insistently toward me as my hands and lips covered the swell of her breasts, the flat, aroused nipples. Her hand was on me, and she was leading me to her, and then a hot sweetness swept over me. Her hips swung toward me, and her legs closed around my back. She let out low, sensual sounds in her throat as our passion built. She then let out a sharp cry, and her soft flesh trembled violently as her nah exploded inside.
  
  
  A little later, Viacheslavovna got up for brandy. Hers lay relaxed and full on the couch, stretched out at full length. If this was what Ilse was suggesting in rheumatism to my doubts, it was pointless to continue worrying about her.
  
  
  However, he kept a close eye on her, and at the same time kept his eyes on his weapon on the nearby table. He allowed Ilse to drink her cognac before drinking his own.
  
  
  "Did you like it?" "What is it?" she asked me after I took a sip of it.
  
  
  "Drink or rest?" I asked her. It was then that he felt a little dizzy.
  
  
  "Entertainment," she smiled at rheumatism.
  
  
  "It was first class." When I lifted her onto the edge of the couch next to her, I felt my hands grow heavy.
  
  
  "I liked it too."
  
  
  Her body really started to tense up. He felt dizzy and weak, and there was no reason for that. Unless Ilsa drugged me.
  
  
  "What the hell..." The words just didn't fit.
  
  
  Ilsa didn't say anything. She moved a little away from me.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. He was suddenly very angry - at Nah and at himself. I let her guard down, despite Hawke's warnings and my own doubts.
  
  
  "Bitch!" he said loudly to her, and his words echoed strangely in my ears. He slapped her hard across the face, and she collapsed on the couch with a muffled sigh.
  
  
  He stood up and staggered drunkenly. Her grabbed her clothes and stahl pulled them on. "What's your real name?" I asked, trying to zip up my pants.
  
  
  She looked at my weapons, but I didn't have the courage to try and get one around them. She wiped away a trickle of blood on the rta. "My name is Tanya Savich," she said.
  
  
  I was wearing my shoes now. Her luger and stiletto lay there, and almost fell on my face.
  
  
  He grabbed a chair, but knocked it over and it fell to the floor. Her leaning on the arm of the sofa, standing over a girl named Tanya Savich.
  
  
  "And you work for the KGB," I said.
  
  
  “yeah. I'm truly sorry, Mr. Carter, " she said softly. "I like you."
  
  
  Her, looked at nah and saw two Tan. "It was cognac, wasn't it? But you're an ego file yourself. And I watched you when you went out to buy glasses. What did you do, inject yourself with the antidote earlier?"
  
  
  "It wasn't cognac," she said, almost miserably. "It was lipstick. And I'm hypnotically immune to its toxic effects."
  
  
  "Hypnotic...?" Her corkscrew couldn't finish. Her, felt the impending darkness wash over me, and then her fell to the floor.
  
  
  I didn't care about guns anymore. She was simply asked to overcome the blackness and get out of the apartment. If I could get to the hallway, someone might be able to help me. Somehow, he found enough strength to get to his feet and stumble toward the door.
  
  
  As soon as I reached it, it opened and two men were standing there. One short, bald bandit had a goofy grin on his face. The other was the man I'd seen in the cafe and at the palace, probably the one who'd kept a gun on me at the training school in Washington. Ih faces blurred as the drug took effect. The taller of the two, the one who had tormented me since Washington, stepped toward me.
  
  
  "You seem a little out of your mind, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  Hers swung clumsily at him. He dodged easily, and it fell on his stocky companion, who grabbed me, held me up for a moment, and then hit me hard on the head.
  
  
  He fell back into the apartment and landed on the floor again. When a short, stocky man got in front of me, he grabbed her ego by the legs and pulled ih out from under him. He fell to the floor next to me. I barely heard her use Russian swear words. A tall man came up and kicked me in the side.
  
  
  "Don't hurt him," she heard him say. "There's no need to hurt the emu." The voice seemed to come from the other end of the long tunnel, or maybe from the other end of the world.
  
  
  The tall man swore loudly at the girl. The stocky man jumped to his feet. The dizziness was getting worse and worse. He tried to get to his knees, but fell heavily on his side. I kept thinking that they were here to kill me. It was a plot to assassinate TOPOR's main agent, and it was successful. But none of the men were armed.
  
  
  "Do you think what we're going to do with it won't hurt the emu?" The stocky Russian gave an ugly laugh. He kicked me hard in the ribs. He groaned and fell on his back. Her, heard a girl named Ilsa Hoffmann or Tanya Savich express well-chosen words to a stocky man. Then the voices died away and began to hum hollowly in my ears.
  
  
  After a minute, the darkness returned, and this time it was impossible to push it away. Hers would suddenly fall, falling through a bottomless black space, my body spinning slowly as his fell.
  
  
  The fourth chapter.
  
  
  When he woke up, he was lying on the floor in a brightly lit antiseptic room about ten feet square. The room was empty except for a white cot. When I looked at them, the ceiling lights shone strongly on my head. I struggled to sit up, and immediately felt pain in my chest, where my feet were. He examined his ribs. There were terrible bruises, but nothing was broken.
  
  
  I had no idea how they put me here. At first, she couldn't even remember the events that led to the blackout, but then gradually returned to the scene with the girl. Damn smart of ih to put hey, on the lipstick drug. But what did she say about her immunity? And why did I remember her now, her soothing voice speaking to me in the overwhelming blackness, her sensual, compelling voice telling me to sleep well? The fact is that I was completely out of it, so completely that I would have felt refreshed if it hadn't been for the throbbing pain in my back.
  
  
  With some difficulty, he got up, walked over to the cot and sat on its edge, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to clear his head. Whatever drug they used against me was only temporary, and apparently harmless. For some reason, I couldn't figure out if oni was trying to get me alive and unharmed. Maybe even before it was over, I would have wished they'd put a bullet in my share of the girl's apartment.
  
  
  I remembered the warm flesh of Tanya beneath me. Sex as a weapon has always been popular in the KGB. But that wouldn't be enough to get me without a new cosmetic drug. It was rumored that the Russians were working on hundreds of drugs, and that they were years ahead of the West in this area. He may have been the first enemy agent they used this drug against. He didn't want to experience this primacy.
  
  
  Looking back, I didn't understand Tanya's atypical behavior for an ordinary KGB agent.
  
  
  There was this attempt to save me from being beaten up by men and the mention of ... some kind of hypnosis. Hypnotic immunity, voting, and that's it. I've never heard that term before. My mind raced through all sorts of possibilities and probabilities, but it didn't come to anything, and my head was throbbing violently. I only managed to get completely confused when I heard her sound for a day.
  
  
  Her mind tensed. The door opened and the two men who had appeared in Tanya's apartment entered. The fat, bald guy had the same ugly grin. The tall man looked at me dispassionately.
  
  
  "Well," said the tall one, " I hope you've had a good rest." It was definitely the voice of the man who attacked me in Washington.
  
  
  I told her. "That was you in a stocking man in Washington."
  
  
  "Yes, it was me, "he said condescendingly." The person you killed was just an American who worked for us. He was expendable."
  
  
  "And you followed me in Caracas."
  
  
  "Of course. We don't want to lose contact before Dr. Savich has a chance to trap you."
  
  
  "Dr. Savich?"
  
  
  "You'll see her soon," he said. You have an appointment in our lab."
  
  
  "The lab?" Her stood up and estimated the distance and position of each person, wondering if I could pass it mimmo them by day. "Where is he?"
  
  
  The tall man smiled. "You are still in Caracas. We've just brought you to a new KGB facility, Carter, designed specifically for you."
  
  
  The stocky man growled. "You're talking too much!"
  
  
  The tall man didn't even look at him. "It doesn't matter," he said coldly.
  
  
  I wonder what that means. If they intended to kill me, why haven't they already? So far, none of this has made sense to me.
  
  
  "What are you going to do with me?"
  
  
  "You'll find out soon enough. Let's go. And don't give us any trouble."
  
  
  Its passed mimmo at their k day and they followed me. He looked around the white hallway, hoping to find a door that looked like an exit. It was a short corridor with doors at each end and a couple of others in the middle. Her, decided that the end points should be exits. They were closed, but something told me they wouldn't open. First of all, the Russians didn't have the keys with them.
  
  
  This may be my only chance to escape. There was no guarantee that I would be in any shape to try it out in five minutes. We turned and walked toward the door at the far end of the hall. That's when I made the attempt.
  
  
  Suddenly hers, stopped and again attacked the stocky man who was enjoying the physical part of my power. He stepped heavily on his left foot, and heard a crunch and a loud cry of pain. He slammed his ego elbow into his broad face and felt the ego's nose flatten. He hit the wall next to him.
  
  
  The tall man swore and grabbed the gun in his jacket. He pulled out a gun, and it looked like the one he pointed at my head in Washington. The introduction didn't give me any sense of comfort. He grabbed her gun arm and slapped her ego in the eyes with the other hand. He blocked the kick and quickly kneed me in the groin. When he hit her, he felt terrible pain and a strong attack of nausea. Hers, grunted, and lost his hand with the gun. My reactions were slower due to the side effects of the drug, and this gave him a significant advantage.
  
  
  Her hand swung at his throat, and he partially filmed it. But her ego hit her with a glancing blow to the Adam's apple. He gasped and fell against the wall. He turned and headed for the door at the end of the hall. I had to jump over the hunched figure of a stocky man who was just trying to get to his feet. I had hoped that the tall man would take a minute to recover, but my expectations were short-lived. She was only halfway to the day when the revolver went off.
  
  
  "Wait, Carter. Or the next gawk will pierce your brain."
  
  
  It was a convincing threat. Her, stopped and leaned against the moan, not looking at him. My chance of escape is gone. A minute later, a tall man came up to me and shoved a revolver into my ribs.
  
  
  "You're a very nasty guy, Carter," he said breathlessly, putting a hand to his throat.
  
  
  Another KGB agent approached us. "If it weren't for them," he said quickly in Russian, pointing with his thumb to another part of the building, " egoism would have killed her right here and now. Slowly and painfully."
  
  
  The stocky man pulled out his revolver and raised it to hit me in the head and face.
  
  
  "No!" said the tall man. "Think about the mission."
  
  
  The stocky man hesitated, a wild look in his eyes. Blood ran down the ego of his nose, down his lips to his chin. The nose is already swollen, on the ego of a person. I looked at him and wished I hadn't killed ego. It would only take a minute longer, and it would provide me with huge satisfaction.
  
  
  But the man lowered the gun.
  
  
  "Go," the tall one said. "They're still waiting for us in the lab."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They tied me to a special wooden chair. Hers was in the lab. It was a large room that reminded me a lot of the operating room in a large American hospital, except that there was no operating chair in sight. Perhaps the chair to which it was tied served the same purpose. There were several pieces of electronic equipment in the room, and colored lights were flashing on the control panels. Two technicians worked on the machines, but otherwise there was only one of them. The agents left through the rooms, tying me to a chair.
  
  
  This chair was a machine in itself. It was like an electric chair, but the wiring was a lot more complicated. There was even a headdress with electrodes sticking out of it. At first, I thought it was some kind of torture instrument system, but that didn't make any sense. Even the Russians didn't go to such lengths just to torture a person, even to get the highest secrets. There were also more primitive ways that could do this job as well as any machine. In any case, the agents do not keep a deep state secret to us, in Russia, or to us in the West. I was no exception. In fact, AX agents had fewer reasons than most for leaking classified information, as AX assignments were more concerned with specific physical actions against the other party than with investigating and collecting data.
  
  
  While I was still trying to sort things out, I heard the door open behind me and three people enter the room. Tanya was alone around them. She was wearing a white lab coat and horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she looked very grim and determined. She met my eyes and stared into them for a long time before speaking. I think she was trying to tell me that she was sorry for all of this, but duty comes first.
  
  
  "How are you feeling, Mr. Carter?" "homely?" she asked.
  
  
  "Not bad, considering the circumstances," I said.
  
  
  Two men surrounded her. One was familiar to me because I had just read the ego case before leaving Washington. It was Oleg Dimitrov, the KGB resident in Caracas and the man responsible for everything that happened here. He was of medium height, with white hair and a large mole on his right cheek. Ego's eyes were hard and cold.
  
  
  "So you're the infamous Nick Carter," Dimitrov said.
  
  
  "I suppose it's useless to deny it," I said.
  
  
  "Yes, it's useless. Her name is Oleg Dimitrov, as you probably already know. This sweet girl who really helped us catch you is Dr. Tanya Savich, Russia's most brilliant behaviorist. And this gentleman is her colleague, Dr. Anton Kalinin."
  
  
  The white-haired man in a white lab coat on the other side of Tanya looked at me over the top of his glasses and nodded. The ego look made me feel like an amoeba under a microscope. Her gaze shifted from him to Tanya.
  
  
  I asked her. "A behaviorist?"
  
  
  "Actually, Nick. I hope you don't mind if I call you Nick."
  
  
  I listened to her voice, and now I understood why it was absurdly not quite German. It was a Russian voice trying to imitate English with a German accent. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep me guessing.
  
  
  "You can call me whatever you want," I said. "I don't think it's a big deal. Although it would be nice to know what you are going to do. My curiosity got the better of me forever. Did the three of you set up a KGB witch coven or something?"
  
  
  Tanya smiled, but the men's faces remained stony. Dimitrov spoke first, his voice high and strained. "Classic American hero, eh, Mr. Carter? A daring joke in the face of danger."
  
  
  He looked at Dimitrov. "It's better than crying," I said angrily.
  
  
  "We'll do it now, Oleg," Emu told Kalinin's doctor.
  
  
  Dimitrov chuckled and left. He heard the lab door open and close again as he left. The two technicians at the machines paid no attention to us. Kalinina came over and stuck a flashlight in my eyes. As he worked, he spoke to me in a low voice.
  
  
  "Dr. Savich specializes in behavior control," he said slowly, looking me in the eye. "She is one of the leading Russian specialists in such areas as narcotic mind control, hypnotherapy and general methods of behavior control."
  
  
  He turned off holy lord, and I looked at Tanya.
  
  
  "It's true, Nick," she said. "We've been experimenting with controlling human behavior for years. Its done a lot of research in this area. Doctor Kalinina worked closely with our group, recording and analyzing the physical impact of our patients ' treatment methods, and he is an outstanding doctor in our country ."
  
  
  I asked her. "Are you planning to conduct behavioral experiments with me?"
  
  
  "You will be the first male to be controlled by our enhanced techniques," she replied, and her voice revealed her uncertainty. Now he was sure that Tanya hadn't known that Ay would have to apply her knowledge and skills to such terrifying cases. Her blue eyes were hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses.
  
  
  "You're going to... use me somehow?"
  
  
  Tanya quickly looked me in the eye and then turned away again.
  
  
  Kalinina came here to help. "We're going to destroy Nick Carter," he said. "At least for a while. You will no longer exist like Nick Carter."
  
  
  He just stared at it. Maybe I was right - one last gawk in Tanya's apartment might be better for me in the long run.
  
  
  "No longer exist?"
  
  
  "We are going to perform a personality transplant," Kalinin continued. "You will become a completely different person. And that person will be programmed by us, Mr. Carter. You will be shown how the computer will be programmed by a technician. Are you beginning to understand?"
  
  
  Her gaze shifted from him to Tanya. "Oh my God, Tanya," I whispered.
  
  
  Blue eyes met mine. She pressed her beautiful face to mine and picked up a bottle from a nearby table.
  
  
  "This is nambulin," she said matter-of - factly, " a drug only recently developed by our laboratories. This is what you would call a mind-altering drug. It has properties similar to LSD, but the effects of our drugs are already more limited."
  
  
  "I can't wait to hear it," I said sarcastically.
  
  
  She ignored the comment and continued. "When nambulin is administered, thought processes are interrupted at a basic level, and personality changes. The drug user becomes very submissive and experiences increased suggestibility."
  
  
  A suggestion, I thought. "So that's it."
  
  
  "Partial," Tanya said. "While under the influence of the drug, you will be extremely susceptible to the suggestion of a qualified hypnotherapist. And to the methods of behavior control developed over the years of our research."
  
  
  I asked her. "For what purpose?"
  
  
  Tanya turned away.
  
  
  "There's no point in going into details," Kalinina said, taking the bottle from Tanya and filling it with the injected liquid. "In any case, you won't remember anything around what we said in this conversation."
  
  
  Something about the ego-smug look on his face made me very angry. "Damn you, tailor!" the emu shouted at her.
  
  
  Ego's eyes flashed to meet mine, and I thought I saw a faint flash of fear in them as he looked at me. "Please don't be dramatic, Mr. Carter. You'll only make it harder for yourself."
  
  
  Tanya got up from her chair and went over to talk to one of the technicians. Kalinina held the squirts in front of her face, pushing the plunger to clear the apparatus of air sampling bubbles.
  
  
  A fierce desperation gripped my chest. It was the closest thing to panic I'd ever experienced. She was never afraid of physical pain or death, but it was different. In fact, they were going to kill me, destroy my identity, and then use my body for their own nefarious purposes. Just thinking about it sent shivers down my spine. And now he knew that the threat to humiliate her wasn't an empty one. It took them months or even years to prepare this plan, whatever it was for us. And with the lead AX agent doing it, they were almost at home.
  
  
  A technician came to help Kalinin. Tanya turned and looked across the room at us. The technician strapped a rubber tube to my shoulder and rolled up the sleeve of my shirt. He saw the protruding veins on his forearm. Nambulin went straight into Vienna.
  
  
  My dollar stack was pounding wildly. When Kalinina came up to me with the needle, her stahl struggled desperately with the leather straps, trying his best to break them. If her could get up from this chair, her could easily take care of these men. But the bond was too strong.
  
  
  There's no need to fight, Mr. Carter, " Kalinina said softly, grabbing my forearm. "It's absolutely impossible to run at this point."
  
  
  The needle came down, and the technician held my shoulders so he couldn't move. Kalinin's face had a slight hint of pleasure as he inserted the needle into the dilated vein and then pressed down on the plunger of the syringe.
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  I was overcome with a sense of euphoria. Then my body started to go numb. My breathing slowed noticeably, and he could feel sweat dripping from his forehead and upper lip. I didn't even care if I was drugged, and the terrible feeling of panic was gone. I could still remember everything they said to me, and I knew they were going to use me in some terrible terror experiment, but it didn't bother me anymore. I knew I was supposed to be there, but I just didn't care. A few minutes of her, fighting the feeling, trying to rekindle the anger she felt inside her, but there was nothing left. Whatever they did to us, whatever they said to us, it suited me. It was stupid to fight it, to worry about it. Hers was in ih power, ih power was huge. I'll submit to it and maybe somehow survive. After all, this was what really mattered in the long run.
  
  
  Ih faces twisted in front of me - Tanya and Kalinina-and they watched
  
  
  He looked at me like I was a guinea pig in a cage, but I didn't mind. They had his job, and he let them do it.
  
  
  Kalinin reached for my face and lifted my eyelids. He nodded to Tanya and left. Tanya came up to face me. She sat very close. He looked into her bright blue eyes and found the dimension he'd missed before.
  
  
  "Now you feel very relaxed, very at ease," she told me in a soft, sensual voice. The voice and intonation increased my sense of well-being.
  
  
  "Yes," I said, looking into the deep blue pools of her eyes.
  
  
  "When you look into my eyes, your eyes get tired. Your eyelids are getting really heavy and you want to close them."
  
  
  My eyelids fluttered.
  
  
  "It's hard to keep your eyes open right now. When I count it to five, you will close your eyes because you want to. You will feel a huge sense of relief when you close your eyes. After you close ih, you will slowly fall into a deep trance. Odin. You are very sleepy. Two. Your eyelids are very heavy. Three. You are deeply relaxed and submissive. Four. When your eyes close, you will allow my voice to guide you in your responses and actions. Five ."
  
  
  My eyes seemed to close in a volley of their own. I knew I couldn't keep ih from closing, but I didn't even want to try.
  
  
  "You are now in a hypnotic trance and will respond to my voice."
  
  
  She spoke in a soft, low monotone that was somehow extremely convincing. I found that I had a great affection for the beautiful sound of her voice - that sensual, seductive voice - and I wanted to do whatever he asked me to do.
  
  
  "Do you understand?" "What is it?" she asked.
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her."
  
  
  Good. Now we're going to put this ring device on your head and attach the electrodes." I felt someone move the equipment on top of my head. It looked like a headband, and he remembered the maze of wires that came out of it.
  
  
  "While I'm talking to you, Nick, you'll be getting audio-visual data from the machine. What you see and hear will be pleasant and help you reach the deepest trance state." Somewhere I heard the click of a button, and then a swirl of beautiful colors attacked the blackness Tanya had created. Along with the flowers came soft music, beautiful music that she had never heard before. And Tanya's voice accompanied the beautiful sights and sounds.
  
  
  "All the muscles in your body gently relax, relax easily, and you get a huge sense of euphoria. You are on an escalator that is moving downhill. With each leg, you slowly lower yourself down, and you become even more relaxed. "
  
  
  The car created an escalator for me, and in a smooth glide I was carried down through a maze of colors and into soft darkness.
  
  
  "You approach the bottom of the escalator and go into a very, very deep trance. You fully understand my voice." I reached the bottom of it and found myself in a magnificent, free-floating darkness that I never wanted to leave.
  
  
  "I'll ask you to count to five, but you'll miss the number three. You won't be able to pronounce the number three. Now count to five."
  
  
  My lips were moving. "One, two, four, five." My mouth and brain have nothing to do with number three.
  
  
  "Very good," Tanya said. "Now tell me your name and who you are."
  
  
  Something deep inside me resisted, but that all-powerful voice was asking me, so I answered her: "Her Nickname is Carter. I work at AX, where I have the code name N..." I couldn't remember the number, and the Killmaster rating." Then I gave more detailed information about identification.
  
  
  Good. Now listen to me carefully. You will forget everything you just said to me and everything else that has to do with your past. At this very moment, you develop complete and total amnesia."
  
  
  A strange thing happened. An exotic shiver went through me, and when it was gone, I felt dizzy. When the physical effects wore off, hers seemed to feel different. It was a subtle difference, but it felt like the whole world around me had disappeared. There was nothing left in the universe but my floating body and Tanya's voice.
  
  
  "Who are you?"
  
  
  I thought about it for a minute. It didn't work out. I tried my best, but I still couldn't answer. I had no identity. I was a creature floating in the vast darkness, waiting to be named, classified, and classified.
  
  
  "I don't know," I said.
  
  
  "Where do you live?"
  
  
  "In this blackness," I said.
  
  
  "Where did you come from?"
  
  
  "I don't know."
  
  
  Good. I'll refresh your memory. Now you will see the image of a person in front of you." The car hummed and I saw a man. He was tall, with dark hair and gray eyes. "That man is you," she continued. "You are Rafael Chavez."
  
  
  "Rafael Chavez," I said.
  
  
  "You are a Venezuelan who spent several years in the United States. You were born
  
  
  born in Margarita and educated in Caracas. You have worked in several areas, but now you are an active revolutionary ."
  
  
  "Yes," I said.
  
  
  "You live in an apartment at 36 Avenida Bolivar, here in Caracas."
  
  
  36 Avenida Bolivar.
  
  
  She went on to tell me that I had no family or friends, and that the people she interacted with were the few people in this building who were comrades in the revolution.
  
  
  "You'll learn more about yourself later," she finally said. "In the meantime, you should rest. I'll count it back from five. - While counting, you will slowly come out of the trance and return to consciousness again. Five. You go up the escalator again. Four. You are completely at peace. you are rested, but you are becoming more aware. Three. When your eyes open on the count of one, you won't remember anything until you close your eyes, nothing at all. When your eyes open, you will only remember what I said about you being Rafael Chavez. You won't remember anything until complete amnesia sets in. Odin ."
  
  
  Her eyes opened. There was a girl sitting there, and he knew he'd seen that face before, but he had no idea under what other circumstances. It must have been just before he closed his eyes. I immediately noticed that she wasn't around Venezuela, which made me less interested in the pretty face. Her, spoke to her in fluent Spanish.
  
  
  I asked her, " Qué pasó?"
  
  
  "You were under a mild sedative, Senor Chavez. You have an accident and got hit on the target, and we will take care of you in a few days. Did you really recognize your revolutionary colleagues, Don? "
  
  
  He looked around the room. The technician undid the bindings that held me in the chair and removed something from my head. "Why... yes," I said. The thing is, I didn't remember much.
  
  
  "This is Dr. Kalinina, and her name is Tanya Savich, your Russian friends in the revolutionary movement. These other comrades are Menendez and Salgado. They've been on the move with you for some time. We brought you here, to this private clinic, to treat you. After all, the conference is just around the corner."
  
  
  I asked her. "A conference?"
  
  
  Tanya smiled. "Don't try to remember everything at once. You should go to your room and rest."
  
  
  "Yes," I said dully. "To rest. Its very tired."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The room I was taken to was pleasantly quiet. There was only a bed to lie on, but under these different circumstances, it couldn't be expected to be a hospital bed. After all, he was a man wanted by the law, wasn't he? To be honest, I couldn't remember much about her. I'm sorry I didn't ask the girl how the accident happened, because I didn't remember it. One thing was clear - I needed comrades who cured me. I really need them. They had no idea how serious my amnesia was. Well, that will clear up in a few hours. A good night's sleep will fix me up. But what bothered me was that I couldn't remember the important conference the girl was talking about. My brain spun from trying to remember her, but eventually I fell asleep.
  
  
  Her suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. Was I hallucinating, or was it just a weird dream? It must have been a dream. He was in some strange land, in a desert country. He was running down a dark cobbled street and chasing a man. He was holding a long black German-made pistol, probably a Luger. He shot this man and tried to kill ego. He turned and shot at me, and I felt a searing pain in my back. The gun in my hand suddenly became a short-handled axe. Then I woke her up.
  
  
  It was a strange dream. I didn't remember being in any country other than Venezuela and it was monotonous. And her husband has never shot a man in his life. Or her? None of this made sense to me.
  
  
  When morning came, they brought me a tray of food, and I ate it greedily. When he was done, he examined his face in the mirror. At least it was familiar. But that face didn't seem to belong to Rafael Chavez. I took a look at the clothes they brought me, but I didn't know why. The pockets were empty, there was no identification. About an hour later, Menendez came in and took me back to the room with a chair with wire and other equipment.
  
  
  "Good morning, Senor Chavez," the girl who gave her name as Tanya greeted me. "Are you ready for a new treatment?"
  
  
  "Yes, I suppose so," I said, looking at the cars. "But is it all necessary? I'd like to know what kind of treatment I'm getting."
  
  
  "Please," Tanya said, showing me a large chair. "You must trust us, Senor Chavez. We are your friends."
  
  
  I saw her sitting in the chair, but I didn't feel comfortable. Her hotel is to get around this building, wander the streets of Caracas, and return to her apartment on Avenida Bolivar. I was sure that these familiar sights would restore my memory and make me healthy. Her promised herself that if this activity didn't bring results, she would go straight home.
  
  
  "Now relax," a man named Kalinina told me.
  
  
  "I'll give you a light sedative." He stuck an injection gun in my forearm and gave me a subcutaneous injection.
  
  
  A name flashed through my head. Nambulin. Where had I heard that before? Before I could think about it any more, I started to feel a deep euphoria wash over me, and I lost interest in the words and everything else.
  
  
  Someone adjusted my headdress. I didn't mind. A minute later I heard her voice as Tanya.
  
  
  "You want to close your eyes. You will close the account before five." She counted, and my eyes closed. There was a sudden flash of color in the darkness, and I heard some strange music that somehow seemed familiar to me. The voice trailed off, but the color and music kept pulling me down and down. I felt like I was on an escalator. Then another voice came over my head. The voice was telling me, telling me everything. Every little detail, from my birth date to my recent activities in the leftist movement for the liberation of Venezuela from the tyrannical imperialism of the United States. There were images of specific scenes. When it was over, he got a detailed picture of his past. My amnesia is cured.
  
  
  He was a member of a political group called Mob Justice, whose goal was to overthrow the Venezuelan government and establish a leftist regime with the help of the Russians. I was recruited a few months ago, and a couple of days ago, she was injured during a demonstration outside the American embassy.
  
  
  Tanya spoke again. "Your leader has asked us to inform you that the ranks of vigilantes are thinning due to cowardly desertion in the face of brutal police tactics. Therefore, we need to act now. You have been selected to perform this action.
  
  
  "Venezuela has become too dependent on the United States," she continued. "The United States buys about 40 percent of Venezuela's oil exports, which gives the Americans a deadly economic grip on Venezuela. The Venezuelan president and ego-driven capitalist government must be destroyed before they hand over the entire country to the Americans. A plan was developed. designed with the upcoming Caracas Conference in mind.
  
  
  "The conference will be a meeting between the President of Venezuela and the Vice President of the United States. It will provide a unique opportunity to strike at both of these enemies of the people. Later, you will be informed of the nature of the plan and details of how it should be implemented. Do you understand? "
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her."
  
  
  Good. When you wake up, you will remember in detail all that I have told you, and all that you have heard and seen while in a deep trance. If there are questions in your mind about the details, your subconscious mind will provide answers and fill in any gaps that may be bothering you. You will not question your identity as Rafael Chavez and you will not question the validity of the ego of political philosophy."
  
  
  After a few minutes, my eyes naturally opened, and he remembered how Tanya counted backwards from five to one. Her mind also recalled everything about her past life. Whatever they did to us with me, it worked. Her amnesia had completely recovered.
  
  
  Tanya smiled. "How are you feeling, comrade?"
  
  
  "Very good," I said. "The drug made me remember. Its supposed to take part in a mission against the Caracas Conference, now its remembered about it. Will I be ready?"
  
  
  "You'll be ready," she said.
  
  
  Kalinina turned away and walked over to the technician at the far end of the room, leaving Tanya and me alone. "We're with you... Do we know each other better than I remember her? " She asked. I had a fleeting image of Tanya lying naked inside.
  
  
  There was something in her eyes, then a small smile spread across her face. "I was hoping you'd remember. We had an evening together. Don't you remember?"
  
  
  "Not really," I said. "But a glimpse, a certain memory of her life, I would like to remember more."
  
  
  She laughed softly. "Maybe we can spend a few minutes together again before you leave the clinic."
  
  
  "This is something to look forward to," I said.
  
  
  Although her body felt completely fine, they insisted that her stay in her room and rest. He thought a little about Tanya. Strange. My locality in Russia was the most important place in my life, but I couldn't stop thinking about this extraordinary girl.
  
  
  When I wasn't thinking about Tanya, I was trying to reconstruct the past that I had almost forgotten due to accidents. And as I tried to remember, I was reminded of a small incident. Her bare feet ran into a clay house on the outskirts of Margarita. Then I remembered that this house was my home, and a pretty black-haired woman named Maria was my mother. She and my father died when I was nine years old. Soon after, he came to Caracas, where he lived with relatives and studied to become a civil servant.
  
  
  There was still something strange about it all. He could remember things from his past, but these things seemed unreal, the mental images faded and hazy. And when I stopped thinking about them consciously, they just disappeared into oblivion and didn't seem like a real part of me.
  
  
  Surprisingly, my most vivid memories were of the few years I spent working on a loading dock in America.
  
  
  I spent the whole day in my room. That night Tanya came to see me. She went in quietly and closed the door behind her. He got up from the end of his bunk, where he had been reading a newspaper from the Caracas Conference. Nah had a stethoscope and a clipboard in her hand.
  
  
  "Can I take your pulse with him?" she asked.
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  She held my wrist in her small, soft hand. Our eyes met, and she quickly turned away. She made a note on her chart, then held the stethoscope to my chest and listened for a minute.
  
  
  "Do you feel nauseous?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "Is there sweating in your sleep?"
  
  
  "Not that he remembers her."
  
  
  My gaze shifted from her full lips to the sensual curves of her body. Once again, the tantalizing image of Tanya naked Irina flashed through my mind. Ee corkscrew's next move seemed psychic.
  
  
  "You said you remembered ... the closeness between us, Raphael."
  
  
  "Yes, I remembered that."
  
  
  "Can you tell me what you remembered?"
  
  
  He smiled at her. “no. It was you. Irina".
  
  
  Her beautiful blue eyes avoided mine. He took Nah's tablet and stethoscope and tossed them to the floor. Then she was gently pulled by ee. He kissed her, and she answered.
  
  
  "You really did sleep with me, didn't you?" I asked quietly.
  
  
  She tried to move away, but I held her back. "Raphael, you're not a lover," she said. "You're a revolutionary. You didn't have time for women."
  
  
  "Hers must have found the time at least once," her husband denied media reports.
  
  
  Her eyes found mine. "Yes, once." She seemed to be remembering. "Shortly before the demonstration at the American Embassy. I brought a note to your apartment and you asked me to stay."
  
  
  "And we kissed, and I held you so close," I said, slowly running my hands down the length of her body.
  
  
  "Raphael, please..." she protested weakly.
  
  
  He unbuttoned her uniform to the waist and slid his hand inside, holding her close. I caressed her breasts and felt her nipples harden at my touch.
  
  
  "Raphael ..."
  
  
  We kissed again. She stopped struggling and responded to my caress with sudden great passion, her body tensing fiercely as her mouth explored it. When the kiss ended, we both held our breaths and longed for more.
  
  
  "Oh, my God, Raphael," she breathed.
  
  
  She kicked off her uniform and dropped it to the floor. He watched her as she pulled her panties down from her long, smooth thighs. She walked over to the cot and stretched, her body shaking with excitement. Her quickly undressed and bench press next to her. My fingers and lips traced every inch of her hot, quivering flesh.
  
  
  Suddenly, she tried to move away, but ee held her tight. "What am I doing to you?" she exclaimed. He stifled her words, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. She started to answer again.
  
  
  I didn't know what mistletoe meant, and I didn't care. He could only think of her ripe, warm body. She moaned with desire as she rolled over on nah. Her thighs opened up for me, and I could feel her nails digging into my back. Her cock slammed into him, and she screamed with pleasure. Back then, everything was darkness, urgency, and a growing, unbridled passion.
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  I was tied to the chair again, and the room was completely dark. They gave me another injection, but this time there were no pleading voices. I was only drugged. Tanya and Kalinin weren't even in the room.
  
  
  They mentioned something about the "last phase". He'd heard them say it in Russian, and somehow he understood, even though he didn't remember ever learning Russian.
  
  
  When I saw her sitting in the chair, an image appeared in the dark before me. It was the president, and he was giving a political speech. He was only twenty feet away from me, gesturing as he spoke. He said things that really upset me. He broke out in a cold sweat. The euphoria turned to intense anger as the president's words became more and more offensive, louder and louder. Ego's face slowly twisted and became horribly distorted. In a minute, the face was all that was left of the image. It began to expand, getting bigger and uglier as resentment lashed out at the ego of the twisted lips. The face was so close that I thought I could reach out and attack it.
  
  
  I heard a scream in the room and realized it was coming from around my own throat. He reached out fiercely for that awful face, trying to tear the flesh with his bare hands, clawing at it with his fingers.
  
  
  But I couldn't achieve that. The cry was a cry of utter frustration and pitiful despair at not being able to reach out to the dreaded God and destroy the ego. After a minute, the voice trailed off and there was silence, the distorted face still moving in front of me.
  
  
  All of a sudden
  
  
  Tanya's voice rang out around the darkness. "This is your enemy. This is the man who stands between your people and freedom. He is a vile, ugly animal, and he feeds on the corpses of his people. You have always disliked and feared the ego, but now you are consumed by a desperate, cruel revulsion. You hate ego more than you've ever hated anyone or anything in your life."
  
  
  I thought my chest was going to explode from the disgust and hatred I felt for her distorted face. He kept remembering the president's vile words and clenching his fists until his fingernails tore through his palms.
  
  
  Finally, the image disappeared into the darkness, and was replaced by another one. At first it was not familiar to me, then I remembered about it through the newspapers. It was the American vice president. He spoke English, but his ego understood perfectly. He explained that he would work closely with the Venezuelan government, and that the United States would offer more economic and military assistance to keep the Venezuelan president in power. As he spoke, his face changed. Ego's eyes were getting more and more angry, and disgusting, disgusting words were spewing out from the mouth.
  
  
  When the saint finally lit up, he was drenched in sweat. The technician lifted me from my chair and led me back to my room. The drug and overwhelming emotions completely drained my energy. My legs were so weak that I could barely walk.
  
  
  Back in my room, the technician helped me sit up on the cot and looked down at me.
  
  
  He asked. "Are you all right?"
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  He said kindly. "This is all necessary for your mission."
  
  
  "Where's Tanya Savich?"
  
  
  "She's busy with a project."
  
  
  "I have to see her."
  
  
  "I'm afraid that's impossible."
  
  
  Her, looked at him. It was a young Venezuelan named Salgado. Ego's face looked honest. Maybe because of the frankness he saw her, saw her, blurted out things he didn't even know he was thinking.
  
  
  "Is she also the one they call me? Is all this also necessary for the people's democratic revolution?"
  
  
  Ego's eyes narrowed on me. "Do you doubt it?" "What is it?" he asked anxiously.
  
  
  "Me... I don't know. I don't think so. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy."
  
  
  "You're not crazy. In fact, you're quite healthy right now." Ego's voice was soothing.
  
  
  I asked her. "How long have you been here at the clinic?"
  
  
  He hesitated, as if wondering whether to answer me. "A friend brought you here the night before last."
  
  
  "When will I be ready to leave?"
  
  
  "Today."
  
  
  He propped himself up weakly on one elbow. "In the dell itself?"
  
  
  "The last stage will end later today. You will have a few more introductory classes. The next one won't be very pleasant for you, but it will be over before you know it. This is an absolutely essential part of your preparation for the conference."
  
  
  "What kind of work is this?"
  
  
  "They'll tell you later today."
  
  
  Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Kalinina came in. He glared at the technician. "What is it? Why are you still with Senor Chavez?"
  
  
  The technician looked startled. "He wants to talk for a while."
  
  
  "Get back to work," Kalinin said shortly.
  
  
  Salgado turned and walked out through the rooms.
  
  
  I watched Kalinina approach me. I didn't like the idea of what the Russians were doing here, and that my countrymen weren't allowed to talk to me. A Venezuelan should control his revolution, but Kalinina treated Salgado like an inferior.
  
  
  Kalinina gave me a tight smile. "I am very sorry that I took Salgado away from you so abruptly, Senor Chavez, but he has duties elsewhere. Are you feeling well?"
  
  
  "Fine," I said.
  
  
  He took my pulse and didn't say anything for a while.
  
  
  "Very good. You should rest, and we'll come back for you after lunch." You have a serious lesson ahead of you."
  
  
  "Can I really leave this place too late tonight?"
  
  
  My corkscrew caught ego off guard. But after a short pause, he replied, " Yes. You'll be ready tonight."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "I hate incarceration."
  
  
  "We are all children," he said deliberately. "But we must make sacrifices for the good of the revolution. Isn't that right?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. Kalinina smiled tightly and left.
  
  
  I fell asleep for a while. Suddenly he heard his own scream. Her sell on the bunk is candid, drenched in sweat and shaking. He ran a trembling hand over his mouth, looking at the opposite wall. It wasn't like me to be afraid - I knew so much about her, knew so much about myself. They must have given me medicine. I had another nightmare.
  
  
  I saw ugly faces from the darkened room and heard harsh angry voices. It was all mixed up with my images. Her carapace walking down a dark alley with a luger in her hand. I turned the corner, and suddenly a huge, twisted face appeared in front of me. He looked like the president, but it was a deformed face hanging in the dark.
  
  
  Her shooter hit the luger again and again, but that hideous face only made me laugh forever. His mouth opened, threatening to swallow me up. Long, sharp teeth were coming at me. Then her, screamed.
  
  
  Then, after lunch, I was taken back to the car room - they called it the orientation room. The technician warned me that this session would be different, and he wasn't exaggerating. Tanya met me in the room as they were strapping me to a chair.
  
  
  "It's going to be frustrating," she said. "But it will be over before you know it."
  
  
  "I've thought of you before," I said. "I asked you to, but they said you were too busy to see me."
  
  
  The men finished strapping me down and walked over to one of the other cars. They hadn't used it before. It had a small control panel, but there were dozens of flashing colored lights on its counter.
  
  
  "What they told you was true," Tanya replied.
  
  
  "Will I see it in you again after I leave here?"
  
  
  She turned away. "It's possible. It all depends on the outcome of the mission."
  
  
  "I don't know anything about the mission," the head of the mission denied reports that appeared in the media.
  
  
  "You'll know soon enough."
  
  
  This time they used different devices - a wire metal band on the chest and a new headdress. Tanya made sure that everything was as it should be, and left through the rooms.
  
  
  They turned off the saint, and he saw a few more photos in the dark. The images were even more real than the ones I'd seen that morning. I didn't get the shot this time, but I knew that the morning dose wasn't completely gone yet.
  
  
  The president appeared in the room. He shot through the crowd, laughing, waving his arms and smiling. As soon as the image appeared, the blindfold started doing something to me. There was a terrible pressure in the heads, the pain became almost unbearable. As her father watched the images move, the agony deepened. She struggled to free herself, opening and closing her mouth and squinting, which hurt. It only got worse until I thought my goal was going to explode. A cry escaped me around the back of my throat. The man broke away from the crowd and ran towards the president, brandishing a huge machete. The blade connected, decapitating the president, ego, and target flew into the crowd, spilling blood everywhere. People laughed and laughed.
  
  
  The pain was gone, and he felt only the sweet emptiness of physical comfort. The president was dead, and the world was saved from his tyranny.
  
  
  I was hoping that the session was over, but it didn't happen. Another scene filled the room as the president gave a public speech. The pain came again, and he pushed against Nah, curling up inside to resist hey. But I was struck by it. This time, the terrible pressure in my head was accompanied by a sharp pain in my chest, as if I was having a heart attack. I could hear myself screaming, but the pain wouldn't go away. The man pointed a gun at the president and tore off the back of the emu's head with a shot. The pain subsided immediately.
  
  
  But again the room was filled with images, this time of the American Vice president. He was driving a black Cadillac in an official parade, and he knew that the Venezuelan president was driving ahead of him in the car. The Vice president was wearing an expensive pinstripe suit, gesturing imperialistically to the crowd. The pressure came again, but this time there was no constriction in my chest, just a terrible pain in my head. As a result of a sudden explosion of smoke and debris, the Vice President's car was destroyed by an invisible bomb, and everyone in the car was killed. In the beginning of the second room, a strong explosion occurred, and the car of the President of Venezuela collapsed. The pain was gone forever.
  
  
  I collapsed into my chair as they unfastened me and turned off the device. Dr. Kalinina was beside me, but I didn't see her, and that was just as well.
  
  
  "The worst is over," he told me.
  
  
  When he had finished listening to me with his stethoscope, he helped me out of my chair and led me down the hall to a normal projection room. There was a built-in screen on the far side of the room, and there was a projector kiosk at the back of the room.
  
  
  Kalinina put a loaded Luger in my hand. He stared at him blankly, still numb from the brutal sessions. It was the gun he'd shot her around in his nightmare.
  
  
  "The drug has already run out," Kalinina told me, " and your reaction to various stimuli during this part of the preparation will be quite natural. You will hold the gun and do whatever you want. . "
  
  
  Its just staring at the big gun. He knew it was a German pistol, but for some reason he associated it with the United States. While I was trying to figure this out, the room went dark and the movie started. These were real photos, presumably taken in the last couple of days at pre-conference meetings. The film showed the president walking down the walkway in front of the president.
  
  
  Palacio de Miraflores, next to him the American vice president. There were cameramen around, and the president was casually talking to his American guest.
  
  
  As the figures on the screen seemed to approach me, an overwhelming sense of hatred rose in my chest, and he felt an uneasy sense of purpose, a sense of intense discomfort. The pain increased with a sense of utter disgust. I couldn't see her anymore. The men coming to me became very real. Her raised the gun in her right hand and made an ego into two figures. Her first target was the president. Hers was shaking with hatred and pain, and sweat was running down my forehead. He pulled the trigger. The figures were walking slowly towards me. Hers, was furious. Her gunslinger tapped the gun again and again, and black holes formed in a tight pattern on the president's chest. A minute later, the trigger was pulled into the empty cartridge. Nevertheless, the two figures continued to approach me. He hurled a gun at them, then ran toward them in a fit of rage. It hit hard and fell heavily to the floor.
  
  
  Sergei caught fire, and Kalinina helped me up. He was panting and exhausted. Now that the movie is over, the pain and anger are gone, all around me.
  
  
  "Very good," Kalinin would say sweetly. "Great, actually."
  
  
  "I want to... get out of here," emu told her.
  
  
  "All right," he said. "We won't need you until today, when you have your last session. You can go back to your room."
  
  
  I was taken back to a white room with a bunk, and its hard to bench press. It felt like several agonizing sleepless days with them ferrets had passed since I woke up that morning. I fell asleep for a while. But this time it wasn't a nightmare. Instead, I had a very detailed dream about Tanya. She was naked in my arms. The warm softness of her body consumed me, consumed me with desire. All my senses were aroused - I could hear her beautiful voice and smell the intoxicating aroma of ee brass. And all through the vaults, in the heat of passion, she kept saying to me, " I'm sorry, Nick. I'm sorry, Nick."
  
  
  I couldn't understand why she was using that foreign name, but Stahl didn't correct her. I didn't care what she called me. Nothing mattered but the hot, demanding flesh writhing beneath me.
  
  
  She suddenly sat up. He thought of Tanya and her use of a foreign name. Nick. What does it mean? I dreamed of the Luger that Kalinina stuck in my fist. As I lay there waiting for them to bring me to the final session, I wondered if there hadn't been something more in the last couple of days than I knew her, more than these people were telling me. But they had to be legal. They knew everything about me, everything about my philosophy and my work with the movement. We all worked for Vyacheslav on the same case, and he had to trust them.
  
  
  When they came to pick me up, they said it was early evening and I would be released in a few hours after a good meal. They took me to orientation, but they didn't fasten me to a special chair. Instead, they asked me to sit in the usual chair next to Salgado. After a while he left, and Tanya and Kalinina came in with a third man, a Russian named Oleg Dimitrov.
  
  
  "Senor Dimitrov works closely with the leader of the movement," Kalinina explained to me.
  
  
  Her gaze shifted from the men to Tanya. She carried a bundle of papers under her arm. She gave me a shaky smile.
  
  
  "Do we start?" "homely?" she asked.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Let's get started."
  
  
  They pulled up three chairs and played this game facing " me, the men on either side of Tanya. She puts the papers on her lap. Dimitrov stared at me intently, as if trying to gauge my innermost thoughts and feelings.
  
  
  "We ask you to take another course of therapy," Tanya said. "Then you'll be ready."
  
  
  Kalinina was preparing injections. He leaned forward in his chair and gave me a shot. "You will only get a small amount of sedative this time,"he said," because we will release you immediately after the session ends." As the liquid entered my vein, he pulled out the needle and pressed a cotton pad to the tiny wound.
  
  
  "Now," Tanya said in her smooth, quiet voice,"you feel very relaxed and calm." Her voice hummed, appeasing my brain, and soon her ego was at its mercy. He was completely submissive.
  
  
  "This time, I'll ask you to open your eyes, but you don't have to go around in a deep trance. On the count of five, you will open your eyes, but you will remain in a hypnotic state."
  
  
  She counted slowly. When she said five, my eyes opened. Her eyes darted from one face to the other. I was perfectly aware of everything around me, but I was still in a state of high euphoria. I was completely relaxed and knew that I was completely at the mercy of that voice.
  
  
  "You have been selected for the most important mission"
  
  
  This is a locality in Russia that the revolution has taken after all, " Tanya said seriously. - The day after tomorrow, the Caracas conference will be held. There will be a morning and afternoon session. The President of Venezuela, the Vice President of the United States and other dignitaries will be present. The conference will take place in Palacio de Miraflores.
  
  
  "You will go to the afternoon session just before the conference meets again. You will be given a carafe of water, which you can move to the room. When the game resumes, the device hidden in the decanter will kill everyone in this room."
  
  
  A shiver of pleasure shot through me.
  
  
  "You won't use weapons to kill our enemies like you tried to do before. But you will kill ih. Do you understand?"
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her."
  
  
  "Your face will look different when you wake up from this trance. We'll make you look like an American spy named Nick Carter."
  
  
  "Nick Carter," repeat it. Nick! That's what Tanya used to call me in my dreams. It was a premonition, like a dream about the Luger.
  
  
  "You will enter the building under the name of Nick Carter. A member of our group will give you a decanter with a hidden device. You bring the decanter to the conference room and put the ego on a chair. You will be able to do this, because it is Nick Carter, whom we got rid of, who has the highest level of admission to the conference."
  
  
  "I understand," I said.
  
  
  "For the next two days, you will be portraying Nick Carter around you. I'm going to start reading the file now about this agent, and you need to remember every detail so that you can successfully impersonate Carter. In addition, you have certain knowledge about that person deep inside you. You can only use enough of this knowledge to complete your incarnation, and no more ."
  
  
  She was reading the papers on her lap. The information was easy to remember. Somehow it seemed very familiar to me.
  
  
  "She was the one who passed herself off as Ilsa Hoffman," Tanya concluded. "And after we release you, you will immediately inform Carters' boss, David Hawke. He will ask why you were out of touch for two days, and he will ask a colleague of me, whom he knows as Ilse Hoffmann. You will say that you went with me to a country villa for a few days because you wanted to check on me, but now you are convinced that I am beyond suspicion."
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "Above suspicion." The information was indelibly recorded in my brain.
  
  
  "You will impersonate Nick Carter as accurately as you know how, doing everything that is expected of you until noon on the day of the conference. Then, you will ignore any orders they may give you and head to the palace. You must be in the corridor open at the entrance to the Rivne Conference Hall at one o'clock in the afternoon. At this time, our person will approach you. Nen will be wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie with a white carnation on the lapel. He will hand you this decanter that is around them, which will be used on the negotiating table." She took the large, ornate decanter from Dimitrov. "Inside it, under the false bottom, will be this device."
  
  
  She carefully removed the electronic gadget. It looked like a fancy transistor radio.
  
  
  "The device is controlled by a remote control. It emits sound in a wide range of frequencies, wider than anything previously developed. At certain frequencies and volume levels, sound destroys the central nervous tissue. A very short exposure leads to a painful death."
  
  
  She replaced the gadget in the carafe. "The device will be tuned to the desired frequency using the remote control then in a daytime session setting. Within a few minutes, it will kill everyone within earshot, but it won't affect anyone outside the room. After it has done its job, it will produce a much lower sound, which will still sound very high to meet your ears. You will be able to hear this sound outside of the conference room where you will be located ."
  
  
  "I'll hear a sound outside the conference room," repeat it.
  
  
  "And after our person gives you the water decanter, you will go to the guards on the day of the room and tell them that the palace staff asked you to deliver the decanter so that there is fresh water for the conference members. Since Nick Carter has permission to enter the conference room, they will allow you to take the decanter inside and place the ego on a chair. Leave the ego against the wall, and take the other decanter to the nearest service room in the corridor. you will stay away from the immediate area until you see that everyone has entered the conference room for the afternoon session.
  
  
  "When you hear a high-pitched sound around the room, you will know that the device has done its job. Now listen carefully." Dimitrov stood up and turned the dial on a small typewriter on the next table. She was heard by a high-pitched scream, which belied reports in the media about the noise of some planes.
  
  
  "This is the sound you will hear."
  
  
  Ego's voice stopped for a moment. "When you hear this," she said slowly, " you will remember everything that was buried in your subconscious. You will remember everything I told you not to remember earlier. You will remember everything that happened before you came to this clinic. But you won't remember anything that happened here. This will reveal the truth to you, but will lead to serious confusion. You admit to the first math class member who speaks to you that you planted the death device in the conference room. Is it all clear? "
  
  
  "It's all clear," I said.
  
  
  "Also, when our man hands you the decanter, he will say:« Viva la revolución! These words strengthen your resolve to kill the Venezuelan president and the American, and you will feel an overwhelming urge to take the decanter to the room like hers. I've instructed you."
  
  
  "Viva la revolutión," I said.
  
  
  Kalinin got up, went to the table, and took out the luger he had given me, and the stiletto in its scabbard. He handed me the gun.
  
  
  "Put the gun down," Tanya said. "The scabbard on the stidet should be attached to your right forearm."
  
  
  I followed her instructions. The weapon felt awkward and cumbersome. Kalinina brought me a dark jacket and tie, and Tanya told me to put an ih over my weapon.
  
  
  "The weapon belonged to Nick Carter," Tanya said. "You will know how to use them. The Swedes also had an ego."
  
  
  Dimitrov leaned over and whispered something in Tanya's ear. She nodded.
  
  
  "You will not attempt to return to your apartment on Avenida Bolivar. You will also not contact the Lynch Mobs or anyone associated with this mission, not even the staff of this clinic."
  
  
  "Very good," I said.
  
  
  "Now, Rafael Chavez, you will come out on hypnosis when I count it down from five to one. You will be fluent in English, and this is the language you will use until you complete your mission. You will be ready to complete the mission and you will follow all my instructions exactly.
  
  
  "I'll start bibl now. Five. You are Rafael Chavez, and you will change the course of Venezuela's modern history. Four. Your president and Vice President of the United States are your mortal enemies. You haven't given it much thought. without a purpose, but to kill these two men as we planned. Two. When you wake up, you won't know that you were under hypnosis. You will not remember the names of those who are here with you, but you have learned that we are friends of the revolutions that prepared you for your mission ."
  
  
  When it reached number one, the scene in front of me seemed to blur for a minute, and then it became focused again. Her eyes darted from one face to the other.
  
  
  "Are you feeling all right, Raphael?" "What is it?" the sweet young woman asked.
  
  
  "I feel great," hey replied to her in English. Surprisingly, I said it without difficulty.
  
  
  "Hema will you be in the next two days?"
  
  
  "Nick Carter, American spy."
  
  
  "What will you do after you leave here?"
  
  
  "Report a math major named David Hawke. I'll tell Emu that I was with you - Ilse Hoffmann-during Sump's absence."
  
  
  Good. Go look at yourself."
  
  
  Her, went to the mirror. When I saw my face, it looked different. Oni changed my appearance so that I looked exactly like Nick Carter. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Luger . Wilhelmina's name flashed through my head. He had no idea why. Anyway, it didn't seem important. He pulled out the bolt and inserted a cartridge into the pistol's cartridge. He was surprised by his ability to handle a weapon.
  
  
  He turned back to the three around them. "I do not know your names," I said.
  
  
  The men were obviously smiling contentedly. However, the girl spoke up. "You know that we are your friends. And friends of revolutions."
  
  
  Hers hesitated. "Yes," I said. Her gun pointed at the lighted one across the room and squinted along the barrel. It was a wonderful tool. Ego put it back in its holster.
  
  
  "I think you're ready," the girl said.
  
  
  Her gaze lingered for a moment. I knew there was something going on between us, but I couldn't remember her name. "Its ready." I felt a sudden urge to get out of there, to do the most important thing in my life - the mission these people had prepared me for.
  
  
  A man in a business suit spoke up. Ego's voice sounded rather authoritarian. "Then go, Raphael. Go to a conference in Caracas and kill your enemies."
  
  
  "Consider it done," I said.
  
  
  The seventh chapter.
  
  
  "Where the hell have you been, tailor?"
  
  
  David Hawke stomped through the hotel room in a black rage. Ego's gray hair was disheveled, and there were deep lines around his cold blue eyes. I didn't know Americans were capable of such outbursts.
  
  
  "I was with a girl," I said.
  
  
  "A girl! For two days? Important events occurred during your untimely vacation. It wouldn't be bad if you came here for a briefing."
  
  
  "She seemed too interested too quickly," I said. "I needed to find out if it was being used against us in any way. She invited me to a country villa for a couple of days, and I couldn't get in touch with you before we left. After we got to the villa, I didn't have any opportunity to contact you."
  
  
  Hawk squinted at me, and I was afraid he could see me through my disguise. I was pretty sure he knew I wasn't Nick Carter, and he was just playing games with me.
  
  
  "Is that the whole story?" "What is it?" he asked tartly.
  
  
  He didn't believe it. I had to improvise. "Well, if you must know, its sick. At first, I thought that the girl had poisoned me, but it was just a severe case of a tourist's illness. It wouldn't do you any good even if it could make contact."
  
  
  As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on my face. Finally, they softened a little. "Oh my God. We're on the cusp of the culmination of our biggest mission in years, and you decide to get sick. Well, maybe it's my fault. Maybe he pushed you too hard."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, sir," I said. "But I had to check on the girl. I am now convinced that she is beyond suspicion."
  
  
  "Well, I guess it's something, even if it's something negative."
  
  
  "Maybe it was a wild goose chase," I said. "Anyway, its back to work. What's new?"
  
  
  Hawk pulled out a long Cuban cigar. He bit off the thread and rolled the ego in his mouth, but didn't light it. I had a strong sense of deja vu - a Hawk in another place doing the same thing. All the guesses and flashes of impossible half-memories made me nervous.
  
  
  "The Vice president has gone mad. He says we overreacted with security issues. He has captured several CIA employees and is demanding additional Secret Service guys home. He said it was inconvenient for the press to have an army of security guards around, as if we don't trust the Venezuelan police."
  
  
  "That's too bad," I said. On the dell itself, everything was fine. The fewer Americans I have around to act for, the easier my work will be when I come to the conference.
  
  
  "Well, there are still a lot of people in the palace with guns in their pockets. N7 called her when he thought you might be at the bottom of a six-foot hole somewhere."
  
  
  For the first time, I realized that one of the reasons Hawke was so angry was because he was really worried about me. Or rather, about Nike Carter. Somehow this realization touched me, and I found myself thinking that Carter's fate had been meted out to the vigilantes.
  
  
  I asked her. "N7 is Clay Vincent?"
  
  
  “yeah. He checked into a third hotel, Las Americas. Her emu told her to check on your disappearance." He said sarcastically ," He can now move on to more important matters. Tonight, the Vice President is attending an unscheduled party that is usually held in the gardens of the American Embassy. The President of Venezuela will definitely show up. Since the conference will be held tomorrow, I want to start taking special personal precautions, especially for any events not included in the original schedule." He was chewing on a cigar.
  
  
  The mention of these enemies of the people made me flush. I was overcome by a hot wave of hatred, and I had to do my best to contain it. One wrong move with Hawk can ruin the mission.
  
  
  "Okay, I'll be there," I said.
  
  
  "Are you really okay, Nick?" asked Hawk suddenly.
  
  
  "Sure, why not?"
  
  
  "I do not know. You just looked different for a moment. Your face has changed. Are you sure you're still not sick?"
  
  
  It was quickly accepted by the occasion. "It could be," I said. "I'm not completely alone today." I thought that at any moment he would reveal my disguise and I would have to kill ego po luger in my pocket. Her ego doesn't want to kill her. He seemed like a good person, even if he was the only one around the enemies. But anyone who got in the way of my mission would have to be eliminated - there was no alternative.
  
  
  "Well, you really aren't alone," Hawk said slowly. "I was going to send you to the embassy to check if there are a couple of assistants who will be at the palace tomorrow, but I don't think you're ready for that. You'd better rest until this evening. "
  
  
  "That won't be necessary, sir," I said. "I'll be happy to go to the embassy and..."
  
  
  "Damn the tailor, N3! You know better than to argue with me. Just go back to your room and stay there until you're needed. I'll call you when it's time to go to the embassy."
  
  
  "Yes, sir," I said quietly, grateful for the opportunity to avoid more contact with the Americans than was absolutely necessary.
  
  
  "And don't mess with that damned girl," Hawk yelled at me.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The Embassy gardens are beautiful at all times, but this evening they were especially magnificent. There were lanterns everywhere. Flaming barbecues and tables with food were set up for the guests. At one end of the garden was a playground where a band played all evening.
  
  
  Hawk and Vincent were with me, but we hadn't spoken to each other yet.
  
  
  Vincent had met her earlier in the bathroom. We exchanged greetings, and I was rather embarrassed. I knew I should have known him, but I wasn't ready to face another AX agent. I had to bluff myself during our conversation, and I was afraid that I wasn't convinced. Vincent spoke briefly about AX headquarters and a previous assignment we had worked on together. I let him talk and just agreed with everything he said.
  
  
  The Vice president showed up quite early in the evening. Her ego tried to avoid her completely. His face and voice evoked such strong emotions in me that I was sure that I would reveal my cover if I met him face to face. Her, went up to the band, and just listened to them play. The music was beautiful, and he was looking forward to the day when my homeland would be freed from tyranny. For the first time in hours, he began to relax.
  
  
  But luck couldn't resist. She heard a voice behind her, and it was the terrible voice of the American vice president.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter."
  
  
  He turned to look at the emu's face and felt a terrible pressure in his chest, but he fought the revulsion. Standing between the vice president were two members of the Secret Service, who nodded at me.
  
  
  "Mr. Vice President," he said harshly.
  
  
  "I don't think you've met the president," the monster said. He pointed at the approaching figure, and it was the man he hated most in the world who saw it. He was a straight-faced and solid man, a seemingly harmless old man with a broad smile and a chest full of ribbons and medals. But I knew what he represented, and it made my stomach clench. He came to stand beside us. Two plainclothes policemen and a medical staff were behind.
  
  
  "Mr. President, this is one of the best young people in our special services," the Vice President said. "Mr. Carter."
  
  
  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  The proximity of that face made my anger almost uncontrollable. He fought the overwhelming urge to throw himself at him and tear him to pieces with his bare hands. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I felt a strong tightening in my chest, which was still wearing dreadlocks and dreadlocks. I had a headache so bad that I thought it was going to explode.
  
  
  I breathed, and turned away from the two men. I needed to pull myself together, but I didn't know how to do it. He looked around with a grim face. "With pleasure, Mr. President," I said.
  
  
  Everyone was looking at me like I'd lost my mind. The security staff studied me closely.
  
  
  "Are you all right, young man?" The president asked.
  
  
  My eyes struggled to meet his. "Oh, yes," I said quickly. "I'll be fine. I just had a run-in with some tourists."
  
  
  The Vice president was watching my face closely. "You'd better get some rest, Mr. Carter," he said quietly. A moment later they were talking to the American ambassador.
  
  
  In her sudden desperation, he turned to follow them. My hand went into my jacket. He was going to pull out the Lugers and shoot them in the head. But when she felt the cold metal of the gun against her hand, she came to her senses. This wasn't a plan, and he had to obey orders. He pulled out his hand and wiped the sweat on his jacket. Hers, trembling all over. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed my actions, and when I turned back to the building, I saw my AX colleague Clay-Vincent looking at me. He was watching all the time.
  
  
  Fighting panic, I hurried to the back of the embassy building, to the men's room. I felt sick and was afraid I was going to throw up. Her voice was still shaking, and it looked like gol-votum-votum was going to crack.
  
  
  In the bathroom, he poured cold water on her head and leaned heavily against the sink. It was thrown around the head of the faces, and the pain and nausea began to subside. When hers turned to find a towel, Vincent was there.
  
  
  "What's wrong with you, Nick?" he asked.
  
  
  I turned away from him and dried myself. "Something must have eaten it wrong," I said. "I think she's still a little out of her mind."
  
  
  "You look awful," he insisted.
  
  
  "I feel good now."
  
  
  "Don't you think you should see the embassy doctor?"
  
  
  "Tailor, clean. Its really fine."
  
  
  There was a long silence as he roughly combed her hair.
  
  
  "I had something to drink in that cafe in Beirut when we were working together," he said. "Remember? You helped me get around this. I was just trying to repay a favor."
  
  
  Something deep inside my brain reacted when he mentioned the incident in Beirut. I had a very brief vision of Clay-Vincent falling against an old brick wall, and I was going to help em get back on his feet. After a split second, the scene disappeared, and he wondered if you'd imagined it at all.
  
  
  This shocked me. Clay Vincent had never met her in his life. How could I remember being with him in Beirut? Hers has never been outside of Venezuela, except when hers was in the US. He didn't know anything about Lebanon. Or was hers still there?
  
  
  Once again, I had the feeling that something had been hidden from me in the clinic in my past. Something very important. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the drugs stimulated my imagination so that I could come up with scenes that would help me play the role of Nick Carter.
  
  
  "Apologize," I said. "I appreciate your interest, Clay."
  
  
  He smiled briefly, but then his concern returned. "Nick, what the hell were you doing in there after someone spoke to you?"
  
  
  "What do you mean?" I asked her defensively.
  
  
  "Well, for a minute it looked like you were going to get your Luger. What was going on?"
  
  
  Her mind ran through several possible answers. "Ah, that. I think its pretty nervous. I saw the guy reach into his jacket, and for a minute I thought he was reaching for a gun. Her, felt like an idiot when he pulled out the handkerchief."
  
  
  Our eyes met and locked as Vincent assessed my rheumatism. If he challenged me, I would have to kill the ego openly here, and that would mean big problems.
  
  
  "All right, buddy," he said. Stahl's ego voice is softer. "You'd better rest, so you'll feel better tomorrow."
  
  
  Her, looked at him. He was a stocky man with reddish hair, probably in his mid-thirties. He had an open, honest face, but I knew he could be tough.
  
  
  "Thanks, Clay," I said.
  
  
  "Forget it."
  
  
  For the rest of the evening, I tried to stay away from the main activity. Hawk appeared at some point when everyone was looking at the group of dancers and stood next to me.
  
  
  "Everything seems normal?" "What is it?" he asked, not looking at me.
  
  
  "Yes, sir," I said. I wonder if emu Vincent Kara told me.
  
  
  "It doesn't seem like you need to stay here for long, Nick," he said. "I'm also sending Vincent back to ego everything. But I'll see you at the palace early tomorrow morning. Even though everything seems fine, I still have this feeling about the warning. Did you notice the person who was stalking you? "
  
  
  Another unfamiliar scene flashed through my mind - a man standing in a white room holding me with a gun. No, it was a corridor, not a room. I touched my forehead with my hand, and Hawk stared at me.
  
  
  “no. No, her ego didn't see it." How did she even know what kind of person he was talking about? Nothing was mentioned in the file that my comrades read to me. Unless you've forgotten it.
  
  
  "Nick, are you sure you're okay?" "With Vincent here, I probably could have done without you."
  
  
  "I'm fine!" he told her, somewhat sharply. I looked at Hawk, and he looked at me grimly, chewing on an unlit cigar. "Apologies. But I feel like I'm needed at the conference, and I want to be there."
  
  
  I tried not to hear the raw panic in her voice. If Hawk gets me all over security, I won't be able to complete my mission.
  
  
  "All right," he finally said. "See you tomorrow, son."
  
  
  I couldn't look at him. "That's right."
  
  
  Hawk walked through the garden, and hers was gone. I didn't want to go back to the hotel. I needed a drink. I took a taxi to El Hardin because I felt lonely, and for some reason I associated this place with the girl in the clinic. When hers came inside, hers was surprised to see her sitting at a corner table. She was alone, sipping a mug of wine. She saw me right away.
  
  
  You will also not contact the Lynch Mobs or anyone associated with this mission, not even the staff of this clinic.
  
  
  He turned away from Nah and went to the table on the other side of the room. I felt a terrible urge to go to her, tell her about my problems, take her to bed with me. But she herself forbade me to make contact. The waiter came and ordered her a cognac. When he left, I looked up and saw that she was sitting next to my chair.
  
  
  "Good evening, Raphael." She sat down next to me. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
  
  
  Her name suddenly popped into my head from the depths of my subconscious. "Your name is... Tanya." He looked her straight in the eye. "I'm not supposed to know that, am I?"
  
  
  "No, but I think I know why you're doing this. It's all right."
  
  
  "I shouldn't be with you, should I?"
  
  
  "I was asked to contact you. To find out how you're feeling and make sure you're accepted like Nick Carter."
  
  
  "I was mistaken for him," I said. "But the one called Hawk is too concerned about my welfare. I was introduced to the president this evening, and it was quite rude for a minute. But I think I made Hawke think I was okay. "
  
  
  Tanya's beautiful face darkened. "Hawk is the only person who can interrupt this entire mission. You have to convince the ego in every way possible that you are Nick Carter and that you can do your job at conferences." Her voice was strained and urgent. "It is imperative that you have access to the conference room during your lunch break."
  
  
  "I understand, Tanya," I said. Her hotel
  
  
  take her in my arms and kiss her. "Come to my room," I said. "For a while. This... important to me."
  
  
  "The hawk may be watching you," she said softly.
  
  
  "No, it's not like that. Please come here for a bit."
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gently touched my face. I knew she was better than me. "I'll be there in half an hour."
  
  
  "I'll be waiting."
  
  
  Forty-five minutes later, we were standing in the dim light of my hotel room, and Tanya roughly hugged her. She was kissed by ee, and her tongue slid into my mouth. She pressed her hips against me.
  
  
  "Oh, Raphael," she breathed.
  
  
  "Take off your clothes," I said.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  We undressed in the dark. A few seconds later, we were both naked and staring hungrily at each other. Tanya was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. My eyes took in her full, round breasts, slender waist, curved hips, and long, smooth thighs. And I was charmed by her soft, sensual voice. The voice that spoke so softly and convincingly to me in the clinic. There was an extra magnetism between us because of this special relationship. I craved the body that belonged to that soothing, beckoning voice, the voice that had such power over me.
  
  
  We walked together to the bed and he kissed her there, pulling her close and feeling her trained breasts press against me, moving his hands over the swollen curves of her thighs.
  
  
  We were both breathing heavily. He released her, and she sat down on the bed, her full cream-colored form looking like cream against the white sheets. I remembered her passionate moments in my room at the clinic. Suddenly, I had another memory, of the vaults I had dreamed about in the clinic. I saw Tanya stretched out in front of me instead of a bed, inviting me to join her with her whole body. Was it just a dream? Or did it really happen? She was terribly confused.
  
  
  His bench press is in bed and the bench press is next to her, facing her. He touched her burning lips with his own, then ran his lips down her neck and shoulder.
  
  
  "Do you have a headquarters in Caracas?" I asked him between kisses.
  
  
  "Why do you think that," she replied, startled.
  
  
  "Do you have a wide sofa in your apartment?"
  
  
  She looked at me, and I thought I saw fear in her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
  
  
  I told her. "That's where we first made love, wasn't it?" As you told me, it wasn't in my apartment. I don't have such a sofa in my apartment." They showed me a couple of photos of my apartment on Avenida Bolivar.
  
  
  Tanya looked upset. "Is it important?" she asked.
  
  
  "Not really," I said, kissing her. "That just occurred to me when I saw you here."
  
  
  Her face relaxed again. "You're right, Raphael. It was my apartment. I was just checking you out at the clinic to see if you remember."
  
  
  "Because of the mission?"
  
  
  "Because of my feminine vanity." She smiled and pressed insistently against me.
  
  
  He stopped worrying about it and forgot about everything but the urgency of his desire and the velvety softness of her flesh.
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  The next morning, Hawk, Vincent, and his friends set off for the White Palace. Most of the regular security forces were there all night. By six o'clock in the morning, it was already a madhouse. Hawk told Vincent and I to check the conference room and surrounding rooms before nine-thirty, when the conference was supposed to start. He was very nervous. I had a strange feeling when I was doing all these security checks, as it was easy to move around people who were there for the sole purpose of stopping me. If hers wasn't so nervous, his would have enjoyed the irony of it all. The security staff nodded and smiled at me, not even suspecting that it was her who made sure no one left the conference room alive.
  
  
  Throughout the morning, the faces of the orientation room came back to me again and again, and each time it happened, she broke out in a cold sweat. The force of my hatred was tearing me apart. Her mission is to continue, do her job, and rid the world of these two evil people.
  
  
  "Well, it's an hour before the conference starts," Hawke told me, " and we have nothing better to do than we had when we left Washington. Except that we can't find a tall person that no one else has seen..."
  
  
  "It's not my fault," I said sharply.
  
  
  Hawk studied my face, and I knew I'd done it again. The ego of her keen eyes avoided her.
  
  
  "Who the hell said that?" - he snapped at rheumatism.
  
  
  "I... I'm sorry, sir. I think its a little nervous about the conference."
  
  
  "This isn't like you at all, Nick," he said seriously. "You always keep your cool. That's why I think you're the best. What's wrong with you anyway? You know you can match me."
  
  
  Her, looked at him. He had a strange effect on me, and I couldn't understand why. I liked this man, and for some reason I felt very close to him, even though I had never seen him, ego until yesterday morning. It was strange.
  
  
  "I'm all right, sir," I said. "You can count on me.
  
  
  "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "Yes, her name is."
  
  
  Good. If you find anything, you can find me at the security headquarters."
  
  
  When he was gone, I wanted to punch moony in the face. Hers might have looked like Nick Carter, but hers didn't behave like him. And Hawk noticed. If I hadn't been more careful, she would have missed the entire mission.
  
  
  By the time of the conference, the palace was incredibly restless. The halls were packed with people. There were hundreds of reporters from all over the world. The flashbulbs were going off every minute, and there was a lot of shouting and sightings. When the executives arrived at the conference hall, the crowd around them was so thick that ih could barely be seen.
  
  
  When I saw ih again at close range, I felt such hostility towards them, such open hatred, that I had to turn away. He couldn't even watch them enter the room. A few minutes later, everyone was inside, and the big double doors closed behind them. The conference has begun.
  
  
  When I got to the palace and checked the conference room, I drew her attention to the water decanter on the long mahogany table. It was identical to what I would have if later, at recess. It was on a tray, along with a dozen sparkling crystal glasses. By midday, the water remaining in the carafe will become stale, and the palace staff will have estestvenno bring fresh water for the afternoon session.
  
  
  The morning lasted a year. He paced restlessly up and down the long corridor. The other guards looked at me. The halls were full of them. Two Venezuelan security guards, one CIA officer and one Secret Service agent stood guard outside the conference room. Everyone around them knew Nick Carter, and no one had even looked at me when I'd looked around the room earlier.
  
  
  Around eleven-thirty, half an hour before halftime, the corridor outside the conference room began to fill up again. I felt a terrible tightness in my chest, and my head was starting to hurt. But this time the pain was almost pleasant. I knew that he would disappear as soon as I completed my mission.
  
  
  Shortly before recess, a CIA agent approached me. He obviously knew me, and ego must have known her. I focused on her, and her face looked familiar, though of course it wasn't. This was all conditioned, and I didn't have time to worry about how it worked. However, these collisions made me nervous. A single miss could ruin the entire mission.
  
  
  "Where have you been, Carter?" the man asked. "We haven't seen you here in a couple of days."
  
  
  "Ah. She was checked out by several suspicious individuals, " he said tensely, trying his best to sound estestvenno.
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  "I saw him the night before, a suspicious-looking man at the reception desk, but it turned out to be a dead end."
  
  
  "Oh right, I've heard about it. I also heard that you were sleeping with some German girl for a while. Is there any truth in this? " he chuckled.
  
  
  The smile suddenly reminded me of the one on the face of the American vice president when he introduced me to the president. "Why don't you get lost, you incompetent bastard!" I growled.
  
  
  Then she noticed Hawke and Vincent standing just a few feet away, looking at me. I didn't see them coming.
  
  
  "You should keep this one on a leash," the CIA man said angrily as he quickly walked past Hawk and Vincent's mimmo and continued down the hall.
  
  
  Hawk stood there, studying me for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was calm and low. "Come with us, Nick," he said.
  
  
  "She should be here when they come out," I said. "There may be problems."
  
  
  "Take the tailor, he told her to come with us!"
  
  
  He rubbed his hand over her mouth. I was in trouble, with just over an hour to go before I met the person who would serve me the decanter. But there was no way he could give up on Hawke. He didn't give me a choice.
  
  
  "All right," I said quietly.
  
  
  Hawk led us to an empty private room near the security headquarters. Once we were inside, Hawk closed and locked the door, then turned to me. Vincent stood off to the side, looking very confused.
  
  
  "Now," Hawk said in a harsh, low voice. "What the hell is going on here, tailor? I took everything I could from you, Nick. You're acting like a maniac."
  
  
  He glared at Vincent. "You told em about the incident at the party."
  
  
  "No, I didn't," Vincent said defensively. "But I had to do it."
  
  
  "What accident?" Hawk asked.
  
  
  "Just a small emotional outburst," Vincent said.
  
  
  He licked her dry lips. I was glad he hadn't mentioned my attempt to get the Luger out. The hawk was sharp. I was sure he already doubted my identity. Maybe he noticed some flaw in my disguise. Maybe they left a mole, a scarring, or something else that gave me away. No, it must be my fault. Hers just wasn't acting like Nick Carter.
  
  
  "Okay, what is it?
  
  
  Hawk asked impatiently. "Why are you so damn nervous all the time?" You weren't the same person with them ferret as he came back from the villa."
  
  
  Rheumatism was simple. He was a different person. Rafael Chavez. But I couldn't tell him that. He was the one around the enemies. Both of these AH agents were my enemies.
  
  
  "I just don't know, sir. Maybe it's because it's all so damn frustrating, with crowds of people crowding around, noise and confusion. And the worst part is knowing that something could happen at any moment and we wouldn't be able to do anything about it. This security job is not my style ."
  
  
  Both men were silent for a moment. Hawk turned away and went to the window. "I'm afraid that's not enough, Nick." He turned to me. His lean body seemed to shrink even further in the tweed jacket, and his cold eyes seemed to stare openly at me. "What happened in those two days when you were gone?"
  
  
  "Exactly what I told you," I said.
  
  
  "I hate to say this, Nick, but I think you're hiding something from me. That doesn't sound like you either. We've always been very open with each other, haven't we?"
  
  
  The pressure in my head and chest was growing. It was less than an hour before I was forced to enter this corridor. And David Hawke wants to talk and talk.
  
  
  "Yes, we've always been honest."
  
  
  "Then let's be honest," Hawke said. "I think something happened when you disappeared, and I don't understand why you don't tell me about it. I know you must have some reason to hold back, but it would be much better for both of us if you put it out there. Is this about the Hoffmann girl? "
  
  
  Her eyes darted to him. "No, it has nothing to do with the girl. What the hell is this supposed to be? I told you it was clear. Do you really believe I'm lying to you? I realized I was shouting, but it was too late.
  
  
  "Calm down, Nick," Vincent said softly.
  
  
  Hawk said nothing for a moment. He was looking at me again, piercing me with his hard, cold eyes. The pressure in my head and chest was rising dangerously, and he felt like a bomb about to explode.
  
  
  "Nick,"Hawk said slowly," I'm taking you off this case." Ego's face suddenly looked old and tired.
  
  
  A chill ran through me. I turned to meet his gaze. "You can't do that," I said dully. "You need me here."
  
  
  "Please believe me when I tell her I don't want to. You're number one on my list, and you know it. Your track record speaks for itself. But there's something wrong here. The feeling I had when I arrived in Caracas - the terrible feeling that something had gone wrong-is still with me. In fact, it's gotten a lot stronger in the last couple of days." He looked at Vincent. "You feel it too, don't you, Clay?"
  
  
  "Yes, sir," Vincent said. "I can feel it."
  
  
  "You've always valued intuition, Nick. You've told me that yourself many times. Well, hers, too. And I honestly have a very strong feeling right now that you shouldn't be part of this. nothing more. For your own good, and also for the good of the conferences ."
  
  
  "Sir, let me show you that I'm fine," I said. "Just let me stay for a break."
  
  
  Ego's brow furrowed: "Why at noon?"
  
  
  I couldn't look the emu in the eye. "It just seems like a particularly dangerous time. Once they were safely back in the conference room, it was unlikely that anything would go wrong. I'll leave her if you want her gone."
  
  
  "I want you to leave now," Hawk said coldly. "Vincent, go get one of the Venezuelan security guards. I'm sending him back to the hotel alone with Nick, just to make sure he gets there all right."
  
  
  "That's not necessary," I said angrily.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Nick, but I think so," Hawke said. Ego's voice was sharp, and so were his eyes.
  
  
  Vincent started toward Day, and she suddenly panicked. I couldn't let these people stop me from completing my assignment. Something clicked inside, and my purpose became clear. Her, knew what I needed to do. I had to kill ih. A hard, cold determination gripped me.
  
  
  He quickly put on his jacket and pulled out the luger . Her ego had aimed it at Hawke, but it had also talked to Vincent. "Keep an open mind here," I said sharply.
  
  
  They both looked at me in complete shock.
  
  
  "Are you crazy?" Hawk asked incredulously.
  
  
  Vincent turned away from her. "Come here so he can see you," I said. As soon as he does, I'll kill him both. But I must act quickly.
  
  
  "What is it, Nick?" asked Vincent, his voice low and strained.
  
  
  I told her. "My name is Rafael Chavez." "I'm the avenger. Now it doesn't matter if you know. Nick Carter is dead, and I'm impersonating him. Within an hour, I will complete my mission, and all the conference participants will be dead. Nothing will stop me, so move in front of me like I said."
  
  
  Hawk Vincent and I exchanged glances.
  
  
  "I saw the secret tattoo on your right arm when you were washing the dishes this morning," Hawke said slowly. "No, you're not a liar. Kostya of God, Nick, put that thing down and talked to us."
  
  
  His words infuriated me. Emu's gun pointed at her chest. But then I saw Vincent rush over to me.
  
  
  I turned to meet him, but I was a fraction of a second too late. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me and we were falling to the floor.
  
  
  As we hit, Vincent's meaty fist smashed into my face. It was a heavy blow, and it stunned me. Then hers, and I felt the Luger twist around my arm. He held on to it with all his might, but Vincent Mistletoe had the advantage. The gun fell to the floor. But I was restoring her strength. Her son-in-law kicked Vincent and kicked his ego hard in the groin.
  
  
  He screamed and fell on his back with me. A Luger spotted her, then went to work on it.
  
  
  "Don't do this, Nick. I'll have to shoot." Hawk was standing over us, holding his beretta on me. He looked through the emu's long silencer into his eyes and realized that he was very serious. He slowly stood up.
  
  
  "Do you think you can stop me with this?" I asked her in a threatening voice that I didn't recognize as my own.
  
  
  "I'm quite sure I can," he said calmly. "But don't make me do it."
  
  
  "I'll take this toy from you and kill you with it," I growled. He took a step toward it.
  
  
  "I'll shoot her, Nick," Hawke said. But I could see the hint of fear in his eyes - he was afraid he couldn't kill me.
  
  
  I was just about to call my ego bluff when I saw Vincent stagger to his feet again. As Hawke carefully pointed the gun at my chest, Vincent came up to me. Ego grabbed her and dragged her in front of him to protect himself from the Beretta Goshawk. Then she was shoved hard by Vincent, who fell heavily on top of Hawke. Both men staggered back, and the gun went off with a soft thud. Gawk slammed into the ceiling.
  
  
  I moved quickly, slamming my right hand into Vincent's neck and sending him flying away from the Goshawk, clearing a path for me. As Hawke lowered the gun again to aim again, ego grabbed her gun arm and pulled, twisting hard as he dragged ego toward him. He flew over my hip and crashed to the floor, the Beretta hitting the wall behind him. He was stunned.
  
  
  I reached for the Luger, but then Vincent grabbed me again. He fell, but recovered immediately and landed a left hook on Vincent's broad face. The ego of his cheekbone cracked, and he staggered from the impact. Em was in pain, but he didn't finish. Her, saw her ego hand go under her jacket. In one motion, he slid the stiletto into his palm and sent Ego flying just as Vincent took aim. The knife caught him in the ribs, and he gasped, his eyes widening, and fell to his side.
  
  
  Hawk shouted, staring at Vincent's body in disbelief. Hawk regained consciousness, but was still too weak to move. A Luger grabbed her and carefully aimed the emu at her head. He must die. There was no other way. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but something stopped me. Hawk looked at me defiantly and angrily and resentfully.
  
  
  Hatred and rage filled my chest. This man was standing in my way. It had to be eliminated by the ego. My finger tightened on the hard metal of the trigger again. He looked down at that wrinkled face and froze, stunned by the sudden surge of emotion. I don't know why, but I loved her too much and respected the man too much to shoot her. Still, I had to pull the trigger. Hers broke out in a cold sweat as conflicting emotions raced through my inflamed brain. He licked his dry lips and aimed again. My duty was clear. David Hawke should have died.
  
  
  But I couldn't do it. Her just couldn't pull the trigger. Maybe I didn't have to kill my ego after all. I could tie her up with my ego and keep her out of the way until I complete my mission.
  
  
  Hawk was looking at my face. He didn't look very surprised when she lowered the gun.
  
  
  "I knew you wouldn't kill me," he said softly.
  
  
  Her, screamed. "Shut up!" Hers was too frustrated and brief to think clearly.
  
  
  Hawke's ego tied her hands and feet with a tie and belt. I wondered if he had fought as an AX agent, not as an amateur revolutionary. And Hawka had tied her up like a pro, even though he knew he'd never done anything like this before. And there was this strange feeling that he had for the old man. It didn't make any more sense than the flashes of unknown memories and crazy dreams I'd been having for the past few days.
  
  
  Once again, I had the feeling that something was wrong with all of this-with the people at the clinic, the mission I was on, and with me. But there was no time to investigate.
  
  
  Hawke dragged her into the closet. I didn't shut him up, because I knew the rooms were completely soundproof. He just stared at me.
  
  
  "You're on drugs or something," he said.
  
  
  "Shut up and I won't kill you," I said sharply.
  
  
  "You don't want to kill me. Do you really believe that you are a man named Chavez? "
  
  
  "Her Chavez."
  
  
  "That's not true," he said flatly. "You're Nick Carter. Tailor damn it, you're Nick Carter!"
  
  
  It made me dizzy. The headache was coming back - a headache that wouldn't go away until after I'd killed my enemies with it. I glanced at my watch and saw that I had about half an hour left. Hawke shoved her into the closet, slammed the door, and locked it. He glanced at Vincent as he approached the door. He looked dead, and for some crazy reason, I was really sorry.
  
  
  He went out into the corridor and was surprised to find that it was almost deserted. A Venezuelan policeman was entering the security room at the other end of the hall. He didn't see me. Obviously, no one heard us. But it's not like Hema and I have to face each other. The security staff might wonder where it came from, or someone who saw me walking down the hall with Hawk and Vincent might start putting two and two together. Its decided to go out around the palace through a side entrance. He could have gone through the garden and come back through the main entrance. Hopefully, the crowd would have dispersed during the midday break. And anyone who saw him come in would just guess that I was out for an early lunch. He glanced around quickly, then walked quietly down the hall and out the side door.
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  I threw it around the heads of Hawke and Vincent. My watch said twelve thirty-five-just twenty-five minutes before I met my contact outside the conference room.
  
  
  He quickly walked through the garden to the front of the palace. Even in this relatively quiet time, there were people everywhere. Cars filled the streets leading up to the palace grounds. Access roads were blocked, but security guards let high-security cars pass.
  
  
  As he walked around the building, he saw hundreds of people loitering around the grounds, waiting for the dignitaries to appear.
  
  
  I had just started to walk down to the crowd when a man came up to me from the side of the road, blocking my path. I looked at it and realized that it was the CIA man I'd run into earlier. I couldn't ignore him. That would make the ego even more suspicious.
  
  
  "Tell me, Carter, can I talk to you?"
  
  
  He turned casually to face him, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his chest. My head throbbed, which hurt. "Yes?"
  
  
  "I just want to say that I apologize for the remark I made. I don't blame you for being angry."
  
  
  "Yes, it's all right," I said. "I overreacted. Its just a little nervous. My fault." Her mind began to drift away from him.
  
  
  "Then no hard feelings?" he asked.
  
  
  Her, turned back. "No, no offense. Don't worry about it."
  
  
  Good. He held out his hand. Ego took it and held it for a minute.
  
  
  He was grinning with relief. "You know, I can see how this kind of responsibility can really get to you. I think it's waiting and watching. I do not know how Secret Service personnel do this every day, not when, month after month."
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. It was twenty to one. He tried not to show his emotions. "Yes, they have a hard job. I definitely don't want that. Well, I need to meet a colleague. See you later."
  
  
  "Of course it's good," he said. "Calm down, Carter."
  
  
  Then he turned and continued down the long path. The sense of mission was so strong inside me that I couldn't think of anything else. He felt nothing around him but his way through the gathering crowd. As her husband approached the entrance, a group of assistants blocked the sidewalk. I pushed my way through them, and they looked at me like I was crazy. But there was no time for comfort now. He skirted a group of reporters near the main steps and mimed them. The crowd grew thicker.
  
  
  When I reached the stairs and started to climb them, I was blocked by the crowd. She elbowed her way through them. She was pushed by one man against another, and he shouted something obscene at me. He slammed into the woman, nearly knocking her off her feet. But she didn't even have to look back.
  
  
  I needed to get to the hallway in time.
  
  
  "Hey, look, kid!"someone shouted after me.
  
  
  He walked slowly up the stairs. "Let me pass," I demanded. "Let me pass, take the tailor." In that case, I'll never get there in time.
  
  
  She was driven by the urgency of my mission, oblivious to us, to anything but the compulsion to get where she wanted to go. At the top of the stairs, the crowd was even denser, and the guards were holding everyone up.
  
  
  He stumbled and bumped into them. A Venezuelan security official glared at me as a mimmo walked past him. But I had to get to the palace. My contact will be waiting for me there in Rivne at one o'clock in the afternoon. And he couldn't wait. The timing should have been perfect.
  
  
  "Forgive me," I said, approaching them. "Please let me pass!" But no one moved. Everyone was too busy talking about conferences and world affairs to even notice my presence. I went through them making my way through the mass of bodies.
  
  
  "Hey, relax!" one man shouted.
  
  
  Her mimmo passed him without answering. He almost walked through the crowded area candid in front of the door. I looked at my watch and saw that I only had seventeen minutes left. He made his way to the door, where several policemen were guarding it.
  
  
  "Yes?" said a Venezuelan man in a military uniform. Our he, our plainclothes man sitting next to him, didn't recognize me.
  
  
  "Her name," I said. "Carter".
  
  
  "Your ID card, please."
  
  
  Her goal is to knock a man off his feet, and run mimmo him. The throbbing in their heads was almost unbearable. He fumbled in his pocket and found Nick Carter's wallet. Ego opened it and found an ID card. and a special pass to the palace. I showed it to the attendant.
  
  
  "Hmm," he said. He looked at the picture on the cards and then studied my face. If Hawk and Vincent couldn't tell that I wasn't Nick Carter, that person wouldn't be able to see through my disguise.
  
  
  "Can you hurry up, please?" I said impatiently.
  
  
  Anyway, the request seems to have slowed him down. He examined the map as if there was some flaw in it that was just waiting for him to discover it. Obviously, ego had offended her with his impatience, and he was going to teach me a lesson.
  
  
  "Where are you stationed, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  I had an almost uncontrollable impulse to slam my fist into the ego-smug face. But I knew it would quickly end the mission thread.
  
  
  "Does it matter?" I said, clenching my fists, trying to control myself.
  
  
  "Not particularly," he said sourly.
  
  
  "The El Conde Hotel," I said.
  
  
  "Gracias, muchas gracias," he said sarcastically.
  
  
  Take him to the hotel, talk to him in my native language, tell em he's an idiot, an unwitting tool of a vicious tyrant. But I didn't say anything.
  
  
  "Your cards, Mr. Carter." He returned ih to me. "You can enter the palace."
  
  
  "Thank you so much," he said, and laughed. Her wallet was taken and mimmo guards hurried inside.
  
  
  It was much quieter inside. There were a few people in the lobby, but they were scattered, and I had no trouble getting through. He walked over to the large reception area that was usually used for conferences.
  
  
  When I entered this part of the palace, there was another security check, but Odin around the guards knew me, so it was quick. He walked down the hall to the conference room. He was almost there.
  
  
  At that moment, the Venezuelan security police chief stepped out of a doorway just yards from the conference room. Hers, he felt disgust churning in his stomach as the pressure in his chest and chest grew. As the head of a brutal secret police force, he was almost as lousy as the president himself.
  
  
  "Oh, Mr. Carter!" he said when he saw me.
  
  
  "Senor Santiago," I said, trying to keep my cool.
  
  
  "It's going well, isn't it? It seems that our precautions weren't necessary after all."
  
  
  "I think so, sir," I said firmly. A clock ticked in my head. It must be eight minutes to one. I had to leave him.
  
  
  "I'm sure everything will be fine," he said. "I have a good feeling about this. Have you seen Senor Hawk?"
  
  
  "Not since early morning," I lied to her, only wondering if my face gave me away.
  
  
  "Well, hers, sure I'll find it. See you later to congratulate you on such a successful no way when." He smiled and patted me on the shoulder.
  
  
  "Very good, sir," I said.
  
  
  He went back to the office, which seemed to be some sort of annex to the security headquarters. He sighed with relief and walked down the hall to the conference room. I looked at my watch, and it said five to one.
  
  
  I stood in front of the open door as I was told. There were four guards on duty at the other end of the corridor, the same ones who had been there that morning. They knew me, so it wasn't hard for me to pass mimmo by them. There are still two minutes left. The master walked down the corridor and showed his credentials. The guards let Ego into the room. There were people everywhere around the security service who were walking along the corridor and standing inside the conference room.
  
  
  He looked up and down the hall. I was in a lot of pain. The tension and pressure in my head grew rapidly as the minutes passed. Her, knew that the pain wouldn't go away until I destroyed her enemies. But I had a terrible feeling that something was wrong. It was an internal sensation, a vague, aching sensation that seemed to emanate from a hidden corner of my brain. It didn't make sense, and neither did everything else that had happened in the last few days. But whatever the feeling, it began to gnaw at my conscience, even as the urgency of my mission overwhelmed me. Her, felt like there was a terrible struggle going on in my head, and she could have been using microphones and speakers to drive me crazy if she didn't stop soon.
  
  
  Its started to wonder that my contact was delayed.
  
  
  But then ego saw her , a dark-haired Venezuelan in a conservative navy suit and red tie, coming down the hall toward me. He looked like a regular member of the palace staff, but with a white carnation on his lapel and a decanter in his hand.
  
  
  My folding dollar was pounding wildly against my ribs. A minute later, he was at my side, handing me the decanter. "Senior Carter, the conference director, asked me to bring fresh drinking water to the conference room during the midday break." He spoke very loudly so that everyone around us could hear. "Since you have a special clearance, could you accept an ego for me?"
  
  
  "Oh, good. "I'll take this," I said condescendingly.
  
  
  "Gracias," he said. Then, in a sharp whisper, " Viva la revolución!"
  
  
  The man quickly walked back down the corridor. She stands with the decanter in her hands, filled with terrible doubts and confusion. I had to take the device to my room. It was too late to think about other things. The most important thing in my life was to take this decanter to the conference room and put the ego on a chair.
  
  
  Her, came to an end.
  
  
  "Hello, Carter," the CIA officer said there. "What do you have there?"
  
  
  "It looks like the director doesn't want fresh water on the negotiating table," he told her casually. "And her errand boy."
  
  
  The CIA agent looked at the decanter. The secret Service man grinned at me, then glanced at the decanter as well. They seemed pleased. The Venezuelan police nodded to me to take her to her room with a decanter.
  
  
  The decanter carried her inside. Another Secret Service officer looked at me as he picked up a nearly empty decanter from a chair and replaced the ego with the one he'd brought with him.
  
  
  He said, " What's all this about?"
  
  
  Her, emu chuckled. "You wouldn't want the conference participants to drink stale water, would you?"
  
  
  He looked at the decanter and at me, then smiled at rheumatism. "Glad to see them using you AX people constructively."
  
  
  "Very funny," I said.
  
  
  He picked up an old decanter and tucked it under his arm, then glanced back at the one he'd just set up in the center of the meeting chairs. And hers, too, as the words echoed in his head:
  
  
  Then, during the daytime session, the device will be set to the desired frequency using the remote control. In a few minutes, it will kill everyone within earshot.
  
  
  Then he turned and walked out through the rooms.
  
  
  Outside, he stopped by the guards. "I wonder what I should do about it?" im said to her, feigning impatience.
  
  
  "There's a storage room down the hall," said one of the Venezuelans.
  
  
  "Maybe you could sweep the floor, Carter," the CIA man standing on the floor laughed. "There's probably a broom in the pantry," he grinned broadly.
  
  
  "What is it. CIA comedy Hour? " I asked her sourly, as if ih jokes were boring me. I wouldn't care what they said or did, as long as they didn't suspect that the biggest security breach in years had been committed right under their noses.
  
  
  An old decanter carried her down the hall to the closet. Aides and officials began to return to the conference room. He looked at his watch and saw that it was already a quarter past one. The stars of the show, the President of Venezuela and the Vice President of the United States, will arrive in a few minutes. And the afternoon session will start soon. And no one in the conference room will suspect that the rest of your ego life can be measured in minutes.
  
  
  Everything was going according to plan.
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  Throwing away the decanter, he headed back to the conference room. I was just in time to see the President of Venezuela and the Vice President of the United States walking down the corridor together, with the Americans ' hand on the Venezuelan's shoulder. Ih was surrounded by Secret Service agents. When I saw them disappear into the conference room, I was filled with hatred and disgust.
  
  
  Inside, photographers were taking a few last-minute photos before conferences resumed. There were rumors that important economic agreements were reached during the morning session. Undoubtedly, they were related to financial assistance to the Venezuelan regime in return for permission to deploy American military bases. Without my intervention, this monstrous tyranny would have continued forever.
  
  
  I had just taken my seat in front of the still-open doors when the chief of the Venezuelan Security Police appeared at my side. This time, ego's face was grim.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter, Odin Poe will meet your NSA agents and just informed me that you spent a few minutes in the conference room."
  
  
  I felt a tingling sensation at the back of my neck. The pressure in my head increased again, and my temples throbbed horribly.
  
  
  "Yes, sir," I said. My mind raced forward. Maybe they checked and found that the conference director didn't order fresh water.
  
  
  Or a careful agent might have found the device simply by examining the decanter. They may have already removed the device around the room.
  
  
  He asked. "Everything seemed normal to you?"
  
  
  The tightness in my chest eased a little. “yeah. Everything seemed to be in order."
  
  
  Good. Could you come with me for a moment? She would like you to take a look at this updated list of people with security clearance. It won't take long."
  
  
  Her, I felt that at this speed it was possible to deviate from my plans. The day's conference hall wasn't even closed yet. In any case, I didn't understand how I could refuse. When the Venezuelan security police chief asked you to do something, you did it. I followed him into the security annex, not far from the conference room. A Venezuelan policeman was there when we entered, but he left immediately, leaving me alone with the man I hated almost as much as the men who were going to destroy her.
  
  
  "This is a list." A cursory reading is enough to..."
  
  
  The phone on his desk rang. He went over to answer it while he studied the list, trying his best to control his emotions.
  
  
  Ego's face brightened. "Ah, Senor Hawk!"
  
  
  I felt a steel vise close around my chest.
  
  
  The Venezuelan's face changed. "What!"
  
  
  There was no doubt about it. Hawk had somehow escaped and was now calling another part of the palace, not trusting himself to get here in time. He guessed that I was going to pull something out during the break that was just ending.
  
  
  "I can't believe it!" - said the Venezuelan. He reached for the Luger and came up behind it. "But, Senor Carter is here with..."
  
  
  He turned to face me just as Ei hit him with the butt of the luger on the side of ego's head. He fell heavily to the floor and lay unconscious. A telephone receiver dangled next to the desk. Hawke's voice could be heard from the other end of the line.
  
  
  "Hello? What happened? Are you here?"
  
  
  He stepped over the inert body and replaced the receiver. Her, went to the door, and looked up and down the corridor. There was no one around. She stepped out into the corridor, closing the door quickly behind her. Let's hope that no one will enter the security annex for a while.
  
  
  He returned to the conference room as they closed the day. In a few minutes, the conference will resume, and the deadly device will be activated. She stood in the hallway, tense and acutely aware of the terrible pressure. It will soon disappear after the device does its job. The Secret Service agent walked out through the conference room and nodded to the guards. He came up to me.
  
  
  "Hi, Carter," he said in a friendly voice.
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  "Well, they're on their way there. And I'll be glad when it's all over."
  
  
  "Me too," I said.
  
  
  Her hotel, in order for him to leave, let me just stand there and wait alone. Soon there will be a signal, and I will know that everything is over. Someone can get around the room for help, maybe a security guard stands open for the day. But our president of Venezuela, our Vice President of the United States did not survive-no one at the table survived.
  
  
  "Everything seems quiet," the man said. "Too calm for my taste. I have such a strange feeling. Do you have one?"
  
  
  "Not today," I said. "But I was really worried when I first got here."
  
  
  "Well, I have it. Candid on the back of the head. But it's all right."
  
  
  "Yes, hers, I'm sure we'll have an uneventful day," I said.
  
  
  "Well, I guess I'd better go check with the security police. See you later, Carter."
  
  
  "Actually," I said.
  
  
  He went down the corridor to the security annex. Tiny droplets of blood formed on my upper lip. If he found the Venezuelan security chief lying there unconscious, he would probably try to stop the conference, and that would ruin everything. I wondered if I should go after him. But I had a strong feeling that I should stay where I was. Orders were orders. The NSA employee came down the hall from the opposite direction and stopped to talk to a Secret Service agent. I got a short reprieve. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she looked at the day's conference room. Inside, the afternoon session was beginning. The device will be activated at any time.
  
  
  Suddenly, a loud shrill sound was heard above the building. It was the shrill cry of planes flying over the palace in greeting to the Caracas Conference. The sound pierced my eardrums, and something strange started happening inside me.
  
  
  My mind was a jumble of scenes, words, and mental images. I saw myself with a Luger pistol. I saw her, foreign cities, and an apartment that wasn't supposed to be in America. Everything was piling up on top of me, spinning around in my brain, making me feel sick and dizzy.
  
  
  Something deep inside
  
  
  It made me think that I had to go to the window so that she could hear the sound again. But I was held back by a strong sense of duty. They ordered me to stay outside the conference room. Despite these orders, I had to go to the window and slowly, awkwardly, I walked down the corridor to the alcove where I knew I would find him. She hesitated once and almost turned to her post outside the conference room, but then went to the window. It was ego who pushed her, just as the planes were flying back to circle the palace for the second time.
  
  
  At first, when they were approaching the palace, they didn't hear anything. But then, when they were almost openly overhead, she heard the loud shrill sound of ih engines. It turned into a roar as they flew over the building, glinting in the sun.
  
  
  This time, the sound of the planes really shook me. It was like a huge shock wave going through my entire body. Suddenly he heard Tanya's beautiful voice:
  
  
  After it has done its job, the device will produce a much lower sound, which will still sound very high to meet your ears.
  
  
  The sound of planes still vibrated in my head. And it was V Golov who heard it, another high-pitched sound, almost the same as the jets had just released.
  
  
  This is the sound you will hear. When you hear this, you will remember everything that is hidden in your subconscious.
  
  
  Suddenly, the truth hit me from all sides. He looked around, dazed and terribly confused. What the hell was going on? Why was she posing as a revolutionary named Chavez? Her, knew his Nick Carter, that I worked at AX, and he was here to... Suddenly, she remembered her battle with Vincent and Hawk, and... God!
  
  
  The planes were gone. He leaned weakly against the windowsill. What the hell was that all about? Why did you assume the identity of a Venezuelan you'd never even heard of before? What made me fight Hawk and Vincent when they were just trying ... suspend me from the assignment. The decanter! She'd been brought into the conference room by a decanter just a few minutes ago and knew that nen had a device that would kill everyone in the room.
  
  
  Everything was coming back quickly. Hers wasn't just posing - I really believed his man was named Chavez. Everything I've done over the past two days has been aimed at assassinating the President of Venezuela and the Vice President of the United States - two people I was sent to Caracas to protect! He couldn't remember anything about her before, but last night Ilse Hoffmann met him again and called her Tanya - a Russian name. And she knew about my deadly mission.
  
  
  Yes, vote and that's it! I couldn't remember anything that happened to me between the time I went to her apartment a few days ago and the time hers came back, believing her to be Rafael Chavez. But I remembered something about that night in her apartment. I remembered feeling dizzy and nauseous. I tried to run away, but two men stopped me. Hers must have been drugged. And they did something to me to make me behave like a ferret to them. It was the humiliation they spoke of in the message. Somehow, they used me to kill conference dignitaries. And "they" were the KGB. Tanya admitted it. I remembered explaining my disappearance to Hawk, but that was the story they'd told me to tell em. I had absolutely no recollection of the two days I was gone, and no doubt they wanted it. That must have been when I was forced to take on the role of Rafael Chavez.
  
  
  He ran around the alcove, around the corner, and into the main corridor. I needed to get to the conference room. The device that found her there might already be working and killing everyone within earshot.
  
  
  As I approached the large doors, ih was guarded by three men, two Venezuelan policemen, and secret Service agents. The CIA agent who was there earlier probably left for a short break. The Secret Service agent and the NSA employee who were still talking to each other behind the closed door of the security annex were gone now, and the door was still closed. The secret Service man was apparently abducted before finding the chief of the security police.
  
  
  She was startled by the security guards at the conference hall for the day.
  
  
  "I have to get inside," I said. "There's a gun in there, and if I don't get it out quickly, it'll kill everyone in the room."
  
  
  Mimmo started squeezing through it, but almost all the Venezuelans blocked my way. "I'm sorry, Senor Carter, but we have strict orders not to interrupt the conference."
  
  
  Her, screamed. "Get out of the way, you idiot!"
  
  
  She was pushed away by a security guard, but my ego comrade pulled out a gun and stopped me. "Please, Senor Carter," he said softly.
  
  
  "What's up, Carter?" The Secret Service agent asked worriedly.
  
  
  Her father turned to him impatiently. "Remember the water decanter that took it earlier?"
  
  
  He thought for a moment. Ego's eyes narrowed. "What the hell kind of tailor is this bomb? "
  
  
  "No, but something just as bad, maybe even worse," I said. "I have to get the damn thing now."
  
  
  I started it a third time, and the Venezuelan pressed the gun hard against my back. "Why did you bring the decanter into the room at all, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  It was obvious that they were going to make me explain everything before they let me in. And there was no time for that. By now, the cursed mechanism might have already been activated.
  
  
  He spun around, throwing his left arm back. My hand caught that of the Venezuelan man with the gun, and the gun fell over the ego of the hand and clattered to the floor. Hers rested an elbow on ego's fleshy face and connected firmly. There was a dull crack of bone, and he grunted loudly, then fell against the wall and slid to the floor, where he sat dazed and moaning.
  
  
  "Nick, for God's sake!" a secret service officer could hear her yell.
  
  
  He lunged at me and her, turned to meet the emu, hitting the emu hard in the face with his left hand, and it fell.
  
  
  Another Venezuelan pulled out his gun and was obviously going to use ego against me. He was aiming for my chest, and hers was clutching the gun in his hand. She was pushed up and to the right by the gun as he pulled the trigger. The report rang out in the hallway, and Gawk slammed into the ceiling. I could hear shouts all around me, both ends of the corridor. In a minute, all the guards will be with me.
  
  
  He twisted the Venezuelan's hand with the gun and finally managed to take the revolver away from him. He let an emu fall and stuck an emu in every tribe's groin. The man doubled over, screaming in pain. While he was still clutching his crotch, she was hit by an ego hand up to her head and connected, sending the ego flying towards the doors of the conference room.
  
  
  The first Venezuelan started to get up, but I kicked his ego hard in the side, and he fell heavily on his back. It was opened by day, but they were locked. Her stepped back to kick ih.
  
  
  "Wait, Carter."
  
  
  It was a Secret Service officer. Her, turned to him just for a minute. He aimed his .38 Smith & Wesson at my chest. He looked at the gun, then back at it.
  
  
  "I'll go to that room," I said calmly. "If I don't, everyone will die there. You'll have to shoot the damn thing to stop me."
  
  
  He turned away from her, lifted his foot, and kicked hard at the door. They burst open with a loud bang, and the conference room burst in.
  
  
  The door hit the secret Service man and knocked Ego to the floor. All the other security guards moved towards me, and the conference participants looked at me anxiously.
  
  
  "What the hell?" The man on the floor shouted. He saw the guard on the floor in the hallway.
  
  
  The noble-looking Venezuelan president looked at me with restrained interest. The American vice president looked at me in open shock and fear.
  
  
  It was the American assistant who got up from behind his chair. After the first shock, everyone was suddenly outraged.
  
  
  "Please remain calm," he told her in a firm voice. "This decanter on the table contains a deadly weapon. The ego function is to kill everyone in this room."
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  Everything was noisy and messy. Several men hurriedly got up and jumped up from their seats. Mimmo walked past her and leaned over the chair.
  
  
  "Take out the ego," a Venezuelan man shouted down the corridor.
  
  
  I was about to reach the decanter when a Venezuelan man in plain clothes grabbed me from behind. I couldn't reach the decanter. He turned and fought desperately to free himself.
  
  
  That's when the device was activated. Everyone in the room could feel it - hers could be told in ihc. There was no sound. The device produced sounds at a frequency that you couldn't tell if you were hearing or just feeling. But one thing was clear - it affected every nerve fiber in our body. The sound penetrated to the very core of my brain, tearing and scratching at my nerves, shaking my ih mercilessly, causing excruciating pain and nausea. The pain started in my heads and chest, just like they are the terrible sensations I've been having for the past two days, but in a matter of seconds it got a hell of a lot worse. A couple of men at the table put their hands on their heads uncertainly, and one of them has already fallen into a chair.
  
  
  "Let me go, take the tailor!" He shouted at the Venezuelan.
  
  
  He let me out of his ruse, Rivnenskaya enough to punch me in the face. It hit me hard and I fell into a chair. But by this time, the guard felt the impact of the death machine. He clutched his head. Her ego hit him hard in the face and he fell.
  
  
  I tried to ignore the growing excruciating pain in my head and chest, fighting the nausea that was constantly assaulting me. He pushed her unsteadily into a chair and grabbed a carafe of water,
  
  
  I stumbled with him on the other side of the chair.
  
  
  He fell when he hit the floor and dropped the decanter. With great difficulty, he crawled over to it and picked it up again, then staggered to his feet again.
  
  
  At such a close range, the effect of the device was even stronger. Hers was staggering. I looked at the Venezuelan president and saw that he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes glazed. The American Vice president was desperately trying to get up from his chair. Everyone else in the room got sick very quickly.
  
  
  Her tripped over the window and smashed the leaded glass of the decanter. I was just about to throw ego through the broken glass when Hawk burst into the room.
  
  
  "Stop what you're doing, or its gonna blow you a candid hole in your heads. Its serious."
  
  
  I looked at it, and he pointed his Beretta at me. Her, saw ego's expression change when he felt the vibration from the car.
  
  
  "It's an ultrasonic weapon," I said weakly. "I'm getting rid of it."
  
  
  Without waiting for him to pull the trigger, her father turned his back on him and threw the decanter through the broken glass. It hit even more glass, then hit the sidewalk below, shattering into pieces.
  
  
  Exhausted, he turned to Hawke. He was so weak that he had to lean against the windowsill. Suddenly hers, I felt the pain subside, and my life began to calm down. He looked around the room and saw that the others were also relieved. They started showing signs of life. The Venezuelan president shifted in his chair, and the US Vice President put his hand to his forehead. He was sure they would be all right. They weren't exposed long enough for a really serious injury to occur. But I suspected we'd all have a hangover at both ends of the day.
  
  
  A semblance of normalcy was gradually returning to the room. The conference participants recovered quite quickly, looking back at each other with a pained, confused expression on their faces.
  
  
  Shell Hawk came toward me, pointing his Beretta at my chest. A couple of guards flanked him. He was standing openly in front of me, still holding the gun on me. The men with him looked as if they would shoot at the slightest provocation.
  
  
  "First you throw a knife at one of your colleagues, an old friend at that, and threaten my life," Hawk shouted angrily. "Then you stun the head of the Venezuelan security police. And now this!"
  
  
  The man who had hit her on the way walked up to the group, his face still contorted from the pain he had suffered. "He claimed that there was a gun in the water carafe," the man said. "Then something terrible started happening here. When he got rid of the decanter, it was all stopped."
  
  
  "Actually," the American at the table said. "It stopped the minute he threw the decanter out the window."
  
  
  "So what was in the decanter, Nick?" "Or do you still consider yourself a revolutionary named Rafael Chavez?"
  
  
  "How's Vincent, sir?" I asked, ignoring Corkscrew's ego. "Is this...?"
  
  
  "Killed ego?" Hawk finished for me. “no. He'll be fine. You didn't have enough up ego, baked in about half an inch."
  
  
  "Thank God," I said dully. Now that the conference had been saved, along with the lives of its leaders, I felt a sense of utter exhaustion. I needed to get some sleep on Sundays. And her, I found that I didn't care what they thought of my explanations. "No, sir, now I understand that I am not Chavez. I think my memory came back prematurely when the planes flew by. Oni wants me to remember it, but not before I hear its low-frequency signal from the device. Then I had to know who it was and understand what I'd done.
  
  
  Hawk said, studying my face.
  
  
  "The people who detained me for two days," I said.
  
  
  Hawk studied my eyes and seemed to think I was acting like Nick Carter again. He holstered his gun and waved the other agents away. The vice president came up to us.
  
  
  "What the hell happened here?" he asked us.
  
  
  The Venezuelan president got up from his chair. He answered the vice president over the noise in the room. "It looks like this young man just saved our lives. Vote what's up, Senior Vice President."
  
  
  The Vice President looked from the Venezuelan president to me. "Yes," he said slowly. "I think that sums it up very well. But what was that devilish thing you threw out the window, Nick?"
  
  
  "I'm not sure, sir," I said. "But if we can have some privacy for a moment, I'd be happy to share my theories with you."
  
  
  "It's a good idea," the Venezuelan president said. "Gentlemen, this conference will break for one hour, and then we will meet here again to complete our business."
  
  
  We had a very personal meeting. The Venezuelan President, US Vice President Hawke, and her approached the security annex, while everyone else was asked to leave. The head of the Venezuelan Security Police has already been delivered in advance for treatment.
  
  
  A few minutes later, he was alone with the two dignitaries and the Hawk.
  
  
  "You acted very quickly, young man," the Venezuelan president said, clasping his hands behind his back.
  
  
  "Thank you, sir," I said.
  
  
  "Nevertheless, Carter," the vice president said, " you have a lot to explain. Someone told me that it was you who brought the decanter into the room."
  
  
  "I'm afraid that's the right thing to do, sir," I said.
  
  
  Hawk grimaced. "It appears that Kolodezny was abducted and persuaded to believe that he was a Venezuelan revolutionary intent on killing you," he said sourly. He lit a long cigar and began to walk around the room, hunched over in his tweed jacket.
  
  
  "It's very interesting," the Venezuelan president said. "And now your normal abilities are back, Senor Carter?"
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  The American Vice president sat down on the edge of his chair. "All this is very pleasant for us here, in this hall. But when the press finds out about it, they will shout that an American agent sabotaged the conference and tried to kill the president and me."
  
  
  "I agree," Hawke said. "It's not easy to explain."
  
  
  "That also occurred to me, sir," his vice president said. "But we have a couple of potential customers who are really responsible for this."
  
  
  "And who are they?" The president asked.
  
  
  Her, I remembered what Tanya said, he was in his apartment at night, just before the drug knocked me out. I looked at Hawke for permission to tell them, and he nodded. "KGB," I said.
  
  
  "Qué demonio!" the president muttered.
  
  
  "Hold the press for twenty-four hours," I said, " I'll try to find ih. After that, we will see that the entire world press will know the story. The real story."
  
  
  Hawke studied my face for a moment, then looked at the vice president. "Can we have that much time?"
  
  
  The Vice president raised his eyebrows. "With the help of the Venezuelan government," he said, addressing the president.
  
  
  The president looked at me soberly. "I trust this young math major. I will fully cooperate with you. Please keep me posted. Now, Senior Vice President, I need to see my staff before the conference resumes. See you in the conference room." Mr. Carter, if you can justify yourself, you will receive the highest honors of my country."
  
  
  Before she could protest, he was gone. The Vice president got up from his chair and came over to me. "Now that this is all in the family, Nick, I feel like I have one last thought to say."
  
  
  "I think I know what it is," I said. "I have twenty-four hours on trust. Because I could really be a defector. Or maybe just plain crazy. When my time is up, I'm on my own."
  
  
  "Something like that, Nick. You seem normal to me now. But security is security. There must be some doubt in my mind. I hope you don't mind me being so frank."
  
  
  "I understand. I'll feel the same way, sir," I said.
  
  
  "I'll put my work in the Sump," Hawk said suddenly, not looking at me. "I trust emu implicitly."
  
  
  "Of course," the vice president said. "But go ahead, David. The press won't wait forever."
  
  
  The Vice President went out through the rooms. Hers and Hawk were alone. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
  
  
  "Look, I'm sorry," I said. "If only he'd been more careful with the girl..."
  
  
  "Stop it, Nick. You know that we can't protect ourselves from all the unforeseen circumstances. Anyway, I asked you to check out ee. She was counting on it. No one could escape the trap you fell into. It was very well planned, and it was conceived by experts. Now let's reconstruct what happened ."
  
  
  "Well, her, I can assume that I was drugged, and then... maybe hypnosis, I do not know. I really can't remember anything from that night in the girl's apartment. The drug was in her lipstick..."
  
  
  Hawke managed a grin. "That's why you blame yourself. Don't be silly, my boy. But assuming that this girl was a KGB agent, and they took you to some hidden place to hypnotize you - why did they keep you for two days? Hypnosis would only take a few hours at most. And how can they force you to do something that goes against your moral code? Hypnosis doesn't work that way."
  
  
  "Well, I'm just guessing, but if they managed to change my whole personality, my whole personality, it's my moral code that would change along with it. If it was really accepted by the fact that I was a revolutionary who believed in violently overthrowing the ego of the government, this idea would work. And we know that Russians use behavioral control methods that can completely break a person's morals and integrity and make the ego a slave to a conditioned reaction. A combination of hypnosis and behavior control could convince me that I was Chavez."
  
  
  "Yes," Hawk said thoughtfully. "And it was a damn smart idea. Take the best American agent, turn ego into a killer and let him go to do some dirty work for you.
  
  
  And then let the emu and ego country take the blame. Now I'm beginning to understand the threat in this warning."
  
  
  "Which was written to get us here," I said.
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. And she fell for it - hook, hazel, and sinker. If it's anyone's fault, Nick, it's hers."
  
  
  "I read the note, too," I said. "Maybe we should stop blaming and start thinking about completing this quest. We destroyed ih's grand plan, but now we have to catch ih." Her, looked at the floor. "I have an idea that they are patting themselves on the back laughing about it and maybe enjoying it. Well, the fun at my expense is over. When ih finds her, they won't laugh."
  
  
  "I suspect you've already sobered ih up, "Hawk said," and then after you interrupted ih with a knife. How do you know this girl is from the KGB?"
  
  
  "Because she told me," I said. "Or at least, she confessed when asked by sl. It was just before taking the drug, when the drug knocked me out. In any case, her real name is Tanya Savich, and there's a hint of Russian in her German accent. "
  
  
  "Is that all you can remember about her?"
  
  
  "For now. I have an apartment to check, and the German Embassy, and a restaurant where I didn't see her. I also remember her at the clinic, the men in white coats, and Tanya, who always gave me instructions on how to do all this." I don't remember ih names or what they did to me there. When I left the clinic, I was blindfolded, so I have no idea where it is."
  
  
  Hawk grimaced. "Well, at least you escaped the tragedy they planned, Nick. Are you saying that you came out of your trance prematurely?"
  
  
  "Flying planes made a sound similar to the one that he should have heard from the car. This sound, along with the warning messages that my subconscious mind has been sending for the past two days, made me go to the window to hear the sound. The KGB must have wanted her to revert to her true identity after the murder was over. If it was denied that his nickname was Carter, it might confuse reporters. They wouldn't know who was really responsible. Or they might have just realized they were crazy. The KGB didn't do it. Oni hotels, humiliate us, and they almost succeeded ."
  
  
  "Are you all right, Nick?" asked Hawk, watching me closely.
  
  
  "I'm fine," ego assured him. "But then its got to act."
  
  
  He chuckled. Good. Is our web girl the main character?"
  
  
  "Web-based. But I remember something about this mysterious man. Something new. I think he was in the clinic."
  
  
  Hawk took a drag on his stinking cigar and blew out a smoke ring. "These are numbers. Well, you should probably run some tests first, but we don't have time for that right now. Continue if you feel ready."
  
  
  "I'm ready for this," I said. "But keep the police and other agents away until my day is up. That's all I ask of him. I don't want to stumble over helpers."
  
  
  "All right, Nick," Hawk said.
  
  
  "Then I'll see you at your hotel."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  I was seated at a large mahogany table by Mr. Ludwig Schmidt, the Deputy Ambassador of West Germany, who was supposed to take Tanya to the reception the night ee met her. Schmidt was reclining in his high-backed chair, a long cigarette in his right hand.
  
  
  "Ah, yes. Fraulein Hoffmann took her to the reception. She will be attending a diplomatic event. She's a smart girl, you know. She called the patient immediately after receiving it. Apparently, she had eaten something at the bullfight that upset her stomach. awful. She still hasn't returned to work as a ferret."
  
  
  "How long has she been here with you?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Not for long. A Hamburg girl, if I'm not mistaken. Her father was a Russian refugee."
  
  
  "Is that what she told you?"
  
  
  “yeah. She speaks German with a slight accent due to her marital status. Her family spoke Russian at home."
  
  
  "Yes,"I said," I understand."
  
  
  Herr Schmidt was a very thin, sexless man in his forties, clearly very satisfied with his role in life. He asked. "Nice girl, don't you agree?"
  
  
  They remembered her from the times when we used to sit with her in Irina's bunk and bed. "A very nice girl. Can I contact her at the address listed in your met files?" It was the same place she'd joined me the night she'd drugged me.
  
  
  "I'm sure you can. After all, she's sick."
  
  
  “yeah. If I don't find her at home, do you know where else I might look for her? Restaurants, cafes or special places for recreation?"
  
  
  "But I told you the girl was sick."
  
  
  "Please," I said impatiently.
  
  
  He seemed annoyed at my insistence. "Well, her, I used to take her out for lunch sometimes at a small cafe not far from here. I don't remember the name, but I like the Venezuelan hallaca and it's served there. This dish is made with corn flour."
  
  
  "I know," I said. Her, I remembered that Tanya ordered it in El Hardin after bullfighting.
  
  
  Schmidt stared at Ceylin with a smug expression..
  
  
  "Actually, I think I'm attracted to a girl," he said privately. "Being a bachelor in this city is a wonderful experience."
  
  
  "I suppose," I said. "Well, I'll try to find her at home, Herr Schmidt. Good afternoon."
  
  
  He didn't get up. "With pleasure," he said. He stared at the ceiling again, probably dreaming about his sexual potential as an unmarried man around Caracas.
  
  
  I really didn't expect to find Tanya in her apartment. She must have arranged to leave ego behind just as the final phase of the operation - my capture-began. But I was hoping to find some clue there. On the first floor of the building, I was met by a fat Venezuelan woman who didn't speak English.
  
  
  "Buenos tardes, senor," she said loudly, smiling broadly.
  
  
  "Buenos tardes," I said. "I'm looking for a young woman named Ilse Hoffmann."
  
  
  "Ah, yes. But she doesn't live here anymore. She moved out very suddenly, a few days ago. An unusual foreigner, if you'll excuse me for saying that."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Did she take everything with her?"
  
  
  "I didn't check the apartment carefully. There are so many apartments here, and her busy woman."
  
  
  "Do you mind if I check it out upstairs?"
  
  
  She looked at me sharply. "It's against me. Who are you, please?"
  
  
  "Just another Miss Hoffmann," I said. He reached up in a minute and offered the woman a handful of bolivars.
  
  
  She looked at them, then back at me. She reached out and took the money, looking over her shoulder into the hall. "This is number eight," she said. "The door isn't locked."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  I went up the stairs to her apartment. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to stop her and Tanya and her friends before they get on the plane to Moscow. But I was worried - they probably already knew that the ih plot had failed.
  
  
  At the top of it, entered the apartment. The memories came flooding back, one after the other. A wide sofa stood in the middle of the room, just as it had that night when Tanya hadn't changed her body to capture an American agent. He closed the door behind him and looked around. Everything was different now. Nen lacked the life, the liveliness, that Tanya had given emu. She rummaged through the drawers of a small desk chair and found nothing but a couple of theater tickets. They won't do me much good in the next twenty-four hours. Her, walked through the rest of the apartment. I went into the bedroom and found a crumpled bullfighting program in the trash can. I recognized her in Tanya's handwriting, because she made notes in the program when I was with her at the bullfight. Just a reminder to pick up groceries. It was useless for me. It was just tossed back into the wastebasket by ego when he heard a sound in the living room. The door to the corridor opened and closed very quietly.
  
  
  He reached out to Wilhelmina and pressed himself against the moaning wall next to the door. The other room was silent. Someone was following me. Someone who was watching the apartment building and was afraid that I would get too close to calm down. Maybe it's Tanya herself. He heard the almost inaudible creak of a board under the carpet. He knew the exact location of this board since he had stepped on it himself before. There didn't seem to be any reason to delay the confrontation. Her, stepped out of the doorway.
  
  
  In the center of the room was a man with a gun. He was my mystery man, and the gun was the same one around which he shot me in the head in Washington, and the one I remember her seeing, in the white corridor in the KGB labs. He turned around when he heard me.
  
  
  "Drop it," I said.
  
  
  But he had other ideas. He fired. I saw that he was going to shoot a split second before the shot was fired, and I dove to the floor. The gun rang loudly in the room, and Gawk slammed into the wall behind me as it hit the floor. The gun roared again and split the tree next to me as it rolled over and started firing. He shot her three times. The first gawk smashed the lantern behind the gunner. The start of the second entered ego's chest and knocked ego back to moaning. The third gawk hit the emu in the face, open, under the cheekbone, and flew towards the head, spattering the wall with a crimson mess. He hit the floor hard, but he didn't even feel it. The person who followed me throughout this mission died before the ego, the body becomes aware of it.
  
  
  "Tailor!" I muttered. I had a living witness, someone who could tell me everything. But I had to kill my ego.
  
  
  He quickly got to his feet. People in the building heard gunshots. He walked over to the prostrate figure and looked into its pockets. Nothing. No identity cards, false or otherwise. But there was a small scrawled message on the piece of paper.
  
  
  "T. La Masia. 1930"
  
  
  He put the paper in a minute and went to the window. Shaggy could hear her, and the voices in the corridor.
  
  
  He opened the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. A few minutes later, he was on the ground, leaving the building far behind him.
  
  
  When she went outside, it was getting dark. The message in the note played over and over in my head. There was a restaurant called La Masia on Avenida Casanova. Her voice suddenly stopped, remembering. I'd heard about this place because it was famous for its hallaca, Tanya's favorite Venezuelan dish, if she'd told me and her friend Ludwig the truth. Perhaps, I thought, the letter "T" stands for Tanya, and that the mysterious man, apparently a Russian agent, intended to meet Tanya there at 19: 30 or 19: 30? This was a web lead that I already had, so I could follow it.
  
  
  His came to the restaurant early. Tanya was nowhere to be seen. They sat her down at a table in the back of the house, where she could be seen without being noticed, and Stahl waited. At 7:32, Tanya came in.
  
  
  She was as beautiful as I remembered her. It wasn't an illusion. The waiter led her to a table in front of the entrance. Then she got up and walked down the small hallway toward the ladies ' room. He got up and followed her.
  
  
  She had already disappeared into the room marked "Ladies" when her father came to the small alcove. I was waiting for her there, glad that we would be alone and away from the people in the dining room when she came out. A minute later, the door opened and we were face to face.
  
  
  Before she could react, he grabbed her and pressed her hard to moan. She gasped loudly.
  
  
  She said. "You!" "What are you doing? Let go of me or I'll scream at her."
  
  
  She was slapped in the face by ee with the back of his hand.
  
  
  Her growled at nah. - "Do you think this is some kind of experimental psychology game? ""You and I need to use microphones and speakers to settle scores."
  
  
  "If you say so, Nick," she said. She held her face in her hand. Ee Stahl's voice is softer.
  
  
  "That's what I say, dear," I said. He let the stiletto fall into the palm of my right hand.
  
  
  "You're going to... kill me?"
  
  
  "Not unless you make it absolutely necessary," I said. "You and I are going out around this place together. And you'll act like you're having a great time. Or you'll get it in the ribs. Trust me when I tell her I'll kill you if you try anything."
  
  
  "Can you forget the time when we were together?" "What is it?" she asked in that sensual voice.
  
  
  "Don't lie to me, baby. Everything you did was just business. Now get moving." And be happy."
  
  
  She sighed. "All right, Nick."
  
  
  We went out all over the restaurant without any problems. She came by car, so I made her drive me there. We played such a game in him, and he got behind the wheel. The car was completely alone in a dark alley.
  
  
  "Now. Did you meet Hema at the restaurant?"
  
  
  "I can't tell you that."
  
  
  He put a knife to her. "Take the tailor, you can't."
  
  
  She looked scared. "He's an agent."
  
  
  "The KGB?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "You too?"
  
  
  “yeah. But only thanks to my special knowledge - because I am a scientist. It corresponded to ihc."
  
  
  I took the car and drove to Avenida Casanova. I asked her. "Where to go to the clinic?" "And don't play games with me."
  
  
  "If I take you there, they'll kill us both!" she said, almost tearfully.
  
  
  "Which way?" - repeat it.
  
  
  She was very upset. "Take a straight turn and follow the boulevard until I tell you where to turn again."
  
  
  It was made by pointers.
  
  
  "Where's Alexander?" she asked. "The one who was supposed to meet me."
  
  
  "He's dead," I said, not looking at nah.
  
  
  She turned and looked at me for a moment. When she looked forward again, her eyes were glazed. "I told them you were too dangerous," she said almost inaudibly. "Now you've ruined ih's grand plan."
  
  
  "Well, maybe it wasn't so great," I said tartly. "Was Dimitrov in charge of this main scheme?"
  
  
  She was shocked to learn that I knew Dimitrov's name. She was a real novice in her email business, despite her fantastic abilities. "You know too much," she said.
  
  
  "Will I find an ego in this so-called clinic?"
  
  
  "I do not know," she said. "He may have already left. Turn left on the next street."
  
  
  She gave me further recommendations, and I followed them. When I turned her sharply straight, she turned to me. "I want to know. What went wrong? When did you get out of hypnosis and how?"
  
  
  He glanced at Nah and grinned. "I've been going crazy trying to guess the truth for the last couple of days. Now I'll let you read her fortune for a while."
  
  
  At the next intersection, we made the last sign to the left, and Tanya told me to stop in front of the old house. The ground floor looked like an unused store, and the upper floors seemed deserted.
  
  
  "His voice," she said softly.
  
  
  Its engine for solving research problems. I looked in the rearview mirror, her, and saw another car pull up behind us. For a moment I thought they might be Tanya's friends, but then I realized the square face behind the wheel. Hawke borrowed a CIA man to keep an eye on me.
  
  
  My sudden anger subsided. Ego couldn't blame her, considering the way he'd been acting lately. Her decided to ignore her sentry oleoresin.
  
  
  "Come out," Tanya said to her, waving his gun at her.
  
  
  We got out. Tanya was tense and very scared.
  
  
  "Nick, don't make me come with you. HQ showed it to you. Please save me. Remember the moments we spent together. You can't forget it now."
  
  
  "Yes, I can," I said coldly. She was pushed by an ee " Luger "and walked around the building to the sidewalk.
  
  
  Nothing around it was familiar. When I was brought in, I was heavily drugged, and when he came out, I was blindfolded. But I remembered the approximate distance from the street to the side street, and it was the same. Inside, as we descended the steep stairs to the basement, I counted as many steps as I counted when I went out around the clinic. There was no doubt about it - Tanya was leading me to the lion's den.
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  As we entered the white corridor, she began to recall more and more isolated incidents. It used to stand in this hallway, and the man who just killed it in Tanya's apartment kept me here.
  
  
  "You're remembering," Tanya said.
  
  
  "Yes, there was a room, an orientation room. Hers was tied to a chair."
  
  
  "It's just ahead."
  
  
  Then he moved on down the hall. "There was another man," I said. "You worked with him together. I remember her name as Kalinina."
  
  
  "Yes," Tanya said heavily.
  
  
  I opened the door for her, which Tanya pointed out, holding my Luger ready. Her, went inside with Tanya open in front of me. Memories came flooding back. Subcutaneous injection. Hypnosis. Audio-visual sessions. Yeah, they did a hell of a job on me forever.
  
  
  A chair with straps and wires still stood in the center of the room. The wall hung moaning, but one part was already partially disassembled. A technician was standing nearby. Her knowledge of ego. The name Menendez came to me. He turned and looked at me blankly for a moment.
  
  
  "Good rayos!" he said, cursing darkly as he realized that the ego underground fortress had been breached.
  
  
  "Stay open here," I said, taking a couple of steps toward him.
  
  
  But he panicked. He rummaged in the dresser drawer next to him and pulled out a gun. It looked like a standard Beretta assault rifle. As he turned to face me, his luger shot and hit the emu in the dollar stack. He collapsed back onto the partially dismantled car, sprawling hand and foot, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Once the beginnings twitched, and he was dead.
  
  
  A minute later, Tanya's voice came from behind her. "Now it's your turn, Nick."
  
  
  I turned around and saw that she had grabbed a gun and was pointing it at me. I didn't watch her closely because I just didn't see her as an arrow. This was the second time she'd been wrong about nah. There was a sad but firm expression on her face. When she was picked up by the Luger, and then a small pistol went off in the room, and gawk hit me. He spun around, slammed into a large chair, and fell to the floor. Fortunately, her shot was bad, and it hit me in the left shoulder, not in the chest. I still had the Luger.
  
  
  Tanya aimed again, and he knew that this time her target would be better. I couldn't play games with her. She decided to arrange a showdown. Her shot hit the luger and beat her to the second shot. Tanya clutched at her life and staggered back, collapsing to the floor.
  
  
  He got up and walked over to her. She is lying on her back, holding the bloodied spot on her stomach with her hands. He swore under his breath. There was already a glint of deep shock in her eyes. She tried unsuccessfully to breathe Rivnenskaya.
  
  
  "Why the hell did you have to do that?" I asked sadly.
  
  
  "I... was too scared, Nick. They couldn't get her back to Moscow... a complete failure. I really do... I am so sorry. I liked you so much." Her target turned sideways, and she was already dead.
  
  
  He leaned over her for a moment, remembering. Even after death, her face was beautiful. What a bloody loss! He holstered the luger, got up, and went to the cabinet where the technician took out a pistol. I opened a few drawers and found notes about my physical condition. They, along with these machines, must tell the story. I would have asked her to send photojournalists here. The hardware itself would be the header. Now he was practically exonerated. And it would be the Kremlin, not Washington, that would be humiliated.
  
  
  But where was Dimitrov? If he were to run away now, all of this would leave a bad taste in his mouth. My work has been valuable for much more than just embarrassing the Kremlin. It was to show the KGB that they had gone too far. It was a corkscrew of professional principle.
  
  
  Shaggy heard her in the hallway.
  
  
  Her dresser drawer slammed shut and he grabbed the gun again. I heard a sound in the hallway.
  
  
  Hers, came to the end when a man ran through the hall. It was Kalinina, Tanya's colleague, running awkwardly with a heavy suitcase in his hand. He was almost at the end of the corridor.
  
  
  I shouted it out. "Stop!"
  
  
  But he kept running. The rats quickly left the sinking ship. Her shot hit the luger and hit the emu in the right leg. He sprawled on the floor, just short of the exit that led to the stairs.
  
  
  I heard a sound behind me. Turning around, she saw another man, a short, stocky man with a Khrushchevite face - another man around the KGB's Wet Cases department. He was pointing two revolvers at me.
  
  
  I snuggled up to groan as he fired, and the shot hit the wall just inches from my head. Then she saw another man in the hallway behind the gunman, a taller man with gray hair and a briefcase under his arm. It was Oleg Dimitrov, the resident cameraman in charge of the knife. He was the one who really loved her, the one I had to negotiate with before the KGB really realized they couldn't play games with her. He was running very fast down the corridor to the far end, probably to the second exit.
  
  
  The KGB man fired again, and he ducked as a gawk whizzed over my head. Her shot at rheumatism, but missed. He aimed a third time, but hers, fired first, and hit the emu in the groin. He screamed in pain and fell down. But by then Dimitrov had disappeared down the hall.
  
  
  He ran to the fallen agent. He writhed on the floor, sweat pouring down his face, and a hoarse sound came from around his throat. He had completely forgotten about the gun in his right hand. It knocked out ego by ego hands and ran down the hall. He'll probably live to see the trial. But I didn't think he'd be happy about it.
  
  
  I followed Dimitrov into a room at the end of the corridor, but inside I saw an open window looking out onto an alley. Dimitrov wasn't there.
  
  
  He struggled through the window into a dark alley just in time to see a black sedan take off around the far end. I ran out into the street and met a CIA man there.
  
  
  He said, " What the hell is going on, Carter?"
  
  
  He looked in the direction the black sedan was heading down the boulevard. He was sure he was heading for the airport. An hour later was, a trip to Rome. Probably, Dimitrov was going to fly them.
  
  
  "There are several Russians killed and wounded there," I said. "Go and make sure that the living stay put. I'm going to the airport to be ih boss."
  
  
  He looked at the blood running down my arm around the sleeve of my doublet. "My God, why didn't you take me there with you?"
  
  
  "Your job was just to watch me, not to storm the fortress. In any case, it would take too long to explain. See you at the interrogation."
  
  
  He got into Tanya's car and drove away. If she was wrong and Dimitrov wasn't at the airport, she wouldn't have lost anything. It could have issued a general alert to the emu and involved the Venezuelan police. But I was pretty sure my guess was correct.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later he was at the airport. When he entered the terminal building, he remembered how big it was. It was built on several levels. Even if the Sign was there, it's very easy for me that the ego was lost. Unless he'd guessed about the flight to Rome. It was a TWA flight that was scheduled to take off in half an hour. Her, went to the ticket office. Dimitrov was nowhere to be seen, so she was asked about the agent's nen, describing it in detail.
  
  
  "Yes, yes. The person matching that description was here, except for the person she saw with the mustache. He was here just a few minutes ago."
  
  
  "Did he have any luggage?"
  
  
  "He didn't check, sir."
  
  
  I figured it out. And Dimitrov's moustache would have been easy.
  
  
  "I think he mentioned a name... Giorgio Carlotti, " said Clera. "He had an Italian passport."
  
  
  "And he just left?"
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  Ego thanked her. Dimitrov was here, he was sure of it now. I could just walk up to the gate and wait for him to show up, but that's still a bit of luck. In addition, there will be a crowd of travelers at the gate. If Dimitrov had decided to fight, it could have been very confusing.
  
  
  A nearby magazine shop checked her out, but Dimitrov wasn't there. Then her, went to the currency exchange window. Her even went down to the cell in portions, luggage and asked. Dimitrov seems to have disappeared.
  
  
  He had just turned the corner when he noticed him.
  
  
  He was heading for the men's room with a briefcase under his arm. He didn't see me. A gray moustache changed the ego's overall appearance. It was a little camouflage, but he didn't have time for a better one.
  
  
  Dimitrov entered the bathroom and the door slammed shut behind him. Hopefully, the toilet wasn't overflowing.
  
  
  The Luger pulled her out when it opened the door.
  
  
  Inside, he was just about to wash his hands in the sink opposite the small room. He looked around and was glad to see that there was no one else in the room.
  
  
  . Dimitrov looked in the mirror and saw my reflection in nen. Ego's face was gray with fear.
  
  
  He turned to face me, reached into his jacket, and turned. He was desperately trying to get his gun out. He pulled the trigger on the luger and heard a dull click.
  
  
  He glanced at the gun. Her, knew that the camera was loaded. It just misfired - a faulty cartridge, something that only happened once around a million times. He grabbed the ejector with his bloody left hand.
  
  
  But there was no time. Dimitrov pulled out a large parabellum mauser and aimed it carefully at my chest. He sat down lowly.
  
  
  It dove to the tiled floor. The gawk hit the tile next to my head and ricocheted around the room as Hugo let it slide into my hand. He turned abruptly to Dimitrov and launched the stiletto. It slammed into Ego's upper thigh.
  
  
  I was hoping for a torso, but I guess I was lucky to have hit something under the given circumstances. Dimitrov screamed as the stiletto hit his ego, and the ego mauser fell to the floor. He pulled out a long knife and reached for his lost pistol.
  
  
  Meanwhile, a bad cartridge from the Luger had thrown her out, and it clattered to the floor. He aimed at Dimitrov the same way he aimed at the Mauser. As he reached for it, he looked up and saw that he didn't stand a chance.
  
  
  He raised his hands and backed away from the gun. Seeing my expression, he suddenly spoke up. "All right, Mr. Carter. You've won. I surrender it to you."
  
  
  I got to my feet, and he got up, too. We were standing across the room from each other, our eyes locked. My left arm started to hurt terribly.
  
  
  "You made a big mistake, Dimitrov," I said. "You chose AX to humiliate us."
  
  
  "I demand to be handed over to the police," he said. "I gave up..." He slowly lowered his hands, then suddenly reached up in a minute, and a tiny Derringer appeared in his hand.
  
  
  He pulled the trigger of the Luger, and this time the gun went off. Gawking caught Dimitrov just above the heart, and threw the ego back. Ego eyes stared at me wide-eyed for a moment, and then he frantically grabbed the towel rail next to him. As he fell, the cloth towel flew out of the dispenser like a long sheet that half covered his motionless body.
  
  
  "Your Kremlin bosses might think about it the next time they come up with a grand plan," he told trupu.
  
  
  Luger slid it back into its holster. Hugo was just putting it back in its scabbard when two policemen burst through the door, guns drawn. They looked at Dimitrov and then at me with a grim expression.
  
  
  "Qué pasa aqui?" one of them shouted.
  
  
  Her emu showed its ID card. "Call the head of the security police," I said. "Tell em that all the Russian conspirators have been apprehended."
  
  
  "You, Senor Carter," the man said.
  
  
  He went out through the rooms and made his way through the crowd of curious travelers to the nearest counter where he could call her. In her mind's eye, I memorized the location of the underground KGB headquarters, the bizarre laboratory where a fantastic experiment was conducted on a human guinea pig - on me. Hawkeye will want to move there to relieve the CIA man and tell the police what happened. He would have been sure that the press had reported the story correctly.
  
  
  He got the phone number from the agent's ticket clerk, but paused for a moment before dialing the number. I didn't like missions that ended with stage performances. There will be more security meetings, and I will have to tell my story to a lot of people. I don't need it right now. I needed an evening with a girl like Tanya Savich. I was haunted by the sight of her lifeless body, still beautiful in death. KGB or not, she was special.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, maybe if I was lucky, there would be another brunette with deep blue eyes and a sensual purring voice. And maybe she wouldn't have been an enemy agent, and I wouldn't have had to kill her. It was something that kept me going through the next few weeks of bureaucratic hassle.
  
  
  He picks it up and dials Hawke's number.
  
  
  Annotation
  
  
  "WE WILL BURY YOU!"
  
  
  The communist threat has never seemed so real! No sooner had AX assigned Killmaster to his new mission than a message came from them-they were threatening to deal a fatal blow to the international influence of the countries of the Americas.
  
  
  It was obviously a job for Nick Carter - the deadliest of his career. Killmaster was destined to play the main role in the diabolical plot, the head of AX. What did they do to him? Did they, too, really create AX's most valuable agent against the very forces he was sworn to protect? It wasn't until Nick fell under the spell of a sensual Russian operative that he began to understand how ego was used. But it was already too late? Did the ego sense already belong to the KGB?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Hour of the Wolf
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original title: Hour Of The Wolf
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  A fighter jet thundered past me, sweeping the road in front of me.
  
  
  He cursed the pilot and all the egos of his ancestors as he flipped the steering wheel of his Citroen with all his might. It might save you that effort. The road was nothing more than a deep cart trail against the mountain wall, and the centuries-old ditches held up just like a screw on the thin tires of my 11cv. It could only go one way, and there were ruts in that direction. Given the boulders on the right and the deep chasm on the left, this was also a good thing. A dark, thin forest enveloped me at the sparse, straight ends, and though I could have hidden it from the fighter under the inky black foliage, it would have been a Pyrrhic victory. I was being chased by a regiment of Yugoslav soldiers, and God knows how many around them went through the mountains to surround me.
  
  
  The Citroen collided with a large rock on the road and threw me back against the wall. When the car fell again, the rest of the exhaust pipe came off. The interior was filled with exhaust fumes. The screws and nuts came off quickly, and the only chance I had was driving. He looked up through the shattered windshield. The jet fighter was flying obliquely. The ego corps shone in the moonlight and became a glowing silhouette as it descended to direct another charge at me.
  
  
  I don't think he could have moved for more than a few seconds. By the way, hers should have been dead long ago. I'd been fighting off my pursuers for almost an hour, and the only thing I'd managed to do was confuse my orientation. I walked through all the possible side roads, and the way they narrowed made me fear that they would disappear into nowhere. I had no idea where I was, except on a steep cliff somewhere in the Dinaric Alps. There must have been a shelter in the valleys, but all I saw was an army, bullets, and that damn plane. In the current state of things, this would be the flow of my assignment, and AX might lose Agent N3, but I also haven't forgotten that this has already happened to NI and N2, many years ago in different places.
  
  
  A fighter jet came to greet me with a mercy shot. He drove as fast as he could in the direction of Ego Fire. The old 11cv was shaking horribly. The Citroen 11cv was produced from 1938 to 1954, and from the way it reacted, I was pretty sure I had an ego prototype. The headlights on the protruding dashboard never worked, so I couldn't tell how fast I was driving it. At the very least, it was possible to get on the gas. I didn't think it would be enough, but it was the only chance I had with that approaching plane that dived in to fire its volleys.
  
  
  The Citroen was shaking in protest, and the roar of the exhaust made such a noise that I couldn't even hear my thoughts. The wind blew through the open windshield, freezing my ears and making my hair curl around my face. The plane was now so close that I had the impression that the ego would swallow up the air intake.
  
  
  Her taunting pressed with all her might. Machine gun caliber .50 shooting bursts from the fighter's wings. The road in front of me broke, and the car was covered in rain around rocks and clods of hard earth. The car bounced and dodged the bullets, and by the sudden release of steam, he knew they had hit the radiator. Boiling water hissed up and ran down my face in clouds of scorching steam. He steps on the gas and picks up speed again. A gust of wind, as the hunter flew past me forever, there was the dead silence that almost always follows an attack. He listened to his own breathing slowly coming out around his lungs. Temporary postponement.
  
  
  But the F-86 was already turning again for another attack, and he knew that the pilot would hit me sooner or later. Yes, F-86, Sabre. The Yugoslavs had them in addition to 150 F-84s. I think what hurt me most was knowing that Uncle Sam's vote-vote gifts were going to kill me. The Yugoslavs use the Sabre to fight partisans in narrow gorges, because the supersonic F-X4 and MIG-2I are moving too fast for such an altitude. The Saber had always been the best fighter, but air superiority didn't matter here, not against the old Citroen.
  
  
  The web reason he was still alive was because I knew something about the ego of machine guns, such as a limit on the number of rounds in magazines that would be emptied after thirty seconds of continuous firing. Pilots were taught to shoot in bursts of one to two seconds. But because of the Sabre's poise, there are four caliber machine guns .50 drown in the nose because of the recoil. So there is a tendency to shoot in front of the target. So the Slavic pilot shot where he would have been if he hadn't taunted her and moved at the same speed. Thanks to my knowledge of the combination of short bursts and nose diving, it withstood four consecutive attacks, but I doubted it would work until the ferret ran out of fuel and the pilot was forced to return.
  
  
  I turned it to get the signs, and the night shadow of the trees fell on me. The Sabre was hovering behind me, waiting for me to come out on the straight stretch of road to hit it. I leaned over the steering wheel and felt sweat drench my face, my back muscles tensing as if they'd felt the impact of bullets. If the pilot decided to try a rear attack, my estimated power reserve would be reduced by about half. Citroen simply didn't have the speed to make up for that difference.
  
  
  The road wound through several sharp turns. The engine coughed, hot from lack of water, and slowed as she was forced back up the hill. He could get out and run faster, or so he thought desperately. I was halfway there, trying to make one last effort.
  
  
  Shooting started somewhere near the bushes. Bullets drilled through the side of the Citroen, and I was sprayed with shards of glass from the side windows, which tore the coating to shreds. Soldiers lined the road with deadly automatic rifles. To walk around the car would be to commit suicide. He leaned in deeper, under the rim of the narrow windshield, as the next round of gunfire rocked the car. From now on, the cart tracks must perform all control.
  
  
  The road was reeling in the cool moonlight. From my position, I couldn't tell how long the road would still be clear, but I had a sad feeling that it would be long enough for Sabre to attack again. More shots rang out in the woods, still scattered, indicating that the main body of soldiers had not yet arrived. Not that it mattered much: I was trapped, no matter how you looked at it.
  
  
  Sergei filtered through the trees and reached the hood and roof. She heard the distant sound of a fighter jet as it approached. In the shattered rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of an approaching plane. The image filled the mirror, and a crossfire raged over my head. He tried to estimate the distance again, this time relying mainly on his intuition, and changed his previous tactic, deliberately delaying until the last moment, then revving up again. Citroen was a stubborn Frenchman. He refused to give up. He lunged forward with a force I thought he'd used a long time ago.
  
  
  But that wasn't enough. This time, the pilot compensated for the nose roll as accurately as possible, and steel-jacketed bullets tore the Citroen from the stern to the radiator grille. The steering wheel turned her to the right, perpendicular to the tracks, so that most of the attacks were absorbed by the almost vertical body of the car. But the instrument panel was hopelessly destroyed, and also something got under the hood. Flames crawled across the floorboards. The fire was hot, and a thick, oily cloud of smoke enveloped me. Citroen was dying. The tires were torn to shreds, and the fuel tank was leaking. The front axle on the left bounced off, and everything below was torn to shreds.
  
  
  The rims without tires slid along the track. I couldn't drive anymore. There was a lot of blood running down her cheek, but I couldn't tell how badly she was hurt. The car was now rolling under the scythe, the torn metal crying in a mad and blind rage, and slowly began to fall from the end of the hill into the ravine.
  
  
  She clung desperately to the seat, biting her lip in the blinding pain of her burns. The Citroen jolted violently and threw me violently in the other direction. A heavy boot hit her on the door and it swung open. Luckily, the 11cv has roosters in the back, so the door swings open in the wind. It was the only thing that saved my life. The next thing I knew, I'd fallen out and was rolling down the rough road, grabbing the road to keep from falling off the end, which was ten centimeters away from me.
  
  
  The car skidded along the edge, smashing into rocks, bushes, and trees, rolling back and forth and making its way to the bottom of a deep ravine. When it reached the bottom of the rocky gorge, it exploded into a sea of red flames.
  
  
  I staggered off into the bushes, wiping the blood from my torn hide, and my life twisted with shock and sickening nausea. The sky turned red through the burning body of the Citroen below. I had to hurry. And if I hadn't been too quick, I would have had hundreds of soldiers around me, attracted by the car explosion. But I had to stop for one minute to catch my breath... Then he crawled on through the bushes.
  
  
  My little gas bomb was still taped to my leg, though you wouldn't expect the damn thing to do much good in such an open space. My razor-sharp stiletto had been drawn from its ego scabbard and was now in my hand. She had been emptied by her Luger when it broke through the checkpoint northeast of Metkovich, and now the gun was there, among the burning remains of the 11cv. But it didn't make much difference. AX's entire arsenal of weapons would be useless if the soldiers noticed me now. Ih was too much to fight with.
  
  
  Metkovich was the beginning of my nightmare. Before that, everything was going smoothly. He arrived in Yugoslavia on an Italian trawler, and then swam to shore. Metkovic was somewhat inland, a new agricultural town somewhere in the foothills of the Dinaric Alps, a stretch that separated the Dalmatian coast from Bosnia and Herzegovina. In Metkovich, a contact person presented me with documents, clothing, and a car. The contact person was a quiet Croatian with an expressionless face, though I bet that expression will change as soon as he finds out what happened to the ego of the famous Citroen. My documents looked good, but my work boots fit like a circus clown's slippers, and my trousers, sweater, and thick leather jacket fit me as tight as a corset around whale's ribs.
  
  
  The documents are permanent and also being developed, although they looked quite legal, you didn't even pass the security post at the checkpoint. I had to fight my way through a cornfield to another road, and from that moment on I was on the run. Still, the soldiers didn't give up. I hoped they'd think I was dead when they saw the car explode, but I wasn't so lucky. He could already see the approaching lanterns, and from time to time he could hear the sergeants shouting like a search order. It could be said that he was still on the run.
  
  
  The forest was quiet except for the constant rustle of soldiers and the occasional barking of dogs.
  
  
  I knew that I would soon be entering a sparsely vegetated area, because the forests here were usually no more than a few square kilometers, since the entire territory of the hotel was too dry. But in the dark, the forest still gave the impression of a huge vault. It seemed to grow endlessly on small slopes and valleys overgrown with gnarled old oaks. The trees took on grotesque shapes as the need to find a way down grew in me, but there was still no road.
  
  
  I had to go downstairs. The road was filled with soldiers, and more and more ih groups were rushing through the hills on the other side. There was no choice but to go down. But the mountainside remained, as if to mock me forever, too steep, too slippery, and too bare to attempt.
  
  
  He was exhausted, and the pain from his injuries was unbearable. It was hard to breathe. He stopped on the ridge. Suddenly, he heard the dull murmur of water. I knew it was coming from somewhere in front of me, though the only thing I could see was a narrow depression that was slowly climbing up the rocks and overgrown on the hill. If there was water, it had to be a river: the sound was too strong for a stream. And the river meant an even deeper valley that now probably cut through the mountain meadow to my left. This meant for me that the slope would have rock on at least two to four sides, so I couldn't go anywhere but into the arms of soldiers with ih dogs.
  
  
  Now she could also hear the dogs barking. They brought dogs, probably taken from border guards. He slid down the slope, crossed a small depression, and clawed his way to the last peak. The sound of the dogs behind me grew louder. How in the name of Jesus did they follow my trail? They had to have a good sense of smell..
  
  
  The last drop was very steep and covered with huge boulders. Her father gripped his burned hands tightly and rose above the keels. Then he took a sharp straight turn and stumbled along the curve of the ledge. For one minute, the sound of water stopped, the thin pile poked up and disappeared again. I went out through the edge of the forest and, as I expected, reached the cliff that cut off my last escape route. It was almost vertical and slippery, and sloped down into a ravine that was so dark that only the sound of the water below me indicated what was waiting for me when I ever reached the bottom of it.
  
  
  Vibrating from the throbbing pain in his chest and heads, he stood in despair, looking both ways at the ravine. The moon came out from behind the clouds and shone in full force again. A few meters to my right and the same number of meters below her, I saw the ruins of a Roman aqueduct. Almost all that was left of it was a row of stone arches, like piles, that rose above a row of granite teeth and fibrous plants. It would be like crossing Niagara Falls on a worn-out tightrope, which would make me an ideal target for soldiers. If, of course, I can get down there alive to try.
  
  
  Bending over, he ran along the edge, pressing his left arm to his body to counteract the sharp pain. I wondered if I'd broken her ribs or just torn a muscle when I rolled around the car. He had almost reached the candid point above the aqueduct when he heard shaggy near me. He leaned forward on his stomach and pressed himself to the ground, taking light breaths through his open mouth.
  
  
  The two approached me in tense excitement, unaware that I was close enough to hear ih's soft whisper. They carried Czech M61 submachine guns. The men took a few more steps and stopped, nervous and no doubt wishing they were somewhere else that night. They're too long on the special ops chase. He was supposed to be watching them without making any noise.
  
  
  Without a word, he crawled into the deeper shade and went to lean against a tree. They approached me, the smaller man leaning forward slightly, as if trying to pierce the darkness with his eyes. Hers was completely still, and he didn't see me until he almost stepped on my feet. Then he reached out with his left hand, grabbed ego's chin, and jerked his head back. With her right hand, he pressed the stiletto to Ego's throat.
  
  
  The soldier made a gurgling sound and fell, blood spilling over his ego tunic. Her body turned towards the second man before he could aim around his M61, and ended up on Nen, while her threw a knife at him. He instinctively turned away, causing his dead comrade to fall between us and grazing ego with the barrel of his rifle. There was the sound of cloth tearing, a suppressed curse, and then my knife hit the target under the sternum, in the ego of putting a dollar. He sobbed softly and fell to the ground next to his companion.
  
  
  Her thought was to take the ih weapon with her, but then decided to leave the ego in place. It would be nice to have submachine guns, but if ih picked it up, it would make me even more tired, and carrying ih would probably slow down my descent to the aqueduct. He ran to the edge of the ravine and looked down. The canal once continued through the hill on which I now stand, but over the years it has become clogged, possibly due to a huge landslide. She couldn't yet make out the fold of land where it had happened, or the sharp angle between the different layers that lay at the top of the aqueduct. As steep as this slope was, it was better than the perpendicular walls on either side.
  
  
  As quickly as he could, he descended the dangerous slope, clinging to rocks and grabbing at plants and saplings to keep from falling. Despite my efforts, a landslide went through the loose stones and mud, and I tasted it at the end of the aqueduct. For a moment, I thought I'd broken my ankle, but she held my alenka as hers got up and carefully slid around the limestone ledge. The aqueduct crisscrossed the gorge with ancient ruins that could crumble beneath me at any moment.
  
  
  He began to crawl on all fours. I had to choose my path carefully. I was about ten meters ahead of the giant support pillar when a high-pitched scream rang out from the hill above me. Dead soldiers were found. He could hear them running through the bushes and fallen leaves, and then more screams. He turned and saw the soldiers standing at the edge of the ravine. All ih M61s started firing simultaneously... Bits of granite, shards of shale, and plants rained down on me in torrential rain. I pressed myself against the rocks, the little shelter I could find, and now I'm crawling back, I don't know where I'm going. My ballet slippers slipped, causing chunks of the collapsed aqueduct to come off. A city of bullets and ricocheting shrapnel swept past me like a swarm of angry bees. Several people slid down the slope. Two fighters stopped at the beginning of the ledge and began firing through their submachine guns. I clung desperately to the rocks, my folding dollar pounding against my ribs.
  
  
  The shooting stopped as quickly as it had begun. Hers lay motionless. Odin around the two men started laughing, breaking the silence, and then wanted to pounce on me. He inserted a new magazine into his submachine gun. My knife was slick with blood. He silently wiped it on his pant leg and held it tighter in his hand, waiting for ego to approach. Her, heard a man come licking up to finish me off. Hers remained motionless. My only chance was that he would be overconfident after his turn with the machine gun. In the dark, it was hard to tell if she was alive or not, and he was counting on the element of surprise.
  
  
  He was now halfway to where hers lay. The M61's ego magazine was pushed forward, and it swayed slightly as it walked. Ego's eyes wandered nervously and fearfully, and he waited until he was half turned away, then jumped up and dropped the stiletto.
  
  
  The overhead throw was heavy and good, and the blade disappeared into the soldier's left chest. My body tensed, and I was afraid that he would fall off the aqueduct before I could reach him. Ego grabbed it and managed to pull out the knife just before it started to fall. The knife came out clean. He turned and looked at me openly. A look of bewilderment and hurt appeared in Ego's eyes, then a dull void as the machine guns opened up again.
  
  
  Her ego body used her as a shield. The bullets hit the emu in the back and shook it like a rag doll. He tried to glide with it down the aqueduct, but it was impossible to keep his ego in check and keep his balance at the same time. Gawk got caught in my jacket, and I felt a searing pain as it seared my side. My fingers lost their grip. The soldier rolled to the side and then fell off the aqueduct.
  
  
  Then he lost his balance on the uneven surface. He staggered, tried to grab on, but it was hopeless. When I slid over the edge, I grabbed her ego with all the strength I still had. A cold wind howled down the ravine. My fingers were numb, and he couldn't hold on any longer. A drop of water appeared through the cracks above my head, as if it had been pushed around the rock by my grip. It slid down slowly and moistened my lip. It was the sweetest water she'd ever tasted.
  
  
  Then the stone crumbled under the pressure of my hands, and I fell...
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  I regained consciousness in a sea of pain that turned into an instinctive blind panic, and my hand felt smooth, hard wood. Then I realized that I was not falling, and that the Yugoslav soldiers were no longer following me.
  
  
  He tried to shake his head, but it was heavy. My eyes seemed to be glued shut, and ih couldn't open it. Gradually, my thoughts became coherent as I penetrated the thick layers of suppressed memory. He remembered throwing the old Citroen under bullets. I remembered the small chance the aqueduct had given me, and the pointless struggle I'd fought to escape my pursuers when I'd ventured across it. And the relentless flow as my fingers slipped off the stone. The feeling of falling, with one last clear thought, how to stop it and kill those who made me fall into this fall. It must be a trap; there was no other answer. Then there was the fog, when the icy, splashing water reached me and flooded me. A time of cold and wet, ego crushing hardness and nothing more.
  
  
  Nothing, still a ferret. The bank stuck to my chest. He could feel it now. I didn't have any reason to stay alive, but I did. Then there was the pleasant sensation of soft fingers stroking my skin and the feel of a wet cloth on my face.
  
  
  "Ssst,"a voice whispered. Then a soft voice in Serbo-Croatian continued: "Quiet. You're safe now.
  
  
  From some distance away, he was heard by another female voice, who said curtly, " Shut up, Arvia!"
  
  
  Slowly, I opened my eyes and noticed that I was looking at a young face. The girl was kneeling next to me, almost hugging me, leaning in. She was young, in her twenties, wearing a dark blue skirt and a light blue embroidered blouse. Her long, straight hair was the color of polished copper. Maybe he's dead, and this is heaven, I thought.
  
  
  The girl turned her head and said over her shoulder, " Mom, Mom, he's finally awake."
  
  
  "Then go find your father immediately."
  
  
  The girl looked at me again. She pressed the cloth to her forehead before standing up. She wiped her hands on her long skirt. Her hair fell to her shoulders and curled around her full chest.
  
  
  She asked. "Who are you?"
  
  
  Before she could answer, her mother screamed: "Arvia, go get your father immediately."
  
  
  The girl stretched and hurried to the door. My eyes followed the beautiful lines of her young body, the lines of her chest and leg. She left the door ajar, and I saw that it was daylight. But the sun hardly penetrated the interior of this small square room. It should have been a farm room, given the wooden floor, wooden walls, and thatched roof. It was poorly furnished, with crude makeshift furniture, dark and old. There was a fireplace across from me, where a small, stocky woman was stirring something in a teapot. Her hair was ashen gray, tied tightly in a knot on her wrinkled round face. Peasant women lead a tedious lifestyle, and the years take their toll. She completely ignored my question and didn't tell me our words.
  
  
  Hers was sprawled against the wall, wrapped in a pair of horsehair blankets. By the tingling sensation on her skin, I knew I was naked. She saw my wet clothes on a rope above the woman's head.
  
  
  For a long time there was no sound to us, except for the movements of the old woman. Then the door opened and Arvia came in, followed by a stocky man with cerro-black hair, a long mustache, and big red ears. The fire of the Hans Ego hearth creates a sharp relief, emphasizing sharp lines and angles, deep-set eyes and a narrow mouth. He only spoke when he openly stood in front of me, and then still hesitated, first taking a deep breath.
  
  
  "So you're awake," he said at last. "We were very concerned. you... I've been sleeping for so long.
  
  
  How do you feel right now? Arvia asked as she removed the poultice.
  
  
  I feel better, " I said, managing to put a smile on my face. "Tell me, where is she now?"
  
  
  This is the village of Jzan on the Neretva River.
  
  
  I was quite satisfied with this information. Metkovich was also on the Neretva, just before the river turned into a large delta. And since the river was only a few hundred miles long, it meant that I was still in the area of my mission. Her, leaned against the moan, and asked: "Jzan is a small village?"
  
  
  The old man's mouth twisted into a sour smile.
  
  
  Odin on the smallest ones. And it's getting smaller.
  
  
  "Is it over Mostar?" Mostar is a small mountain village about thirty kilometers from Metkovic.
  
  
  "We are here, halfway between Mostar and Konic, where the road departs from the river."
  
  
  He licked his lips. "So we're near Aptos?"
  
  
  The girl's eyes widened in fear, and she seemed to turn pale under her tanned skin. Frowning, my father pursed his lips and shook his head thoughtfully. "Yes," he said softly, then raised a fleshy, callused hand. — I think we've talked enough.
  
  
  "Too much, Josip," the woman's ego added. She came up to me with a heavy mug of steaming soup. She handed me the mug, and he leaned on his elbow to take it. Her eyes were proud and her jaw was tight. "Too many," she echoed, turning again. "And it won't do much good."
  
  
  "Shut up, woman," the man ordered. then to me: "Eat, then rest." . Tonight you must leave Jzan, whoever you are to us.
  
  
  "No," Arvia breathed. — He's still too weak.
  
  
  "There's nothing you can do."
  
  
  "I understand," I said. He tasted the boiling mess. It was a delicious bean soup with whole chunks of lamb and tomatoes, and it burned my cold, empty stomach. "You took a big risk hiding me," he continued. "It's enough that you saved my life.
  
  
  "We may have saved your life." It's too early to tell. Less than a month ago, I would have been happy to take the risk, no matter how long it took us, but now. . He interrupted himself, suddenly confused.
  
  
  Arvia finished the thought for him. Ee's voice is absurdly hurried and shaky. "Tomorrow or the day after, Jzan will be gone."
  
  
  He was silent for a while. Her man and ego studied her daughter as they continued to eat. After drinking the last drop, he held up the mug next to the bedspread and asked calmly:: "What's going on here?"
  
  
  The man gritted his teeth and hissed through them, " This isn't your battle."
  
  
  "Listen," I said. — You saved my life, its still a ferret don't know how. You hid me and took care of me, and I know what will happen to you and your family if you get caught. So don't tell me this isn't my battle. This isn't a battle, " the woman by the hearth said angrily.
  
  
  Josip, you're a fool. This is no longer a battle. The battle is over.
  
  
  "Tell me about it," I insisted.
  
  
  "It's better to be strangers to each other," he said stubbornly.
  
  
  Well, I can be as stubborn as anyone.
  
  
  I asked her. "Why is your village destroyed?" — I need to know, otherwise I won't leave. Otherwise, I can't leave.
  
  
  The man raised his hands to the sky in despair, letting out a regretful sigh. "It's no secret that the country is in dire need of & nb. Here in Jzan, we have a large flat area near the river where we grow corn and wine. To show our happiness, we prefer to build around wood rather than stone, and we are proud of this local tradition."
  
  
  "Go on," I said.
  
  
  "Now Serbia wants to turn Jzan into a soldiers' camp, because there is water there and it is easy to get to the main camp in Sarajevo."
  
  
  When he spoke so disparagingly of" Serbia, " I had to stifle a laugh. Serbs make up 42% of the population of Yugoslavia, so they control politics and government. Other ethnic groups, Croats, Slovenes, Bosnians, Montenegrins, and Macedonians, hate Serbs. The country is a patchwork of independent groups and regional aspirations. Not surprisingly, Josip disparagingly referred to the Yugoslav soldiers as Serbs, pointing out that he considered ih more intruders than me. But there was no laughing matter now. The situation was too dire for that. "They seized power to fight the resistance?"
  
  
  'Yes."We both knew that the Resistance base in the hall was in Aptos.
  
  
  — What will happen to you?"
  
  
  Old Josip's face looked like it was carved all over granite; his voice was tense and filled with hatred. "They're stationed in camps miles away. They'll kill us like animals. This is our death. Josip continued in a calmer tone, — One of the villagers found you unconscious, washed up on the riverbank. The peasants brought you here because I had a place to accommodate you. The soldiers wanted you. We'd help anyone hide from them.
  
  
  The family was inconsolable, as if the talk of forced relocation had robbed ih of her courage. Josip stopped and turned around. He stood for a moment, framed by the door frame. Behind him, the sun cast a majestic shadow on the worn floor laid by his ancestors. "Lock the door with this beam next to it," he said. "I'll knock three times slowly. Don't let anyone else in. Then all oni was gone.
  
  
  When ih shaggy subsided, her got up and locked the door as he said. A thick round beam fitted into the wooden clamps on both sides of the wall and looked strong enough to withstand a fairly tough attack. He felt his clothes and found that they were still wet. I wanted to get out, but I was hurt, badly bruised, and in a lot of pain. Every muscle in me was tense and aching.
  
  
  In the middle of her room, the 108 steps of Taijiquan, an esoteric form of Cohen Vii, passed somewhat hesitantly. It took me twenty minutes to complete the entire ritual, but then hers, I felt refreshed and inspired, and then a short rest to repeat the ego again. After the third time, he went back to his blankets and fell into a zen trance. Once he was free of his body and external senses, he pondered the fate of Jzan and his failed mission.
  
  
  Only the work from the very beginning looked suspicious. ..
  
  
  You have a reputation as a wolf, N3, " Hawk told me, his face expressionless. "You'll love this new assignment."
  
  
  When my boss uses humor, he's invariably sarcastic. I slapped her on the ball in front of me, and I know it's pointless to answer. The ball hit the grass around the twelfth hole. A large, broken turf flew up and landed on my shoe.
  
  
  Gritting his teeth, he dug through the weeds to find his ball. We were at the Delaware Golf & Country Club, across the Potomac River from the AX offices in Washington. And we pretended to be a bunch of ordinary townsfolk using this game. For me, it was simple: I didn't have to pretend.
  
  
  "Have you ever heard of Polgar Milan?" Hawk asked, following me.
  
  
  Daffodils was pushing her with his golf club. Milana once knew her in Germany, " I said. "Emu must be in his late sixties by now. The last I heard about nen was that he was leading some kind of Croatian independence movement in the mountains of his native Yugoslavia.
  
  
  "Polgar Milan was also an AX agent. We helped cover the ego's expenses, if you know what I mean. We have never known an ego group. I do not know if these people are real patriots, or if they are just a gang of thugs who kill and rob under the overarching slogans of freedom and revolution. It is enough that Milan was there with weapons, which he occasionally delivered around his camp in Aptos.
  
  
  "What, sir ?" You mean that Milan is dead and his group is still active?
  
  
  'That's right. He was shot dead in a skirmish with Yugoslav troops ten days ago. It was a skirmish that had nothing to do with mistletoe. Have you found your ball yet? — What is it? " he asked casually.
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "You can always take those two penalty points."
  
  
  "I'll find this ball."
  
  
  He lifted his shoulders. 'Whatever it is, the people of Milan still use the ferret base in Aptos.
  
  
  Aptos is an eagle's nest in the mountains. This is a former Roman slave camp, named after the original quarry that was located there even earlier, during the time of the Greeks." Well, if you like ancient history. What does all this have to do with the wolf?
  
  
  "Don't be so impatient, Nick. You'll never find that ball again." Hawk leaned against a tree and ostentatiously took out a cellophane cigar, put it in his mouth, and lit it. He continued in a stinking cloud of smoke. "Milan had a semi-wild white wolf as his pet. A strange choice, but more or less appropriate if you knew this person. This wolf went everywhere with him, and not just out of loyalty. I don't know how Milan did it, but he made a small incision in the soft folds of the wolf's neck. It was like a small flat bag. She couldn't be seen because of her fur, and the wolf seemed to be guarding her. Milan used this bag to transport classified information.
  
  
  This is very unusual, isn't it?
  
  
  I always thought so too, but Milan in their perverse way thought it was a great idea."
  
  
  — And now he's dead?"
  
  
  "The wolf is now in the hall of the widow's ego."
  
  
  And where is this woman of the late Milan?
  
  
  "In Aptos. Where else?"
  
  
  Her stopped, leaned on the handle of the golf club and felt her suddenly very tired. He'd been working for Hawke in AH too long not to know where that would lead. "No, you didn't tell me. Let me guess. When Milan died, there was information in the wolf's skin, and we need it right now. Now its up to me to go to Aptos about her .
  
  
  - Voice-voice.
  
  
  But does this woman know I have to come?
  
  
  'Yes. She's been waiting for you for two days.
  
  
  "Why am I always the last to hear such information?"
  
  
  'Come on. Your ball found her, " Hawk said, lifting his foot from where it had been pressed into the ground. — When we get back, I'll draw you a map of Aptos and tell you how to contact our man in Metkovich..."'
  
  
  So it was: from Metkovich to the Jzan aqueduct. It doesn't make much sense insanely, but my locality of Russia, even though it was almost a failure and obviously put at risk, was still going on. Yesterday it was not just a roadblock near Metkovich. It was a one-man roadblock, supported by troops, dogs, and fighter jets. Someone warned the Yugoslavs that I was coming, which meant that my cover was blown and my documents were now too dangerous to use. Aptos could be a trap, and I didn't have time to find out. I had to be very careful, but tonight I had to make my way to Aptos.
  
  
  There were three knocks on the door. - 'Hi. Can you hear me?'
  
  
  Arvia's voice recognized her, but didn't answer.
  
  
  "I'm alone," she said. "Please let me in."
  
  
  He wrapped himself in one of the blankets and crept up on Day. There I put my ear to the cold wood and listened intently, but I didn't hear anything suspicious. We like the creak of heavy boots, we like the quiet breathing of the men standing next to her.
  
  
  'What do you want?'
  
  
  'Her . ...I brought her some new bandages... for your side, " she said, twitching as if confused.
  
  
  Hers was already tied around the waist with a strip of cloth, but it had loosened from my exercises, and was staggering with blood. He remembered the throbbing pain in his head from the calculations he'd done last night, and the fear that he'd broken his ribs. But that wasn't the case. Luckily, gawking left only a scratch. His skin was still a soft yellow-purple, where at least there was no nasty pink streak, and the bandages had to be changed before he could move on. "All right," I said. "But don't come in until I tell you to."
  
  
  "As you wish," she said.
  
  
  He removed the flap and returned to the blanket. Then he yawned, and the door opened wide enough for her to pass . She immediately closed the ego again and replaced the beam.
  
  
  Ah, " she sighed, coming up to me. The tip of her tongue slid out and moistened her lips. There was a bright glint in her eyes. — We're all alone, you know that?"
  
  
  "Wait a minute, Arvia. Does your father know you're here?"
  
  
  "He was very busy. He didn't want to bother him.
  
  
  "Uh-huh. And your mother?'
  
  
  "She was busy, too.
  
  
  She knelt down next to me and held out her hands. 'Do you understand? I brought you some bandages. Nah was carrying a large bundle of white bandages. — I'll bandage your chest." Then you'll feel much better about yourself.
  
  
  "Thanks,"I said, smiling. She was so close that I could feel her warm breasts on my face to breathe in the scent of her fresh skin. She pulled the sheet up around my waist and carefully began to untie the bandage, her fingers sliding over my bare skin.
  
  
  I've always been here alone, " Arvia said, tugging at the bleached cloth. "And steam trains are so boring. Is it boring where you come from?
  
  
  'Never. But I've never been so bored in Jzan as a ferret before
  
  
  "That's true if you're a woman," she pouted. "All my friends are married and have one or two children, and I want the same for myself. I loved him before and there are also chances to get married, but I don't want to marry a guy named Jzan. They're like sheep, and you...'
  
  
  Her hands were now burning my bare skin. They came down on their own, ducking under the covers and circling around my shoulder and lower back. She touched me once, very lightly. Her breath caught in her throat. Then I tossed the blanket aside, and her eyes blurred and filled with desire as she looked down at me.
  
  
  She laughed hoarsely as her pink tongue slid across her lips again. Slowly, slowly, she unbuttoned her blue blouse and revealed her firm, round breasts. A slight tinge of self-confidence crossed her face as she slowly lifted her body to crawl out from under her skirt. My eyes roamed over her nakedness, and she squatted down to push her panties down her trembling thighs. She dropped her ego on the floor next to her blouse and skirt.
  
  
  Her eyes were fixed on my body, and she whispered in a low, soft voice. 'Her-I want you. Her name was you when I first saw you, when your father brought you here last night.
  
  
  Arvia lies down next to me on the blanket. He ran his hand over the smoothness of her buttocks. They were beautifully shaped, and her breasts were warm and soft against my chest. She lifted her face and pressed her open mouth firmly against mine as her hand slid down between us. I couldn't help but gasp as cool fingers closed around me; then she pressed the entire length of her body against mine... "Yes, now," she moaned. "Now, please."
  
  
  I pulled her under me, and she spread her legs to receive me. He could feel her body shaking as she slowly moved her hips back and forth. Her thighs pressed against my legs, and her ankles bent and closed around my calves. I sank deep into her soft flesh, and she tensed beneath me, moaning under my thrusts, opening and closing her hips and tossing her head back and forth in pure and utter surrender. I could feel myself growing and expanding inside her with the exquisite pleasure that grew inside me, and I found that she was nearing her climax as she tightened her grip on me and moved beneath me with more force.
  
  
  More! Yes, more, " she begged, getting even more aroused as she kicked my legs with her heels. Then she screamed, a cry that cut sharply through the silence of the hut. She jerked convulsively, moaning with pleasure as he came inside her. Then her body slumped back limply, and she was silent except for the uncontrollable tremor of her thighs as they pressed tightly against my loins. We both lay still, tired and completely content.
  
  
  Later, we played this game on blankets and took the soup that her mother had left in the diesel engine. Arvia's face flushed with satisfaction as she looked at me with unabashed interest while her father spoke to her.
  
  
  "Listen carefully," I said. — You know I'm an edu in Aptos, don't you?" "I thought so," she said over the rim of her mug. She held out the soup, and her eyes were sad again. — But you'll never succeed. There are soldiers everywhere.
  
  
  I'll try, Arvia. And if I can't, I'll try to help you and your people.
  
  
  But how?'
  
  
  He shook his head, lost in his own thoughts. 'I do not know how. But if Jzan is destroyed because the soldiers want to fight the rebels, Aptos must do something to help.
  
  
  "You're a good person," she whispered.
  
  
  "The most important thing is that you must resist for as long as possible. Once you get on the train, there's nothing else we can do.
  
  
  Arvia looked away for a moment, then silently handed our mugs to a chair. She turned and stood in front of me, still silent, her face clouded with fear and worry. Finally she said sharply: "I would say..... That maybe I can stop you from your crazy plan. It's hopeless for us and you ... too dangerous.
  
  
  He laughed, leaning on his elbows to study her sculptural beauty. - Hot words. scalding ones. But I've been cool for so long, and I've never been caught.
  
  
  'Never?'
  
  
  "Well, almost never.
  
  
  "You deserve a reward," she said, panting. "You deserve many awards. And I'm getting hot, too. Hot as fire. She was sitting in front of me, and I could feel the fire starting up again in my lower body. "And we have a lot of hours left," she added. "Many hours."
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  At nightfall, Josip, true to his word, led me out of Jzan. He led me through the mostly deserted streets, through the wide valley beyond the village, and then to a rocky promontory. A few hours later, we stopped, and under the shelter of boulders, he built a fire and made coffee. Using a pointed stick, he drew a map on the ground and explained to me the network of paths I needed to follow to get to Mount Athos.
  
  
  "This is different from what was planned earlier," I said, remembering the route Hawk had given me.
  
  
  "Yes," he said. — But you're coming out of another place now. I'll show you the shortest way out of here, and even so, it will take you many hours to reach the back of Aptos.
  
  
  "From behind?"
  
  
  "Unfortunately, my friend," he explained to me. "I'm not a wizard. There are only two roads leading to Aptos, and they are not connected to each other. You should keep in mind that there is a good reason why Apthos is difficult to access. It was once a prison for slaves and gladiators, but now ... " He sighed, trembling. "You would have to go back to Metkovic if you want to get close to Aftos from the front," he added softly.
  
  
  "Show me the way, Josip," I said, groaning inwardly. This was the hundredth mistake. "Hawk told me that Milan's wife was expecting me, but in a certain way and at a certain time. Hers was already running late, which in itself was suspicious, and when hers finally got there, it wouldn't be him on the side . Partisans could be very sensitive to these points, especially with their finger on the trigger.
  
  
  When Josip finished his explanation, and her emu repeated the route from memory, he erased the map and packed up again. Then, giving me a big hug, he slid into the night and disappeared.
  
  
  She had one. Josip's wife joins my clothes in order, and Arvia has prepared a bag of food for me so I can continue on my way. My gas bomb was the only weapon I had left. He lost his stiletto when he slid down the aqueduct: "The bomb was now in my pocket. Josip's family took it off my leg when I was unconscious and dried it thoroughly, along with all my belongings. It was now almost useless, and there was nothing in Jzan that I could use as a substitute for my lost weapon.
  
  
  I started walking at a slow, steady pace to conserve my energy, and never deviated from the directions Josip had given me. It was a long walk. As her carapace moved through the dark valleys, the wind howled through the dry trees, pinching my face. Its carapace ran along the high ridges, and on my feet lay a vast dead world, and the screams of nocturnal beasts gave me hope that Milan's wolf didn't have too many relatives in the area. It quickly began to rise, turning into massive rocks, and finally, when the horizon was painted in the pink color of dawn, Athos reached it.
  
  
  Hawke wasn't exaggerating. Aptos was an eagle's nest, somewhere high in the mountains. Nature has created a truly impregnable fortress, surrounded by impassable mountains and inaccessible rocks. It was like an island in the sky, and the back entrance was nothing more than a narrow passage about seven meters long, connected to the path by a dizzying hand-hewn staircase.
  
  
  Her staff went up to the camp feeling naked and exposed, easy prey for anything and everything... I went up the spiral staircase and reached the pass. Candid ahead of her saw an old fortification. It was bathed in a gray light with no shadows. The only sound was the whisper of the wind over the plateau.
  
  
  It was too quiet, too suspiciously quiet. Standard procedure was to have sentries posted and I would have been hailed. As her carapace made its way through the narrow passageway, she could feel the stares around the hidden crevices, but couldn't see anything. Her stahl is more cautious than an angry cougar, and my nerves tensed as her sensed something else: I felt like I was walking openly into a trap.
  
  
  I was about halfway down the passage when two huge figures appeared around the cliff in front of me. I couldn't see their faces in the dim light, so they crouched down. I spun around, thinking I might be able to get back to the exit. But two dark shadows were also approaching me from behind. We came together in a wild tangle of arms and legs.
  
  
  A fist slammed into my life. It was automatically parried by Ego with a Tie Sjow Shemg Sjie move, grabbing the attacker's left wrist with his left hand and blocking ego's left hand with his right forearm. Her clenched both hands and pulled out the strength of the ego attacks. Before he could think of anything to say about rheumatism, her left hand dropped and her right hand withdrew, pressing down on her forearm, causing her ego to lose its balance. Then her ego kicked him in the kneecap.
  
  
  If done correctly, it can disable ego time. But I held back because I didn't want to put out ih forever. Oh my God, those steam engines should have been on my side. The problem was, I was the only one who knew... The man lost consciousness after crashing into the person behind him.
  
  
  "Hey," I shouted. "Hey, wait a minute. Her . .. '
  
  
  That was all I had time for. The second man jumped on my neck from behind. Ego's hands reached out to all the parts of his body that he could reach. It was used by Shan Hsien Deng Shouye, then I ducked down and kicked ego in life hard with the sole of my left shoe, pretending to hit ego in the face with my left hand to make sure that he wouldn't parry my blow.
  
  
  He let out a hoarse cry and fell.
  
  
  I continued it. The man who had fallen under the weight of my first attacker leaped to his feet and immediately had my fingers at his throat.
  
  
  The fourth man hit me hard in the legs and he fell. Instantly, he jumped on top of me, and for a few seconds I wasn't sure I was seeing anything. He must have been one of the biggest people she'd ever encountered. It was a giant, at least six feet tall, of even proportions. Ego's shoulders were so huge that it looked like he was wearing rugby shoulder pads. Maybe it was because he was cowering, but the square-jawed ego gol on his shoulders didn't look like he had a neck. Ego's legs were built to hold a pool chair, and his arms were only slightly thinner. Ego's left arm had to be at least a meter wide. He didn't have a right hand. Instead, it had a three-pointed hook. All the emu had to do was point that hook in a certain direction, and I would be cut up like a fish.
  
  
  He tried a low, sharp dive. I didn't have time to try the belly throw; it was already too busy rolling over and blocking the ego-killing hook. With his left hand, he grabbed her ego's log-like wrist, and with his right hand, he grabbed ego's left shoulder, pinning his boots to ego's ankles. Ego's legs flew out of the way, and he flew over me in an arc. When it hit the ground, it shuddered.
  
  
  It immediately jumped up and spun around on its axis, so that we wouldn't lose the ego in sight for a moment. He landed on his feet in a somersault, and attacked again. He released his leg and grabbed that hand again, using all of its monstrous strength to turn it halfway. Then, bending ego's arm, he slashed at her ego with his palm. There would have been a sharp bone fracture that would have rendered Stahl's ego useless. But instead, my arm went numb, which hurts. Ego's arm was metal all the way to the elbow.
  
  
  Ha, he snorted. "I'm going to kill you." Ego's eyes were the size of saucers, shining with hatred and malice.
  
  
  He swung his hook at me and growled in anger. He was parried by a backhand, and ego's blow was deflected downwards. Then he stepped aside to hit ego in the diaphragm with the knuckles of his right fist. But he was as fast as he was tall. He grabbed my fist with the palm of his left hand and started squeezing it. He felt her tendons and bones tighten, as if they were going to explode and break like kindling, votum votum.
  
  
  My strength was gone. He squeezed harder, his hand gripping mine like a vise. My legs were shaking, already weakened from the hours of walking. Another moment, and three other men would jump on me, and it would all be over. My only chance was to hit Djöe Feng-Sjie pi, but that would leave me exposed to this terrible hook.
  
  
  My left hand shot out, batting at Ego's wrist. My right arm was now free, but at that very moment, the ego's right arm swung, and the sharp ends of the ego hook bit into my jacket. Her ego shoved her shoulders as hard as it could. He stumbled, and there was a crack as the leather sleeve came loose from his shoulder.
  
  
  A searing pain shot through my brain, and dark blood gushed through my frayed sweater. However, I allowed myself to attack him before he could release his hook, and the other three charged at me from behind. Her ego hit him, hitting his right shin with his left foot and making a simple knee throw.
  
  
  Ego's hands swung like windmill blades, and he fell again. Her put his hips on Emu's chest and pressed ego's hands with his knees. I crossed my arms so that my wrists were pressed against his throat, if you can call it a throat, and he gave me everything I had. It wasn't the ego that was trying to kill him, it was just trying to turn off the ego, stopping the blood flow to the ego brain. It was impossible. My injured arm was in sharp, throbbing, excruciating pain, but I put all my weight on it, and I know I need to deal with it quickly. I could hear the three men walking behind me, and the giant's hands sliding under my feet. I pressed it harder. Ego's eyes started rolling. Something cold and metallic pressed against my right temple. A woman's voice said, " If he dies, I'll blow your head off."
  
  
  I turned slowly, still not wanting to let up the pressure, and found myself staring down the barrel of a Carcano Times rifle.
  
  
  Its height is slightly higher. The woman stretched out her long, straight legs firmly, holding the butt of her rifle to her shoulder, and looked at me with her usual confidence. Hey, it was about thirty. Her pants and shirt hung loosely where her waist narrowed and stretched taut where her full breasts and luscious buttocks pressed against the soft, worn fabric. Her jet-black hair was cut short and clung to her forehead, burning eyes, and proud red mouth.
  
  
  Her gaze returned to the man. He's already stahl blue, and her ego pressed her throat a little harder with a perverse feeling. "Shoot," her father said. "At least then the pain will stop."
  
  
  "I will definitely do it. I will definitely kill you if you don't follow my orders.
  
  
  "If I let him go, he'll kill me."
  
  
  "Idiot," she hissed. "With them a ferret, how did you get here, you had a gun pointed at you. If we hadn't expected you to die, you would have been a corpse long ago. But you angered Hash with your challenge, and he came out through himself. Don't kill me now, or you'll lose your life.
  
  
  He felt a surge of bitter admiration for the woman's beauty and strength, and thought how good it would be to release some of that arrogance in her. Then I realized that I should have stayed alive to try, and that she was holding a gun that she would definitely use. He sighed and loosened his grip. "All right," I said. 'But hers . .. '
  
  
  'Nothing like that. Words for us.'She poked me with her gun to emphasize her words. "Come on, let go of your ego and stay calm. Hash Padra will make sure that you tell us what we want to know, not what you want to say.
  
  
  With a calm, indifferent attitude, he slowly slid off the man and placed his hands on the ground. Now is not the time to show fear. The men gathered around us, one limping and the other rubbing his life where his ego had touched it. Others joined them as they descended from the cliffs, until all six non-partizan stared at me through the windswept darkness, all hoping that I would collapse to the ground and beg for mercy.
  
  
  "Hash? Hash, are you okay? the woman asked anxiously. The man on the ground sucked in a breath, and his massive chest puffed out like a balloon. After a moment, he sat up, coughed, spat, and grinned with his mouth full of gold teeth. "Yes, — he growled. "It was a good try, but not enough to stop the Padres."
  
  
  — You needed a woman to save you?" I replied casually.
  
  
  He leaned forward and jabbed the hard tip of his hook into my throat, just above the artery on my left. With cold fury, he said, " Watch your words, otherwise they might be your last. Even the loudest bell stops when the belfry is removed from it."
  
  
  He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling his tongue. — You were stupid when you tried to spy on us.
  
  
  "I didn't come here to spy," Hash Padre told her. "My name is Carter, Nick Carter, and her... .. '
  
  
  "You're lying," he snarled.
  
  
  "Get up, Nick Carter should have come through the door a few days ago.
  
  
  "The door... you mean the main entrance?"
  
  
  "As if you didn't know that," the Padre chuckled. — We sent a man to meet Carter and bring Ego here. But our man was caught before he found the Well, the real Carter. So emu will still have to go through the Door, because he doesn't know any better. But you came through a different entrance. Only Karak could have sent you. Does he see us as small children?
  
  
  "I do not know Karak," I snapped. — But if you'll take that fishhook away from me, I'll tell you how I got here."
  
  
  Instead, the hook went even deeper. I flinched as I felt blood oozing all over the slight cut on my flesh. Her quickly said: "Polgar AC Milan, he was in charge here, wasn't he?"
  
  
  'So what?'
  
  
  "I'm a widow. .. If I could talk to the ego widow, I could prove who I am."
  
  
  Hash Padra thought it was a lot of fun. He threw his head back and laughed out loud, choking, and every time he laughed again, Hook sank a little deeper. I wondered if I could slap her ego in the face before that hook ripped my entire throat out.
  
  
  — If you were to talk to an ego widow, what would you say?" "What is it?" he asked when he stopped laughing. — What would you say?"
  
  
  'Forget it. It's in German.
  
  
  "Try it," he said expansively. Ego's eyes shone like a cat's. He switched from Serbo-Croatian to heavily accented English and repeated, " Try it."
  
  
  He looked at him wearily. I liked it less and less. The men lost their patience, and the woman swung the rifle threateningly. Left her ih in suspense for a while, and then quoted: "Wir niemals wünschen vorangehen unsere Hass". Which means: We will never forget our hatred.
  
  
  The woman immediately responded with the next line of the poem. «Wir haben jeder абер eine einzige Hass». Or: We all have only one hate.
  
  
  She stared at Nah in amazement for a moment. 'You...'
  
  
  The Polgar woman. Sophia.'
  
  
  "But I remember her when I was half an old man. And you ... " Thank you. But in math and as old as he feels, and Polgar always felt like he was. .. young people. She gave me a small smile and then quoted: "We love as one, we hate as one, we only have one enemy." If you're Nick Carter, can you tell me the last two lines ?
  
  
  "That's just one thing, and just one word," I said. "Germany will never stop hating France."
  
  
  "The last word is' England!'.
  
  
  "But during the outbreak of World War II . .. '
  
  
  "It's a poem from the First World War," Ernst Lissauer corrected her. But your world has changed. He cast a meaningful glance around him. "Your enemy is now your husband's enemies, not France or England."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, but Polgar and I were married in Berlin many years after he met you. We've never met. She had to be careful.
  
  
  "Nothing to blame yourself for."
  
  
  Sofia, Milana turned to Hash Padre and the others. This is Nick Carter, " she said in Serbo-Croatian. "By chance, he came here through this entrance and not through the Door, and avoided both the army and Karak. Welcome him.
  
  
  They greeted me with the same irresistible passion that they had fought me with a few minutes earlier. They crowded around me from all sides until the Padre had to give the order, hook flashing in the morning light.
  
  
  When we got to the camp, Sofia healed my wounds and then prepared an education for us. Between a slice of guivech, a typical Balkan stew of mixed vegetables, and a sip of white wine with the taste of eighth-pressed grapes, he told me about the Yugoslav attack, about Jzan, and about his trip to Mount Athos.
  
  
  Most of it was true. He didn't mention her to Arvia. It's none of your business. He also avoided the reason why he was here. I was obviously expected, but the nonsense with this poem indicated that the group didn't know my name. Hawke did not claim this secrecy. He only told me that Milan's wife insisted on it. But Balkan politics are changing rapidly, and the caution was understandable. Then there was a casual mention of the man who was sent to meet me, and another man, Karachi. I didn't like it either. But I told them in detail what I had told them. For these people, modesty is only a stone's throw from cowardice, and a little exaggeration doesn't hurt stories, especially if you want it to be on the ih side. Besides, hers, I enjoyed myself.
  
  
  When I finished it, they handed me the bottle, and sell it by the stone. It seemed that the most difficult part was over. I came here, agreed, and the rest will be easy . I didn't forget my promise that I would try to get help for Jzan, but I had to wait my turn. Hawk, in his familiar, blunt way, had pointed out that the information that Milan's wolf was carrying had to be obtained at all costs. It was my order, and my order was most important. He looked at her, then switched back to German.
  
  
  "Frau Milan," I began.
  
  
  "Please call me Sofia," she said.
  
  
  The padra, understanding the meaning if not every word, gave a short laugh and rolled his eyes. Ego ignored her, but hey smiled and tasted the bottle he'd just opened. "Sofia, as much as I love Aftos and your hospitality, I will have to leave soon."
  
  
  'Yes. You need my husband's wolf.
  
  
  "I don't need all that wolf," I said quickly. "What he has with him is enough."
  
  
  'That's impossible.'
  
  
  'Impossible? Her quickly took a sip of wine. He could already imagine making his way back, trying to keep the ferocious beast under control without losing a single piece of bone in the process. "You can't separate these two things."
  
  
  "I mean," she said softly, " I don't have that wolf.
  
  
  'Is he missing? Escaped? Or mad?
  
  
  "He's at Karak's."
  
  
  I heard Stahl's voice grow louder. "Who is this Karak?"
  
  
  There was a long silence. Sophia turned to face the morning sun. The first rays of sunlight sparkled in her hair, illuminating her high cheekbones and ivory neck. Her eyes seemed to catch the ego's warmth, but when she looked at me, they were colder and more implacable than ever. So did her voice when she finally continued in Serbian-Croatian. "First I'll tell you how Polgar died, Nick. He and nine others were caught in an army ambush, just like mine, which you escaped when you entered Cerna Gora. They didn't stand a chance.
  
  
  Cerna Gora means Montenegro in Serbian. I asked her: "Have your egos given up, Sofia?"
  
  
  She nodded. "The traitor was the one around us, tired of fighting and convinced of a big reward.
  
  
  He died a well-deserved traitor's death. We bent two trees together and tied the ego between them. Then we cut the ropes holding the trees together."
  
  
  "But the killing doesn't end there," the Padra growled.
  
  
  "We are now in the midst of a civil war. We must decide who will lead us after Polgar's death.
  
  
  "But we split in two.
  
  
  "The other half," I said, " is Karak?"
  
  
  'Yes. Evan Karak, my husband's lieutenant. He commands most of it, Nick. He controls most of the camp, and we are the outcasts.
  
  
  'You? But you're a Milan woman.
  
  
  "Here, a woman is seen as a man's cohabitant, not as an egoist," she said ruefully. "And Karak has a wolf."
  
  
  "She means the ego sword," Padra explained. "The wolf died with Polgar, and Karak skinned him. He uses the ego as a totem, as proof that he is Polgar's rightful heir. Even worse, the men obey and follow him like bleating, frightened sheep.
  
  
  "Life here is tough, and the struggle for Croatian independence is long, maybe too long. The bosses lost their soul along with their youth, " Sofia sighed. — But this is for estestvenno. As you get older, you want to hold on more tightly to what's left."
  
  
  "Bah," the Padra said angrily. "We have to attack. We must avenge Polgar and our fallen brothers. But no! We in Aptos are once again fighting the past and playing games to forget about the future. According to Karak, we are realists, and I think we are rotting here."
  
  
  "But you know why it's impossible for us, Nick," Sophia said. "There are a lot of people on Karak's side, and he will remain in power as long as he has this wolf fur. He won't say no. I'm sorry that you came here anyway, and now you have to come back empty-handed.
  
  
  Hers, I thought for a moment as a bitter feeling ran through my body. Then he asked her in German: Does Karak know about this della, Sofia?
  
  
  "Of course not," she replied in German. "Polgar and I kept it a secret."
  
  
  "So whatever it is, it's still there?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  He stood up, stretched, and gave himself up to the inevitable, saying her in Serbo-Croatian: "Then there's only one thing left."
  
  
  "And this?"
  
  
  We need to get this sword out of Karak."
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  Sophia gasped as her eyes widened. — No, that's impossible!
  
  
  'I have to do it.'
  
  
  The padra opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped her. "Look, I understand your problem and I sympathize with you," I said. I didn't travel halfway around the world and climb this godforsaken mountain just to come back empty-handed. I have to do my job, and it's damn important. And Karak must understand that.
  
  
  "He'll kill you."
  
  
  "Yes, Padra. Maybe.'
  
  
  "Tell him all about..."'
  
  
  "No, Sofia. This remains our secret.
  
  
  — But what are you going to do?" .. ?
  
  
  I don't know her yet. I'll go somewhere. She stood up awkwardly, wondering if there was anything else worthwhile I could tell them. But it wasn't. "Tell me where to find ego and wish me luck," I said.
  
  
  "Nick, we can't let you do this.
  
  
  — You'll have to shoot me if you want to stop me." The Padra's face hardened and darkened until it looked like mahogany. Suddenly he roared: "Then let's go
  
  
  all.'
  
  
  "You don't need it," I said. "This wolf skin...'
  
  
  — This is as important to us as it is to you, Carter. He turned and shouted at the others. "What cowards we are to let this stranger do our job. We have to fight Karak and solve this corkscrew once and for all.
  
  
  "But the Hash. We are so few and Karak has so many people .. He stifled her protest with a smashing right hand to the ground and a furious curse. There was another heavy silence, and I had the oppressive feeling that the wolf of Milan was becoming a symbol that the two sides would clash over. And I'll be at the center of it when the blood starts flowing. One by one, the men nodded and agreed with the Padra, until finally there was a general loud shout for us to go. Sophia came to stand beside me, her eyes dark and menacing.
  
  
  "Come on," she said, raising the rifle in the air. "We'll all go."
  
  
  "And quickly," the Padra shouted, " before we lose heart again."
  
  
  Thunderous laughter was the answer, but laughter was the last thing on her mind. I didn't like the idea of taking ih to the slaughterhouse. Sofia walked beside me down the narrow aisle, her shoulders squared and her phenomenal chest puffed out proudly. She walked like a man, without vanity or courtship, though from time to time her thigh brushed mine .
  
  
  We must have looked like an old poster when we entered the city. You know, these posters: a heroic peasant couple, stoically looking to the future, he with his hand on the levers of his giant car, and she with a sheaf of wheat in her hands. Only I didn't have such a cute toy, and Sofia was holding an old shotgun. Behind us was a motley crew, dressed in rags and holding weapons. Almighty God . ..
  
  
  We walked through overgrown streets between the hulks of brick and concrete buildings. Once, the lower floors were mostly tabernacles, small shops with wooden awnings on hinges that could be lowered to serve as counters. The upper floors were houses with balconies and staircases, and the roofs were covered with tiles. But now old Afthos was dead, scarred by the weather and neglect, until there was nothing left of him but a pile of overgrown rubble.
  
  
  From time to time, single women passed by mimmo, mostly dressed head-to-toe in black. They hurried on, pausing only for a moment to turn and look after us. The narrow streets were crowded with people, some old and proud, but more often young, with blushing faces and cynical or timid eyes and an indecisive gait.
  
  
  — Didn't you and the Padre say that the people here are old?" I asked her, Sophia, curiously.
  
  
  "These are the ones who have gathered around Karak, and who we have known for many years. But Karak also recruited new ones. Her lips curled in a sneeze. "They say they're here to fight for a good cause, but sometimes I wonder how deep ih's intentions are. I'm particularly interested in Karak.
  
  
  "At least it sounds crazy."
  
  
  "We're not just thieves," she said. Then she thought for a moment, not quite finishing her sentence.
  
  
  Like most Roman cities, Mount Athos Mistletoe was shaped like a wasp and was located symmetrically around an avenue, above which the temple towered. There is almost nothing left of this temple, but when we reached the steps leading up to it, Sofia pointed and said: "You can't see the ego anymore, Nick. And on the other side of Vigilus ' house. It was the biggest and best house, and it is still ferret-kept in better condition than the other houses, so this is where Karak stayed. It was there once, " she added bitterly.
  
  
  "Vigilus, Mayor, isn't it?"
  
  
  "More like a garrison commander. The provincial governor lived in Split. On the della itself, this city was founded by the pagan emperor Diocletian. Aptos was a small border post, and Vigilus was responsible for the small garrison, and the slaves who worked in the quarries and trained to be gladiators.
  
  
  You can still see the pens and dungeons, " said the Padra, who came up to us. He waved his hook at the sunken amphitheater. " They died there ... or lived to die in Rime."
  
  
  He studied the long oval bowl. "It looks like it's still in use,"I said after seeing how good the condition was.
  
  
  "So it is," the Padra continued. "We have always used the ego for target shooting and sports. Not so long ago, when Polgar was still alive, Karak suggested using ego for other games — old games.
  
  
  "Gladiator colors? You're kidding me.'
  
  
  "Not to the death, but exactly as they are ancient Roman competitions." Sophia shook her head sadly. "Polgar didn't approve of it, but he trusted Karak as his lieutenant, and it seemed like harmless fun at the time."
  
  
  "The Romans, too," I said.
  
  
  "And, as with the Romans, its popularity has increased." Taking a deep breath, the Padraig climbed the steps. "It's pure madness to fight each other. When will it end?
  
  
  "By Karak," Sophia said grimly, and led the way upstairs.
  
  
  For the temple was a large square, and just beyond it was a dilapidated villa surrounded by the remains of a wall. Without hesitation, we headed towards the villa.
  
  
  "Vote exactly," Sophia said, and for the first time he could hear the tremor in her voice. The men joined us from behind, glancing furtively at each other and muttering their voices. The atmosphere was calm: a charged calm that precedes a severe thunderstorm, and everyone around us was well aware of this. The dreary morning saint didn't follow us into the villa. We walked down an echoing corridor with flickering torches. Then we entered a large rectangular room lit by three-legged braziers. The smell of burning oil hung heavy in the air. Centuries ago, the villa was decorated with decorations of position and wealth: heavy carpets, hand-laid mosaic floors and rich frescoes. Now the carpets were gone, the floor was cracked and muddy, it creaked underfoot, and the paint was tarnished or cracked. Now there was no other furniture except a long chair of rough wood and a couple of benches, on which about twenty people stared at us wildly.
  
  
  My gaze darted along the chair to a small dais at the other end of the room. The dais was surrounded by several stone blocks, and was covered with cloths and hides that were very worn. On the nen there was a round chair without a back, logically called a Roman chair, and again a three-legged brazier.
  
  
  There was a man sitting in this chair. Ego studied her in the uncertain light of the brazier. He was stout, with a thick curly beard that covered his ego's face, and his face was covered with cruel lines and scars. He was dressed in the rumpled khaki uniform worn by Castro's guerrillas, and his long black hair was decorated with a police cap.
  
  
  He had MAB's automatic pistol in his lap, and he was petting it as if it were his favorite toy.
  
  
  He looked at me with particular interest and asked: "Who are you?"
  
  
  "Nick Carter."
  
  
  He sel outspoken. Stahl's voice is sharper. "I've heard of you, Carter.
  
  
  — I've heard of you before." Its not Stahl adding what he heard about nen. "You are Evan Karak, Polgar Milan's lieutenant.
  
  
  "Milan is dead."
  
  
  'I know that.'
  
  
  "That's why I can't be an ego lieutenant anymore." Karak stroked his beard for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You're in bad company, Carter.
  
  
  'They're my friends. I mean, we're all friends of Milan, " I said calmly. "But she's here for herself.
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "To get the skin of Milan's wolf."
  
  
  There was silence. Karak looked openly at me with dark, angry eyes. "Ego skin?" — What is it? " he asked sharply. 'For what? To give the ego of trips, photos, music, etc. to a bunch of discontented people?
  
  
  Beside me, the Padra was moving in a violent rage, and he put a hand on emu's shoulder to calm her down. "No," Karaku told him. "But because of this." He took a deep breath and burned, improvising as he spoke. "I met Milan many years ago in Berlin. He once said to me, "Nick, I'm going home now, but don't ever forget me. Go back to your American people, don't forget me." And he didn't die, we can add up the dollar, we can add up the dollar of many freedom-loving Americans."
  
  
  At that moment, Karak's men began to mutter and move restlessly, and one around them suddenly shouted: "It's a trap." The other shouted: "Not this emu!"
  
  
  He turned and saw that the speakers were young men, presumably two of Karak's new recruits. It made sense. I turned back to the platform, and Karak's eyes met mine, full of mockery.
  
  
  "You're a stranger here, Carter," he said. "You don't understand how things are with us."
  
  
  I'm tired of being called a stranger. Suddenly I was tired of this whole damned feud. — I came for myself, but not just for myself, " I snapped at him. — This sword doesn't belong to us, to you, to us, to me, to us, to you, to the photos, to the music. But it belongs to the entire outdoor pool. It's a symbol of what Milan died for. It is a symbol of freedom and independence for the peoples of all countries."
  
  
  There was another hum of voices and the movement of two men. For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. Then one of the older men at the table said in surprise: "Can you do it for us?"
  
  
  'Yes. And her word has been spread, and it will mean support and money for you. Give me that."
  
  
  Her really got carried away. All I needed right now was fireworks and a flag to get me elected president. The excitement in the room was great, and it felt like I could get Sofia and her gang out of here alive.
  
  
  In the din of the next discussion, the old man's voice could be clearly heard. "I say we should give the emu this hide," he said. "The world needs to hear about our struggle, and if Carter can...'
  
  
  "Nonsense," Karak snorted. "It's all a lie. Still. . His bitter ego eyes glittered strangely, and he slowly began to smile. It was an ugly smile. He bent down, picked up the gray fur coat, and clutched it painfully in his hand. "You want this sword?" All right, come get him. I don't want you anywhere near Sofia or Padra, in case it's your trick to discredit me. It was probably an ego trick. He looked crafty enough to do anything. But I walked up to him and was almost within arm's reach when he told me to stop. Then he threw the hide at my feet. Ee grabbed it and quickly ran his fingers over nah, searching for the small knot at the back of her neck. Ego examined her, twice, three times, half-turning to hide his search from Karaz.
  
  
  "Karak," I said coldly. "It's not the wolf of Milan."
  
  
  Karak snorted, his hand clenching convulsively on the pistol. Stahl's ego voice is loud and threatening. 'Don't be silly. I saw the wolf die myself, and I took the skin off. Are you calling me a liar?
  
  
  "It's not the wolf of Milan."
  
  
  Karak tensed, choking with anger, and then suddenly laughed. This person was clearly crazy, and this made the ego a hundred times more dangerous, and all ego actions unpredictable. He turned to his men, his fleshy face turning leaden beneath his beard. "He's got guts, this Carter guy," he breathed fiercely. "He comes in as if we are ego subordinates, claims that this is not my skin and accuses me of lying. What a joke!'
  
  
  The young people obviously agreed with him. They were bent over laughing, though they kept their eyes on me, us with the trips, the photos, the music, us with the small group holding knives and firearms.
  
  
  I asked her. "Where's the real wolf?" — You're hiding it?"
  
  
  Ego's face suddenly became serious, his ham-like hands grabbed MAB and he aimed ego at my chest. "Take the skin,"he said, his ego voice cold and clear, cutting through the hum like a lancet. "Take it, Carter. And get your jackals before it cooks up all around you, all the soap.
  
  
  Padra snarled from behind,"You don't seem to know what to do with this, Karak."
  
  
  Karak spat angrily, his thumb turning white on the trigger. There was a growing howl of dark rage from the egos of people waiting for a single word to set ih free. It would be a massacre, the floor would be covered with our blood. Karak stood up. Ego's eyes were blazing madly.
  
  
  Her, jumped forward. One man rose up to defend Karak. Without thinking twice, he snatched the rifle from his hand and slammed the butt of it into his ego's face. He screamed and fell backward. Behind me, Karak's men were shouting in a wild excitement that spread like wildfire. Karak, surprised by my quick attack, tripped over the seat and fell with a strange squeak. Then ego grabbed her by the hair, yanked her up, and drew the gun at ego's weak fingers.
  
  
  It was rammed into him by a barrel, just as his men were about to storm the platform. Her, screamed. - 'Stay here!'Or he will die first!
  
  
  The two men froze, and for a split second, they seemed to freeze. Some of them touched their weapons, as if they weren't sure I meant it, but none of them took the risk.
  
  
  "Padra," I said, " Sofia." And the rest. Come here.'
  
  
  The padraig laughed heartily when he reached me.
  
  
  "I didn't doubt you," I growled. — So I'll get you out again, too." Is there a way out?
  
  
  "Over there," the Padra said, pointing to a gate almost hidden in the shadows. There were at least a dozen grim-faced men standing between us and the gate.
  
  
  "Order them, Karak," I said. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his eyes rolling back in their pink sockets, beads of blood forming on his forehead. He was again roughly poked in the liver by ego. He shouted an order, and the men muttered as they obeyed the emu.
  
  
  K day a trail was formed. Ego started dragging her off the platform. He stumbled, but he had no choice. He tightened his grip on ego's arm and pushed the emu's gun deep into his ribs to make it fit. I could smell the terrible bank's ego.
  
  
  "You won't survive, dog," he groaned.
  
  
  "Then you don't have to survive either," emu promised her grimly. "You will live as long as we do."
  
  
  Karak obviously thought that we would kill him once we passed this passageway. Because he would have done it under them under different circumstances. In a frenzy of desperation, he struggled, clawing and biting. I don't believe he was aware of what he was doing at the time. Pure animal panic was too strong in nen for that. But my hand was too close to ego's mouth when his was struggling with it, and he bit it. My reaction was involuntary and automatic: the gun had dropped her. Ego was still holding her hand, but then Padra accidentally tripped over me, further stripping me of my counterweights, and Karak broke free. He broke through the cordon, shouting. 'Kill ih. Kill ih.'
  
  
  There wasn't even time to curse myself. The old Turkish sword lashed out at me with a savage blow. I cringed, and the thing grazed my scalp. Then he saw another opportunity and, bending down, tore the largest cloth on the stage, and it fell apart like a tablecloth on a set table. She landed on the floor with several other men trying to sneak up on us from behind. Then the tripod staggered and fell with a crash. Burning oil splashed through the air in a wide arc. The rain of fire hissed and splashed on the cold floor, and lava flows burst into flames, causing complete confusion and horror in the room. The nine of us dove in the direction of the exit, throwing backhands and right punches all around us. Karak cursed the devil and his old nut together. The padra was throwing bodies around almost as fast as he was cursing. Sofia used an old Mannlicher as a baseball bat. Ego a single shot wasn't worth much against this horde, even if hey, there was a chance to aim.
  
  
  Another of Onin's men came up to me from the side. It hit his ego so hard that he bounced back in the overturned brazier. He reacted as if he'd walked into a hornet's nest and jumped up in a wild dance, slapping his hands against the steaming back of his pants. The Padra spun around and knocked down the man who was trying to attack Sofia. The third was with a brief leg before he could use his .45 caliber. The other two cautiously approached and stood up, ready to hit me in the head. Padra caught one and hers took the other, then we both hit ih heads against each other. They fell like two eggs, so that ih would trample the others. It was more like an old-fashioned bar fight than anything else.
  
  
  At last we came to a massive old wall made of thick logs held together by crossbeams. We opened it and slammed it shut, breaking che's thumb. The Padra slammed the door shut over the sound of the scream.
  
  
  "Hey will have to hold up ih for a while," he said.
  
  
  "Maybe for a minute," I said grimly. The door was already being violently knocked on. Her, heard Karak shouting orders. "No axes, you idiots. Blow the damn door to shreds. Blow it up. Kill ih. Don't let them escape.
  
  
  Her quickly looked around to count the people, almost blind, in the dark. There were only six of us left, one man moaning in pain, one ego arm as powerless as a broken wing pinned to his chest, and the other with a blood-soaked face.
  
  
  'What is this door? The Padre asked her.
  
  
  "You thought they'd use a door like this for a lousy seraglio?"
  
  
  "So, where are we going?"
  
  
  Pass-go outside, " he said simply.
  
  
  "Then we'd better leave," emu told her, " before they come to their senses and go around the villa."
  
  
  The Padra went into the darkness, into a narrow corridor completely hidden by darkness. Sofia grabbed my arm and walked beside me, cursing and growling almost continuously as she stumbled over invisible debris.
  
  
  As abruptly as we had entered the inky darkness, we were out again all over nah, into a beam of bright sunlight that momentarily blinded us. A shadow appeared out of nowhere, dim in an unfamiliar light. Instinctively, ego knocked her out, feeling full satisfaction from the torn tendons and nerves. The padra shouted, and we all followed ego, a huge figure racing through the villa's backyard. The sound of boots was only a few feet behind us.
  
  
  We came to the moan of the villa, which is engaged in miraculously surviving. The Padra and three other men climbed over the nach, and Rivn stopped just long enough to push Sofia after them. She held out her hand to me from above, putting her foot on the other side of the wall, and together we were on the street, on the other side. A searing rain of lead hissed over us and lashed the top of the wall where we'd been sitting.
  
  
  Padra pointed the hook in the direction we should go. We could hear Karak's men running back and forth on the other side of the wall, looking for a crumbling place to pass through. Then we turned a corner, went down a narrow alley, crossed a courtyard, and raced through the bumpy ruins of ruined houses.
  
  
  "Here, they're here!" came a shout from behind us. We didn't dare stop to look back. "They passed through here. Here! Cut off the ih.
  
  
  The Padra disappeared into the Thermal Baths, the building that once housed the bathhouse. At one time, it was a richly decorated building, especially for such a remote outpost as
  
  
  Aptos. But they probably had nothing else to do between the two gladiatorial tournaments. We entered the calidarium, a huge central hall with a Jacuzzi, too open to be comfortable. We ran to the smaller rooms at the back as Karak's men appeared and started shooting at us.
  
  
  We came to the frigidarium where the cold bath had once been, and Odin was spinning around us, blood gushing down ego's chest. We left ego there, dead, and hurried through the smaller apoditherium, the Roman equivalent of a locker room, and down several flights of stairs to the lower level.
  
  
  — What's the Padra's plan?" I asked her, Sofia, breathing hard. "We have no chance of getting ahead of ih."
  
  
  'We . .."we're trying to get to the sewers," she hissed breathlessly.
  
  
  The padra stopped in front of a large sandstone box. Only darkness was apparent down there. "Down," he ordered curtly, and without hesitation, he dived. We followed him blindly and went down into the mud and water. Sofia landed on my chest and pushed me into the mud.
  
  
  "Hurry, hurry," the Padra said urgently, and we stumbled after him, relying mostly on the sound of ego's gurgling footsteps. The two remaining men were covering the retreat.
  
  
  "Be careful where you put your feet," Sophia warned me. "I don't wear shoes."
  
  
  — What happened to your shoes?"
  
  
  "Gone," she said laconically, and continued. I ran beside her, my pants sticking to my legs and rubbing the skin on the inside of my thighs. We made our way through a maze of smelly, dark tunnels, never stopping long in the same place, but always turning into one around the corridors in one direction or another. The shouts and shaggy cries of our pursuers echoed around us, and it was impossible to tell ih distance or direction. Panting, we ran on.
  
  
  I managed to ask her. "Are we going to hide here?"
  
  
  'No . .. None . Karak will guard the entrances to keep us out... if... with rats trapped. We must ... get to the quarry where we will camp. We're here . ... safe, " Sophia breathed.
  
  
  Suddenly, we heard the sound of footsteps running across the stone plain in front of us, just around the next corner. The Padra stopped in a rage when a figure came around the corner and walked almost openly into my arms. She was spun around and the emu's fist slammed into her head with all its strength. The air escaped through the ego of his lungs, and he fell headfirst into the muddy water.
  
  
  The second person started to step aside as he came around the corner and pointed his Mauser at me. He paused automatically, waiting for the shot to go off. But at that moment, a thunderous sound rang out in my ears, and the ego target disappeared in a red blur. The man collapsed on the rocks, and she saw the Padre standing over him with a gun in his left hand.
  
  
  I didn't waste any time. The rest of Karak's men were firing around the corner in a blind attempt to kill us. Lead shot up and whined in an overture of ricocheting bullets and sharp shards of rock at our ears.
  
  
  He bent down to pick up the Mauser, but then the Padra asked, " What's the matter?": "Would you prefer Karak's weapon?"
  
  
  "Sure, but I gave it up."
  
  
  He handed me the gun, which was still smoking. "As the second-in-command, ego claimed it for himself, but in fact, you should have it."
  
  
  "Thank you, Padra," I said, and took the Mauser.
  
  
  "They got to the amphitheater faster than I expected," he growled over the wild clatter of bullets. "Now we're trapped."
  
  
  "Is there no other way out?"
  
  
  But that was recently. If we go back, they'll come around the corner and shoot us to shreds.
  
  
  "If we don't," Sophia said anxiously, " those behind us will catch up with us and kill us." It's hopeless.
  
  
  "Well," I said, " maybe I can catch up." He reached in a minute and pulled out a gas bomb.
  
  
  It was a newer, improved version: smaller, lighter, and more concentrated. It was the size and shape of a sweet potato and mistletoe special ignition, so it couldn't accidentally trigger if it fell at the wrong moment. It was pulled out by cheku and I had two seconds.
  
  
  It was thrown by ego into the corner in front of us, where it darted between a group of men on the other side. She heard a startled cry as one of the men around them hit hey, on the ground, and the bomb went off with a bang. Noise is half the psychological effect, as the AH methods told me. Smoke and smoke filled the passage.
  
  
  Instantly, we heard Karak's men gasping for breath, then moaning and gagging. Now they were staggering, feeling sick, and their lungs were opening more than they hurt.
  
  
  Around them, Odin stumbled around the corner, doubled over in pain and nausea, his face contorted with misery. The padra let out a wild roar and swung his hook into the man's neck. He fell like a bull that had been impaled.
  
  
  "Don't inhale," I said warningly. 'Run!' We ran. We turned and raced back the way we'd come, until Padra found another tunnel. We entered it, and it led us again through a network of underground pipes, up slopes to side sewers, and then down again to descend into the main sewers, and sometimes just in a circle, twisting and turning. Her lost all sense of direction. Our escape took on the character of a strange vault.
  
  
  At one point, we stopped under a crumbling hole with a dilapidated staircase leading up to the pale sky above us. We went upstairs as soon as possible and took a little breath when we found that this exit was unguarded.
  
  
  The opening gave access to a field full of rocks and bushes. On the other side of the field was a cliff that sloped down slowly, and when we reached the end of it, the Padra pointed down and said, " Well! We'll follow it and then go to the quarry.
  
  
  The quarry was a vast valley that didn't look like her hand had dug a giant one. The ego sides were shaggy, regular terraces of brown veined rock and parapets bordered by thorny thickets and ugly, stocky trees. He could almost imagine the slaves beating under Roman whips as he went downstairs.
  
  
  "I used to live in Berlin," Sophie said sadly. "Then in Aptos. And now the vote is here.
  
  
  This should be the thread of the world.
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  The camp was located on a plateau overlooking the western quarries. It consisted of two ruined huts that I believe were the legionnaire's barracks and command post. Of course, it was designed as a defense against a possible slave revolt, with only one entrance, and the rest of the slopes, steep and completely inaccessible. It was safe enough, as safe as their hideout could have been under the other circumstances.
  
  
  The mountain air was cold, even now, after noon, and a small fire was burning in a niche in the moan of the largest hut. Odin around the men pressed his back to the same moans, humming to himself. The other man was crouched openly by the gate, rifle in his lap, peering down the single path.
  
  
  Hers was in the smallest hut, which also served as a bedroom, kitchen, storage room, and armory for travel, photography, and music. Sofia and Padra were with me. The three of them were squatting on a mattress of trips, photos, music, the most comfortable place in the room. We had a bottle of wine that ran out very quickly while we were still talking to a friend.
  
  
  "Karak won't bother us any more," the Padra said in a low voice. "Not as long as we're safe here.
  
  
  "There aren't many of us left to fight him if he attacks," I said. "There are four of us besides you and me."
  
  
  "Yes, but Karak tried to storm the camp once before, when we were driven out around Mount Athos and went here to continue the fight. We didn't shoot to kill, of course, but we accidentally wounded several of them. It was a great moral defeat for him."
  
  
  "We had more people then," Sofia said. "Still, two or three good shooters can repel an attack."
  
  
  "What worries me more," the Padra continued, " is that Karak will keep us under siege until we die of hunger and thirst. Ego the young recruits have already surrounded the plateau.
  
  
  I asked her. "How long can we hold out here?"
  
  
  Padra picked up a handful of dirt and let it slowly seep through his fingers. He didn't answer.
  
  
  "Let him try," Sophia breathed. "We will never give up."
  
  
  The padra laughed at her resistance. "You fight well as a woman."
  
  
  "Good enough to save your skin?" she said proudly. "Or have you forgotten that I saved you when Nick almost killed you?"
  
  
  The giant coughed, turned back to me, and quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of skins, it really wasn't my skin?"
  
  
  He glanced at Sophia. She nodded, and he said to em. "There was no pocket around my neck. I do not know what kind of wolf skin it was, but it was not Milan's wolf.
  
  
  "Ugh," the Padra said. "We were all fooled by Karak's fairy tales . But where is the real skin?
  
  
  "Only Karak knows that," Sofia muttered.
  
  
  And I'll have to find out.
  
  
  They looked at Nah in surprise. — You mean you're going back?" The Padra asked.
  
  
  "No," Sophia said with surprising vehemence. "It was bad enough for the first time, and Karak wasn't even expecting us. Now he is ready and knows no mercy."
  
  
  He got up and started pacing the room like a caged animal. "I don't think he expects us to do anything openly right now. If we act now while he still thinks we're on the defensive ... '
  
  
  "Ah, but that group of men is down there," Padra denied the media reports to me, shaking his head. 'Still. .. '
  
  
  "You see," Sophia pleaded. "Don't try, Nick. Please...'
  
  
  "We're going to have to go through this sooner or later, and I think the sooner the better."
  
  
  "Nick's right, Sofia." With a serious sigh, the Padra rose to his feet. "Our camp has become a trap. We have to go.
  
  
  'Good. But we don't need to go back to Aptos.
  
  
  'How? You mean we'll run away like beaten dogs and give Karak the victory right away? Didn't you just say that we will never give up?
  
  
  There was an awkward silence in the car. Our breathing sounded very loud in the narrow confines of the stone walls. The padra came up to me and held up his hook significantly.
  
  
  "I know my compatriots. Without the silver tongue of Karak to confuse ih, they will listen to common sense. Without this skin, they will see the ego naked. After a few hours, these people will get tired of waiting, and their anger will cool down day by day. Maybe we can sneak in later.
  
  
  "Through the sewers?"
  
  
  'Yes . .. and no. Few people know, but in Roman cities there was central heating. Large bonfires in the basements and channels in the walls to let in hot air.
  
  
  "But that's impossible, Padra! Sophia exclaimed. "This is pure suicide."
  
  
  "But it must be done," the Padra said dispassionately. Then he yawned and added, " Don't wake me up too late. In the meantime, I'll sleep with her. You can continue the discussion with Carter if you want. The padre left the hut with a knowing smile.
  
  
  "Pull down the curtain," Sophia said, referring to the blanket that served as the door. He loosened the rope that held her ego in place, and she fell into the hole.
  
  
  "Come and sit next to me."
  
  
  When he was back on the mattress, she snuggled up to me and asked softly, " Nick, do you really need to go back to that skin?"
  
  
  "And you know I have to do it."
  
  
  "You've already done more than anyone can do. Pricesnoughts more. If I were you, she would have left Mount Athos before I was tortured or defeated in a battle that wasn't even mine .
  
  
  "I can tell her the same thing about you, Sophia. Polgar is dead.
  
  
  "This is my fight, Nick. I made her mine . He didn't say anything else, just stroked her silky black hair.
  
  
  "On her twenty-fifth birthday, I woke up with the sad feeling that I had lived for a quarter of a century without achieving anything. Polgara Milana met her shortly afterwards." She spoke calmly, her eyes thoughtful. "Now that he's gone, Aptos is all I have left to believe in."
  
  
  "You're still young. You can find another person.
  
  
  "Yes," she said, stroking my face with her fingertips. — But then you don't want to settle for less than the best." Please, let's finish our wine.
  
  
  We broke the bottle. Her chopsticks were stained with booze, and her breathing was a little heavier. "Don't go," she whispered. "Tell your men that the hide has been destroyed."
  
  
  "But I know it's not, Sofia, and that's enough to keep things moving. There is one more thing: the promise he made to the people of Jzan.
  
  
  "Yes, her, I remember you said that the city is being invaded, and you want to help them."
  
  
  "Help," I said sarcastically. "The perfect help is Aptos."
  
  
  "You'll get help," she promised. — You'll get it somehow, if the one around us survives." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Please don't go," she said again. "I don't want you to die."
  
  
  "If anyone is going to die, it's that cocky bastard with the beard."
  
  
  'You're crazy. As crazy as Polgar, " she screamed. Then she lunged at me and pressed her wet lips to mine with savage force .
  
  
  She broke free as suddenly as she'd clung, leaving us both gasping for more. A ray of sunlight shone through the crack in the moans and lit up her face, and saw her smile, which was now both sad and warm and tender at the same time. Ee pulled her close and greedily kissed her wet, open mouth. Our kisses ignited an uncontrollable fire. "Yes, yes," she moaned as he unzipped her and took off her blouse. 'Yes . .. '
  
  
  In one motion, he pulled her down, unzipped her pants, and pulled on her luscious thighs. I could feel the warmth of her body as she moved toward me, sliding her pants down my legs. Now she was wearing only her panties, and somehow this extraordinary woman managed to find the silky-to-touch and very small ones, a glimpse of her femininity in a world made up of violent and ruthless men. Her panties were pulled down, and her buttocks and thighs were free for my exploring hands. Slowly, he ran his hand over her stomach and thighs, then slid it deep between her legs. She moaned and trembled with desire.
  
  
  Sofia helped me out of my clothes, nervously pulling on my pants and sweater, exposing my body to the cold air of the cabin. We lay back on the bed and hugged in silence, enjoying each other's touch in the dark.
  
  
  Passionately, our lips merged together, and all the tenderness was thrown overboard. Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me close as she nibbled on my lips, sucked my tongue deep into her mouth, and ran her nails deep into my back. Her, felt her rough lust, her nipples hardening on my chest, her body moving as she moaned constantly.
  
  
  Faint cries of animal delight escaped her throat as she hugged me. Her face was contorted with lust, her mouth moving hungrily, her hips opening and closing rhythmically around me. We no longer felt anything but incredible excitement now. I lifted my thrusts, and a wonderful ache of pleasure made her toss and turn beneath me. "Ah, ah, оооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооочичичичихауууу!" Stop it! " she screamed. I could only feel the huge tension growing inside me and the friction of our bodies against each other.
  
  
  Then she screamed, screamed with an almost unbearable intensity of pleasure, and everything in our bodies seemed to merge together in a final explosion.
  
  
  When it was over, we fell into a happy, dreamless sleep, our bodies gently entwined.
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  We left the huts just before sunset. Her, felt refreshed after the arches, but cold. Sofia insisted on leaving her ragged leather jacket and putting on an extra sweater instead. He tucked both sweaters into his pants and tucked the MAB into his belt. Sofia changed into a clean pair of trousers and shirt and found a pair of shoes. She assured me that they were laces that wouldn't break. In the setting sun, her face was golden and extremely beautiful. Her lips were full and red.
  
  
  The padra came out of the other hut, shaking his shoulders and scratching his chest with a hook. He had the same knowing look in his eyes, and when Sophia saw him approaching, she blushed deeply and hurried back to the hut to find something to do .
  
  
  "All done?" I asked curtly, ignoring Ego's glare.
  
  
  "As ready as possible. He turned to go back to the quarry. "She's a wildcat," he said softly, " but even wildcats have a dollar to add up to."
  
  
  Hers, nodded in agreement.
  
  
  The shadows were long in the setting sun, and the trail along the eastern slope was a ribbon of dust. Far below them were huge boulders that probably hid Karak's men, and toward these boulders were treacherous shards of shale. The shale was like dry quicksand, and Stahl was a trap for anyone who tried to climb up or down it. But the path would be too well-guarded to attempt something like this.
  
  
  "We could go another way," the Padra suggested grimly.
  
  
  'Not good. The sun is rising there, and the people of Karak can count us on their fingers who will try this direction if we don't use the trail. I think we should take the path. We'll be in the shadows, and they won't think we're trying to get through.
  
  
  "Good idea, Carter," the Padra said.
  
  
  Noiselessly we slid down from the top of the plateau to the ledge above the shale strip. We moved cautiously, guns drawn, and began to slide down the shale slope.
  
  
  Now we were outdoors, and every inch of our dips was an agonizing struggle with the loose shale. This required us to concentrate fully, and if Karak's men noticed us now, we wouldn't have a chance. With every step I took, I expected to be shot. My muscles clenched in a violent spasm as I gripped the rutted ground and slid down short stretches too steep to go any other way. Time seemed to have stopped, but gradually huge boulders loomed up in front of us.
  
  
  Finally we reached the limit of the shale slope. I rolled between the first rocks I hit, and Padra followed me. "We did it," he grinned at me. "Now let's finish these bastards off. There are only Karak recruits here, and no one around my former brothers. This time, I won't shoot her just to hurt her."
  
  
  He nodded in agreement, then set off across the desolate, brutal landscape, through the undergrowth and around the boulders. For most of the day, Padra and I crept along, keeping a constant eye on the trail. Karak's sentries couldn't be far away, and the trail would bring us together at a convenient time.
  
  
  Suddenly we came to a deep ditch where once, many centuries ago,a huge boulder had come off and crashed across the valley floor, leaving a deep trail. A bull crept cautiously to the edge of the pool with the Padre crawling behind, and then, whispering over his shoulder, said:: "Two men."
  
  
  The padra moved a little closer so that he could see over the edge. There was a gentle slope of about twenty meters ahead. Two bandits were standing on the beach, sheltered from the fierce wind, their guns leaning against the rocks. One man rolled a cigarette and the other drank around the bottle. — Didn't I tell you that?" The Padra said contemptuously. "These are not freedom fighters. They are criminals. They don't have any political understanding. They have nothing to do here in Aptos.
  
  
  I remembered the words of trips, photos, and music: "We are not just thieves." The next moment, the Padra was pointing his rifle at the bottle.
  
  
  "No, — I hissed, pushing Ego's hand away. "If you shoot, the noise will attract everyone else."
  
  
  "You're right," he sighed. "I'm sorry, Carter.
  
  
  I told the emu to cover me, and then I jumped down into the trench, pointing the MAB at them.
  
  
  They couldn't reach their weapons in time, and thankfully, they didn't even try. They slowly straightened up, holding their hands above their heads, their faces filled with confusion.
  
  
  "Padra," he called over her shoulder. "Come here and get an ih weapon."
  
  
  He slid over the edge of the trench and headed for the sentries, out of the line of fire of my machine gun in case of resistance.
  
  
  Suddenly, a group of armed men appeared from behind the blind spot. They stood there for a while, their faces full of confusion and amazement, then they opened fire. The lead ricocheted around Padra and me with a whoosh.
  
  
  He darted to the side and raised his submachine gun to respond to the deadly attack. The Padra dived behind a rocky ledge, coolly aiming each bullet at them . The group of attackers dispersed, leaving two dead and three wounded. She was shot by another man when he reached the end of the hollow. Another man, a hulking mustachioed thug, almost ran into me when he fell with a Padra's bullet in his chest. He stepped aside and fired at the rat-faced man who was aiming at the Padra. He jerked back, then fell forward, sliding across what was left of his face.
  
  
  The gunfire died down as Karak's men regrouped, and he was able to join the Padre before the shooting broke out again.
  
  
  I asked her. "How are you?"
  
  
  "Well, accuracy is worse than iht," he said, reloading the Mauser. There was no ammunition for the MAB in the hut for trips, photos, and music, and it was used by the last round. Around Odin and Karak's men, Odin darted from cover to cover, but the ground gave way and he slipped. He fired his last shot. Gawk got the emu in the buckle and disappeared into the corner of life. There I stood with my empty pistol, now nothing more than an expensive and sophisticated metal baton.
  
  
  "Padra, they'll surround us."
  
  
  "Yes, and I'm afraid we've made enough noise to attract the entire ih company."
  
  
  "Then let's get the hell out of here."
  
  
  Going out all over the career turned into a nightmarish series of difficult climbs and sudden short skirmishes. It was taken by a Schmeisser MP 40 from one of the dead. "You have a damned odd collection of weapons here," the Padre remarked to her. "My friend, if you fight the oppressors like a partisan, instead of letting them supply you, you will be satisfied with everything you can reach."
  
  
  "So there's a chance that Karak doesn't have any radio equipment, like walkie-talkies."
  
  
  "No, he has no idea."
  
  
  "Well, hers, I guess that's something we should be grateful for."
  
  
  We clambered over crevices and ravines, over ancient rocks that crumbled under my weight, over thorny, twisted bushes that gnawed at our skin. The wounds on his head and arm throbbed with a dull, burning pain, and he shivered in the cold wind. Another ridge, another crack; run, fight, and run again. The Padra set the pace. We were both exhausted and out of breath when we finally reached the field and slowed down to a slow trot. We lost sight of Karak's men, and after taking a last look around, we jumped down the drain.
  
  
  Half an hour later we were at the villa. We crawled along the back wall to another strand of buildings and peered over the buttress. A sentry with a rifle slung over his shoulder paced restlessly in the ruined courtyard. The padraig nodded toward the ruined gate a few yards behind the guard. "We'll go to the basement," he whispered. "We can get into the air ducts there. He put the Mauser down in a minute and told me to leave the Schmeisser. "There's no room for that," he told me.
  
  
  "We'll only have your gun if we get caught." He gave a fatalistic sigh.
  
  
  He turned and looked at the sentry, wondering who was more likely to cheat, Karak, Padra, or her. The sentry walked for what seemed like an eternity. From time to time, he sat down to rub his shoe and mutter something to himself. Finally, he disappeared around the corner. He took a deep breath and ran after the Padra.
  
  
  There was still no sign of the sentry when we reached the archway and plunged into the musty, musty-smelling basement. In the center was the fornax, the vaults of an ancient hearth, above which narrow pipes branched out between the walls, about half a meter in area.
  
  
  "That will be the way for us," I said. — Are you sure this will lead us to Karak?"
  
  
  'Yes. They lead to every room in the villa.
  
  
  — Then let's try to get into the bedroom." We can catch him when he comes alone. By the way, what happens if we get stuck?
  
  
  "That would be very unfortunate," the Padra said dryly. "We can't turn around and chase the rats away."
  
  
  He looked at the holes with even more disgust. Padra pointed to the pipe he was trying to climb into, and he pressed it down so that he could push his foot off the edge and slide inside. There I turned on my life. It was even harder for the Padre, but he climbed in behind me as hers moved inch by inch, leaning on my forearms and toes.
  
  
  These old air ducts must have functioned in the past in much the same way as they do today. In addition to the floor bars, the Romans had exits at the bottom of the wall. Licks, there were narrower holes to the ceiling. It was a surprisingly efficient system.
  
  
  We crawled along in the dark, pausing now and then to rest. It was a dirty, grueling business. I kept thinking that we could easily get stuck in a tight spot and the rats would gnaw on my feet.
  
  
  "We're in the main hall now," the Padra remarked at one point. "One more room or two, three more, I think."
  
  
  "I hope you're right, Padra.
  
  
  He didn't say anything, just snorted. We continued to crawl up the pipe until we reached the collapsed section. A passage was slowly clearing it, passing chunks of rock and dirt to the Padre. Then we crawled on.
  
  
  Sounds began to seep in from somewhere above. I wasn't sure what they were saying, but I was pretty sure I recognized Karak's voice. I paused, motioned for the Padre to be quiet, and continued on, gliding very quietly so that no one would hear us.
  
  
  He held his breath as he reached the exit, where the noise was loudest. The same force that first destroyed the pipe behind us expanded it here. Gradually, I managed to find enough space to move around on my haunches. The Padra was beside me, hunched over and leaning on his hips. He looked like a chimney sweep. I leaned forward, millimeter by millimeter, and scanned the room, my eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight.
  
  
  About a dozen men sat at a rickety table. The four around them looked like old-guard veterans left over from their days at Milan. The others were the brash young bandits of Karak. Karak was pacing back and forth in frustration or impatience, or both, when he slammed his right fist into his left arm. The padra growled softly, like an animal scenting an enemy, and shifted his gaze in growing annoyance.
  
  
  With that, he brought down a piece of rock. The sound was deafening. He was sure they would have heard it in the room. But no, the conversation continued without interruption.
  
  
  I heard Karak say, " To hell with Milan's widow and that idiot with the hook. We must face the facts. We are getting weaker, and the army is getting stronger. The days of our glory are over. We are nothing more than a thorn in their calculations.
  
  
  "Spines can still be strong," denied media reports of emu odin surrounding older men .
  
  
  "Bah. For how long? Our weapons are outdated and becoming obsolete. The West lost interest and turned its back on us. No one cares.
  
  
  "But this man, Carter, said -"'
  
  
  "He said, he said," Karak shouted. "It's just one person."
  
  
  — Did you expect more, Evan?" The old man asked calmly. "Only one person had a chance to get to Aptos, and Carter succeeded."
  
  
  "I didn't expect anything," Karak said hotly. "Only cold, starvation, and a shameful death if we continue like this."
  
  
  "There is no other way."
  
  
  "There is."
  
  
  The bearded leader with a mottled face looked at the old man in a non-rude manner, " Listen up, all of you. Our contact in Metkovich made several requests to the authorities. He says that if we behave more quietly now, we can get certain concessions.
  
  
  "He's lying," the Padraig hissed.
  
  
  I pressed a finger to my lips to silence my ego, but my mind was full of conflicting thoughts. Was Karak's contact in Metkovic the same as mine? If so, was he the one who led the Yugoslav army and they almost killed me? And besides, if the government was so conciliatory, why did they take over Jzan?
  
  
  "The voice of god," Karac continued, tapping his knuckles on the table, " invited her people around Belgrade to visit us here."
  
  
  'Here? Padra snarled, dejected. He looked like he was about to explode with rage. "He brought enemies here?" Milan would turn in its grave if it heard that."
  
  
  "Shhh," emu hissed at her.
  
  
  — But what if we don't agree?" The old man asked softly.
  
  
  "Then join those maniacs in the quarry," Karak snapped. "We have a chance for security and peace, and if you don't see it for yourself, think about the future of your family and children. We make a good deal and end all these years of bloodshed.
  
  
  I heard her growl next to me and shuffle her feet. Before he could do anything, the infuriated Padra jumped through the opening and into the room, roaring with rage and indignation. All faces turned in ego's direction, shocked by the appearance of this soot-blackened savage.
  
  
  He swore at her in English and Serbo-Croatian, but hurried to join the blond savage, wondering if she was going to die now. Its better I die standing there than in this filthy duct. "Take the tailor, Hash," I yelled at him. "Look what you've done."
  
  
  "A person can only tolerate a certain amount, and no more," he snapped. He stepped forward and snapped at the old men. — You, Vetov, are my own man! Have you forgotten how Polgar and I fought shoulder to shoulder for the honor of Croatia? Are you and I going to crawl in front of the Serbs and kiss their boots? He screamed, his eyes flashing with anger. "Good sale, Evan?" You sold us out, you did it.
  
  
  Karats ' voice is as absurd as flint. "You're crazy, Hash. Our dreams have come to flow, and we must accept reality. Why do you need more blood on your hands? A revolution is never successful."
  
  
  The padraig swung the hook. "If there is blood here, it is the blood of Serbs in a fair fight. What about the blood on your hands? Croat blood?
  
  
  Karak's men came up to Lick, muttering something.
  
  
  "Or didn't he tell you?" The Padra shouted. — Didn't he tell you that he surrounded us and ordered us to be killed?"
  
  
  "Lies, lies," the voice shouted. "You're a traitor."
  
  
  The Padra released his fist like a cannonball. There was a crack, and the man flew into the person behind him. Karak's men staggered back for a moment, then came back to us.
  
  
  Padra parried the knife with his hook and kneed the attacker in the groin. I slapped him across the face and heard the crunch of bones. When its about to attack another person, its felt like a gawk stabbed into my leg. The rifle butts slammed into my chest, and a sudden, blinding pain seemed to rip through my head. He staggered, pulled himself together, and tried to grab one of the guns in front of me. The crowd moved in and pinned us back to the moan. He tried to duck, but was a fraction of a second too late.
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  A voice rang out around the darkness. "He's coming to."
  
  
  "Great," said another voice. "Are you ready, Garth?" I have very little time for this.
  
  
  The first voice answered laconically: "As ready as he is." Slowly, the dark clouds dissipated, but at first it didn't make any sense. Her swam in the sea hurt. Slowly, I realized that I was completely naked, sitting on an iron chair. When I tried to move, I found that my wrists and ankles were bound by sharp metal shackles.
  
  
  A short, fleshy man stood a few feet away from me. The ego of his life hung over his belt, visible through the holes in his shirt. He was completely bald, and the ego-misshapen face had all the monumental nonchalance of a professional executioner just doing his job. There was a rustle of movement. Evan got up from his chair and crouched down next to my hand.
  
  
  "Good evening, Carter," he said cheerfully. "You and Padra gave me a big shock when you came through these walls."
  
  
  He didn't say anything. I've already had trouble getting my throat to work. It looked dried and squashed, as if someone had stepped on it while painting.
  
  
  "But I think I can get something back," Karak smiled sardonically. "Welcome to my break room."
  
  
  I looked around and began to understand where I was. Hers was in a small square digital cell with rough-hewn walls. The air was filled with the stench of blood and excrement. In the flickering light of her single brazier, he saw that the digital cameras on the other side had two doors with locks and narrow slits at eye level. The walls were covered with old torture devices: leg and foot clamps, round knitwear (knitwear, tags, spinal roller, hanging smashes and swing bracelets), a lot of stained, rusty forceps and pins. He felt bile rise in his throat, and goose bumps ran down his naked body.
  
  
  Karak turned to me and pulled my head by the hair, turning it violently, no doubt I remember the moment when her ego pulled her hair. — I want to know all about Milan's wolf, " he whispered urgently. "I want to know what's so important about this.
  
  
  Emu gave her a few curses that made Ego's face go pale, and he let go of my hair as if ego had been stung. "I would like the Padra to be here openly now to see who around you will be the first to beg for mercy. But now you'll just have to beg twice as much to get it right. Garth!
  
  
  He waved impetuously at the other man, and Garth walked over to the chair. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I had the disturbing thought that I wasn't just sitting in an old chair. I could hear him scurrying around on all fours. A minute later, the acrid smell of hot metal and smoke filled her nostrils.
  
  
  "You're going to tell me, Carter. You'll tell me sooner or later.
  
  
  The stench was getting stronger, and now he noticed that the chair was uncomfortably hot. As the old metal of the chair grew hotter, it tightened on her shackles . My skin burned. He gritted his teeth and remained silent.
  
  
  — You don't think I can break you, Carter?"'
  
  
  Tongues of fire crept up the seat of the chair as Garth fiddled with a small sheepskin fur. The fire grew, licking my hands and burning my skin. The spiked iron turned cherry red, and a new stench entered, another stench, the stench of burnt flesh. I was roasted alive.
  
  
  "Carter, what is the secret of the cursed wolf?" I know there is one, and I don't have time to ask you nicely while the Serbian army is on its way. Tell me."'
  
  
  I heard Sam blurt it out. 'The goat . ... goat.
  
  
  'What is it? What goat?
  
  
  "Your family goat, Karak."
  
  
  "What's up with that?"
  
  
  I struggled in the burning chair, my lungs constricting from the smoke and hurting. However, I managed to inhale enough air sampling. "Your family goat... I wish your mother had never heard of birth control." Karak slammed his big fist into my face and split my lip. "Inch by inch, I'll send you to hell," he snapped at me. "Garth, that's enough. Tie the ego to the swing.
  
  
  Garth poured water on the fire under the grate, untied me, and dragged me roughly across the cold stone floor. My nerves exploded, and the pain was almost unbearable as the rough stone rubbed against my burned skin. The next thing I knew, Garth was fastening the heavy iron shackles of the swing around my wrists. The swing is an almost prehistoric precursor to the rack, a form of torture that involves lifting a victim into the air and then suddenly throwing them to the ground. This is a brutal method of stretching your arms, twisting your muscles, tearing your joints, and breaking your bones.
  
  
  Garth lifted me by the wrists until he was hanging so that my toes barely touched the ground. Then he walked over to moans about the swing and picked up a rolled-up whip. He shook the ego behind him and turned to Karak, waiting for an order.
  
  
  Karak's eyes were feverish and impatient as he turned to me. "It's a Roman device, Carter. This makes the ego very suitable for torture, doesn't it?
  
  
  Then he stepped back and nodded. The whip flew out and slashed at my body. The pain was almost unbearable as the raw skin wrapped around her bare thighs and life. It shrank into an arc, in its hanging position.
  
  
  "I remember how the Romans celebrated the feast of Lupercalia," Carac laughed. "Every year on the fifteenth of February, men danced in the streets, beating their relatives with whips made from willow branches. Now tell me about that wolf of Milan, Carter. Tell me while you can."
  
  
  Again the whip struck me, leaving a scarlet streak on my naked body. I struggled against the chains holding me down, trying to avoid the slapping whip. But Garth was a master of his craft and never missed a beat.
  
  
  "The wolf of Milan, Carter. What's wrong with this wolf?
  
  
  Karak Stahl's voice was incomprehensible to me as Garth hit me again and again. The scream echoed through the digital cameras, and when it stopped, I realized it was coming from me.
  
  
  "The wolf ...'
  
  
  I had to rest. She had to make Garth stop, or else she would never find a way out of this torture. With a groan, he lowered her head forward and pretended to pass out. My body went limp and hung motionless in the iron shackles. Garth hit me a few more times, but I managed to stifle the screams rising in my throat. A moment later, he heard the whip fall to the floor.
  
  
  Karak was angry as hell. "You've gone too far, you idiot," he shouted at Garth. "Raise your ego."
  
  
  — You'll have to wait.
  
  
  'I can't wait.'
  
  
  "You'll have to."
  
  
  "Take a tailor, Garth, I have better things to do than watch it hang here." Call me when he can talk again."
  
  
  Her, heard Karak come out through the dungeons. The door slammed behind him with a thud.
  
  
  The minutes dragged on like centuries. Sweat trickled down my body, digging into my swollen wounds, but he didn't move. Garth paced back and forth impatiently. I heard him strike a match to light a cigarette. The smell of sulfur and bad tobacco tickled her nostrils. But as time dragged on, Garth muttered, " Blockhead!"
  
  
  The door opened and slammed shut again. And Garth left. I stared at the empty room and wondered how long I'd have before he came back. After a few minutes, I heard a soft grinding sound and decided that my rest was already over. But then I realized that the sounds were coming from behind me, from behind the camera. It was like mice running around on walls.
  
  
  "Carter," he heard her whisper. "Carter".
  
  
  Her slowly turned in her chains to face the day at the other end. Two ghostly faces with haggard eyes barely visible in the flickering light. Ih recognized her immediately. They were people of travel, photographs, music, two of the three who had fallen in the first encounter with Karak.
  
  
  'Can you hear us?'
  
  
  'Yes.'I asked her. "Is the Padra with you?"
  
  
  "No," one of the men said.
  
  
  — Wasn't he with you?" another man asked. Maybe he ran away.
  
  
  "Or died," the first added bitterly.
  
  
  "I thought you were all dead," I said.
  
  
  "They're saving us for another death: the games."
  
  
  "Games ?
  
  
  "In the arena. Against Karak's chosen assassins. Menton's gone, and we're next.
  
  
  "Karak has gone mad." I could hardly believe my ears.
  
  
  "Yes, but ..." The man hesitated, then said anxiously, " I can hear Garth. Goodbye, Carter.
  
  
  The faces disappeared, and I was alone again.
  
  
  Some of my strength returned, fueled by the horror of what they'd just told me. Bracing his feet against the wall, he pulled himself up to grab the smash above the shackles on his hands . My fingers were slick, but I held on. Taking a deep breath, he began to climb up hand by hand as fast as he could . The muscles in my arms and shoulders tensed to the limit, but I kept climbing.
  
  
  Just as he reached the heavy crossbar, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. In desperation, he swung his leg over the beam and clambered up onto nah. Her shackles are yanked violently, and I know I have to break free before Garth gets to me and starts whipping me back with his whip. The shackles had simple clip-on locks that were used for padlocks in their ancient times, probably in the earliest days of Mount Athos. The door creaked open, revealing Garth's shadow on the stone floor. At the same time, he found a pressure point and released the shackles. Then Garth saw me. No matter how fat he was, he reacted with the speed of a panther.
  
  
  He grabbed the whip and swung it behind him, his face contorted with sudden rage.
  
  
  She grabbed the iron chain as fast as she could and threw herself at him. The open cuff slammed his ego sideways to the ground, shattering the tall one to a bloody pulp. As he fell, he hit a barred chair and fell to the ground. Without thinking, he jumped on top of him and landed his full weight on the emu's chest. With a gurgling groan, he seemed to deflate; blood and mucus gushed down the ego of the open rta. Her ego must have broken at least half of her ribs, and now the shattered bone has penetrated her lungs.
  
  
  Her, knew that the outer door was unlocked, but her also had to deal with the second lock on the day of the start of the second hotel and release the other prisoners. I quickly searched Garth's body for his keys, but I couldn't find her anywhere on the digital cameras... In desperation, I called two men to tell me where they were.
  
  
  "Only Karak has the keys," one of the men replied.
  
  
  — Don't worry about us. Run away while you can, " said the other.
  
  
  "And if you can, send help."
  
  
  He hated leaving men in the dungeon, but they were right. It was the only rheumatism. — I'll do it, " I promised.
  
  
  He ran out of Karak's torture chambers and down a long, dark corridor. When I stopped to think about which direction I should go, I heard a shout from one of the men around me. "Turn straight, it's the only way out!"
  
  
  Without further questions, he jerked her to the right. I knew that I would be killed, naked and unarmed, as soon as one of the Karak guards saw me. The corridors were endless, parts ending in dead ends or collapsing, forcing me to go back and start over. He was trapped in a dimly lit silent net. But it seemed to lead up.
  
  
  I moved forward into the darkness, only to find that after the initial rush of adrenaline, my strength began to wane. The sharp stone walls rubbed against my torn skin, and the soles of my bare feet left bloody footprints. The only thing that kept me moving was my intense hatred for Karak and my desire to make ego pay.
  
  
  After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel wasn't as dark as it used to be. Far ahead of her, a gray saint could be seen at the end of the tunnel and, trembling with exhaustion, ran towards it. Something was bothering me: a half-conscious warning was trying to stop me. But her ego shook her off and reached the gate.
  
  
  Then she burst back into the world. I knelt down, my legs too weak to stand up straight, and I felt the ground beneath me. It was blood-soaked loam: the loamy soil of a Roman amphitheater.
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  Numb from the cold, caked blood, and dirt, he got to his feet. It was the arena of the amphitheater that Padra had pointed out to me the day before, and he was stuck in the oval ring. In front of me, dozens of Karak men sat in rows of benches with torches, lighting up the crumbling ruins. And at the top of the amphitheater was a squad of assassins with submachine guns and rifles. Roughly in the middle of the long curved wall were boxes of stone benches, and on one of them was a Karak. He had a couple of buddies with torches by his side, and an old blanket was draped over his uniform to protect himself from the cold wind. Ego's eyes were fixed on me, and his mouth twisted into a devilish smile. From where he kept it, he looked like an insignificant "nero" in a threadbare toga.
  
  
  The headless body of a man lay open on the ground in front of me. Her, knew that it was Mentone, the third prisoner of the group trips, photos, music. He was blindfolded like an executed man. At first I didn't understand why, but then I remembered that a certain group of gladiators, the Andabats, were fighting blindfolded.
  
  
  He couldn't help but wonder how many men and women were standing where he was now; how many around them were bored as hell with the pleasure of bloodthirsty tyrants like Karak.
  
  
  Karak's voice heard her. He was laughing like a madman. — You weren't expected to be the next attraction. But it's good that it can continue."
  
  
  "Garth is dead."
  
  
  — That's what I expected, otherwise you wouldn't have been able to escape. Let's see how long you can last before you join him.
  
  
  "They who vote-vote die welcome you," I said sarcastically, raising my hand.
  
  
  On the other side of the arena, a large dark warrior walked out around the gate. He was dressed in tight trousers and boots, his bare chest glistening in the torchlight. He carried a weighted fishing net and a trident, weapons of the ancient Retiarii.
  
  
  When he came up to me, her, crouched down, my toes touched the ground. The gladiator circled around me, holding me back with false trident attacks.
  
  
  "Come on," I said. 'What's stopping you? Are you afraid of a naked person?
  
  
  He chuckled and simply began to spin the net like a lasso in ever-widening, flat circles above his head, ready to let go and throw it at me. Her, knew better than to look at the net and watch the expression of ego eyes and ego faces.
  
  
  It's up to you to vote! Split second before the throw. I ducked and rolled away from him. One of the lead weights slammed into my leg, but the net missed and fell to the floor of the arena.
  
  
  He was on top of her, leaping up and lunging at him before he could grab his net again. He staggered back, and for a moment I thought I was going to get him. But he parried me with his ego trident, and I had to duck to keep him from impaling me on his trident. He had me cornered.
  
  
  Hers, I stood there panting, not sure if I could act fast enough next time. And even if I did, I would have to dodge the next attack, and the next one. I resisted the urge to sit down and rest and let him finish me off.
  
  
  In my work on AH, I fought submarines and hydrogen bombs, X-rays and mind-altering drugs, every invention imaginable, but this was different, terribly different. It was a war reduced to its primitive form, stripped of its modern complexity. This made the wild beasts fight even more with each other, and it somehow made it even more terrifying.
  
  
  But I could feel the beast growing inside me, and I bared my teeth at this twentieth-century gladiator as he gathered himself for another attempt. She strained her ears to hear the deadly sound of a whirling net. I waited for her, hunched over, my muscles tensing.
  
  
  He just dropped the ego again.
  
  
  Her, dived as before, but this time hers, turned and grabbed the swirling net before he could let go. The gladiator lunged at me, trident raised. He pulled back the spinning net, hoping it would knock Poe's ego out of balance.
  
  
  He stumbled and became entangled in a net that completely covered the ego.
  
  
  I was immediately on top of him, determined to show him as much mercy as he had shown me when he attacked. Her ego knocked her to the ground and tore out the trident around her arm. He screamed in horror as he turned to stab the emu's trident in the chest. It was all over in a second. He shuddered once, turned pale with death, and then fell lifelessly to the ground.
  
  
  Her father was leaning over the body, leaning on the shaft of a trident. She heard the growl of Karak's men. He turned to the benches and saw Karak on the throne. Ego's face was pale with anger. A moment later, the trident fell out of her hands and walked over to Karak.
  
  
  He knew immediately what I was up to. "Don't try, Carter," he shouted. "You can't throw this trident that far, and besides, my men will kill you."
  
  
  "Who cares how I die, Karak? I might as well take you with me.
  
  
  "I always thought you Americans were sports fans."
  
  
  He ran his hand over the bloody scene. "Do you think it's sporty? What's the point, Karak?
  
  
  He laughed maliciously. "It amuses me."
  
  
  "You're really sick," I said, disgusted. "You're crazy."
  
  
  "Don't tell me who I am. You've never had to live here, in this damned hellhole.
  
  
  "I'm starting to understand. You really hate Aptos.
  
  
  "I despise Aptos." Karak pulled the blanket tighter with a commanding gesture; ego's eyes were like granite. "Every minute I spent here was a torment for me. But it will end soon.
  
  
  "So the Padra was right after all. You sold yourself to the Serbs.
  
  
  'Sold out . . He lifted his shoulders. "But you didn't. The agreement with Belgrade gave me the money and power that was due to me. But it also means that people will never again be cold, hungry, or afraid."
  
  
  Since when does the ferret government keep its word? You're being cheated, Karak.
  
  
  'No. I won't listen to you. My people will be happy.
  
  
  — They didn't come here to be happy, Karak. They came here to be free.
  
  
  'Free?Karak was actually crying with laughter. "Aptos has been a chilling prison all my life. Only death brings freedom here. He clapped his hands, signaling another gladiator. "That's why I love her so much." Her last liberator of her people. Now fight and you'll be free, Carter.
  
  
  Although there was no foam around the rta, Karak probably had something wrong with his head. Apparently, he succumbed to the rigors of his existence and suffered from paranoia and obsessions of greatness, mentally straying between dreams of Aptos ' former glory and visions of his own personal future greatness. I couldn't blame the ego for wanting peace, but a sane person would understand that this path is pointless and self-destructive. Karak was clearly not in the mood for reasoning; he was wasting his energy trying to talk to him.
  
  
  I turned my back on him and walked back to the center of the arena. There I turned to the gate where my next opponent would appear.
  
  
  The new gladiator was taller and heavier than the previous one.
  
  
  Ego's chest was covered in scars, his arms were wrapped in tsesti, hoops around leather and metal like brass knuckles, and he held a short sword and a round Thracian shield. He wasted no time in coming openly at me, slashing the air with his deadly sword. I turned her around, and he followed me, cursing and panting. He stopped, turned, and stabbed at it with his trident. He swung his razor-sharp sword and drove the ego straight into the shaft, leaving me unarmed again.
  
  
  He lunged forward to cut me down, and I fell to the ground. Hers quickly rolled away. Ego's sword came down, narrowly missing me, and sank into the ground.
  
  
  When the gladiator drew his sword for another attempt, her ego kicked him. He turned away, and my heel missed his crotch by inches and hit the inside of his thigh. With a growl of pain, he backed away. It couldn't do much damage, but for a moment the emu was in the way. Ego's face was purple with anger at the public humiliation of an unarmed man. Her hurried away from him, my heads buzzing and it was completely empty, her desperate for some idea. In vain. Suddenly the gladiator came at me again, swinging his sword and slashing around with it.
  
  
  At that moment, he bent down, scooped up gravel and dirt with both hands, and violently threw ih emu in the face. As I expected, he raised his shield to protect his eyes, and the mud didn't cause the emu any harm. But the ego's attention was abstracted for a moment. He leaped high and hit her ego on the forearm with his bare left foot, then his right foot on the elbow. The sword flew across ego's numb fingers and flew across the arena, out of ego's reach.
  
  
  In a rage, he hit me with a cestus; the blow knocked out all the air around my body, and threw me to the ground with my arms and legs outstretched.
  
  
  He turned and went to get his sword. No matter how numb her nam was, his knew that I couldn't let em get that sword back. As soon as he gets around to it again, he'll cut me to shreds. It would look like I was pushed through a glass door.
  
  
  I jumped to my feet and followed him.
  
  
  "Hajii " I shouted as loudly as I could, as if I were an angry Apache. Stunned, the gladiator turned around. "Hajii!" She screamed again and got to him before he realized what was happening to him. He tried to raise his shield , but it was too late. My legs flew up in a killing blow and caught the emu in the throat. Ego target leaned back, and he heard vertebrae snap.
  
  
  He fell without making a sound, his eyes wide open, his neck bent at an odd angle.
  
  
  He ran for his sword and raised ego triumphantly over his head, waving triumphantly at the surly Karak.
  
  
  'What now?'just asked her. "Lions, perhaps?" Or framed on chariots?
  
  
  "Don't be an idiot," he snorted furiously. "Where can we get lions or chariots?"
  
  
  "Don't worry, Evan. I'm giving you the best performance you've seen in years.
  
  
  "Go to hell, Carter." He leapt to his feet, one hand clutching the ragged blanket around him, the other gesturing wildly. "Milan got in my way. Now you've come here to kick up this shit. You should have died a few days ago, just like Milan. But somehow you managed to get to Aptos. You can't escape this time.
  
  
  In his anger, Karak didn't understand what he was saying.
  
  
  — You betrayed Milan?" I asked, taken aback by this admission. "He was a fool, he lived in yesterday and the day before yesterday."
  
  
  "And my contact in Metkovich?" Was that also one po meet your people?
  
  
  — I paid well to be selfish, I assure you. Like everyone else here, he fights for a better life, not for meaningless ideals. Karak stopped, grinning as if enjoying his own private joke. Then he slowly sat down again, smoothing out the folds of his old blanket. He whispered something to one of his executioners, who immediately ran away.
  
  
  "I've made her something, and I'm sure you'll find it interesting, Carter," he wrote to me. "Just wait and enjoy your last moments on this earth." Exhausted, he stopped, leaning his sword against the ground. I wondered uneasily what he might have up his sleeve. Up to this point, pure resistance can pump enough adrenaline into my bloodstream to keep going. The thought of surrendering to that bearded bastard now was unbearable. He stripped me naked, flogged and tortured me, and finally planned to kill me, but emu would have to wait until hell froze over before I gave up and knelt in the dust in front of him.
  
  
  I thought he'd caught me this time. He was shivering from the cold and staggering from exhaustion. Somehow I managed to survive two gladiator fights, but the only way I could get an equal opponent was if my third opponent was a crippled dwarf. I was finished, and we both knew it.
  
  
  Suddenly, a deep, ominous sound came from outside the gate. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and a cold, clammy fear gripped me. I heard the clang of iron bars and an angry growl that reached me.
  
  
  The wolves!
  
  
  Six huge hungry wolves broke out around the pens below the arena. They paced restlessly back and forth at the entrance for a while, as if bewildered by the walls and the watching crowd.
  
  
  A deep murmur of protest rose from the crowd in front of me. "I'm sorry we have to do without lions, Carter," Karak called cheerfully. — But I hope you don't mind the alternative."
  
  
  The emu responded with a series of expletives in Serbian-Croatian.
  
  
  Karak liked it all very much. "In case you're wondering," he said with a wicked laugh, " well, the leader is Milan's favorite. Her ego was on a diet to break the ego, the anger, a little bit, but it doesn't seem to be broken. In fact, this hunger only made the ego a little angrier. But maybe after a good meal, he'll be a little more docile.
  
  
  Karak laughed even harder and nearly doubled over in his stone seat as he stared at Volkov in spellbound horror. So one of them had the wolf of Milan. So all this nonsense about him being dead and skinned was a lie. But that meant that the ferret's ego secret still hadn't been revealed. Knowing that the animal was important, without understanding how, must have been tormenting for Karak. He couldn't risk killing the wolf before he realized it , and he couldn't get close enough to find out. Somehow, it made me feel better; though not much, given the situation. My assignment was to find a wolf and vote for it here. The only one around these beasts didn't seem to want to listen to reason. Snarling and gnawing, they clawed at the ground, sniffing at their prey: me.
  
  
  Suddenly, they charged, their furry tails lowered to the ground.
  
  
  My wet fingers tightened on the sword.
  
  
  They tensed and jumped. He jumped out of the way, charging at them furiously. But they were too fast for me, and I felt sharp teeth tear through my thigh. I stumbled for a moment, then regained my balance and slashed my sword through the wolf closest to me. He fell sideways on top of another wolf that was just about to jump at my throat. The third wolf crawled back. He was hit with a sword and almost cut his ego in half. There was blood everywhere, trampled into the dust by annoying, ruthless animals. They circled around me, preparing for another attack, but suddenly they all retreated to the biggest wolf.
  
  
  Panting, her, looked in ih direction just as laughed as they looked at me. The chief was probably the wolf of Milan, and he seemed to be the most dangerous one in all of Europe.
  
  
  Suddenly, the squad broke up again, and they attacked me again. Swinging his sword and slashing at her, he charged at them. He got into a fight with one on Volkov, and it fell, its muzzle biting into the dust, and the target spun back in a final convulsion. The other wolf leaped forward, and he drew the blade across ego's face, and he recoiled, howling more painfully.
  
  
  The remaining two just kept attacking, faster and faster. Especially the biggest one. How did Milan manage to tame this huge monster? It seemed almost impossible. However, Milan and Sofia managed to hold on to the ego in a way Karak didn't understand. In desperation, he tried to clear his head. A whisper of thought passed through my head, the germ of an idea. It seemed crazy, but what did I have to lose?
  
  
  He shouted at the wolf with all his might to stop. I used German instead of Serbian-Croatian. "Wait. Listen to my command.'
  
  
  But they kept attacking. Ei rushed at them with a sword, wondering why Ei thought Milan was teaching his wolf German. But it was consistent with what I knew about travel, photography, music, and the constellation of a foreign language today didn't allow the wolf to listen to anyone else. Tac units train police dogs in the United States.
  
  
  The wounded wolf returned to the battle. Blood dripped from his rta. Her again tried to tell emu to stop and lie down. "Halt. Untergehen".
  
  
  Milan's wolf hesitated for a split second, cocking its head to the side. He seemed to be listening, so he kept shouting, hoping to catch the familiar sign in time.
  
  
  "Untergehen, schiresheiher Scheusal".
  
  
  The wolf reacted strongly now that he'd called her ego a disgusting, smelly monster. He backed away and stopped in confusion. The others also stopped and waited.
  
  
  Time seemed to have stopped. She was noticed by a group of men who seemed to be holding their breath, and Karak bent down and tugged at his beard. Everyone was silent and waited.
  
  
  Then I heard voices. "Carter, Carter, we're here."
  
  
  He turned slightly, still wary of the wolves, and out of the corner of his eye he saw six figures running across the field. Padra, Sofia, two men around the quarry and two on the dungeon floor. Somehow, this unbreakable Padra escaped when they captured me, and the emu managed to come back to save us.
  
  
  But he led Sofia and the others straight into the arena with weapons and a pack of wolves. The wolves began to growl uneasily again, and I knew that my commands to your pet Milan wouldn't last long.
  
  
  "No," her Father shouted. 'Stay there. Stay there!'
  
  
  "But, Carter -"'
  
  
  'I'm fine. Stay there.'
  
  
  Uncertain, they stopped, and one of Karak's bandits opened fire on them. Dust flew past them, and gunfire echoed in the oval bowl. Another barrage of gunfire followed, and Sofia and her group retreated into the shadows of the gate.
  
  
  The next few moments passed in a rush of action. I only had wolves and a sword at my disposal, and I wasn't too sure about his wolves. And yet he dared her. "Mit mir," I barked at them as I ran up to the bleachers. — Mit mir, euch dickfelligen Nilpferde!
  
  
  The Karaka animal did as the emu was told, walking beside me, growling and whining as if greeting a long-lost master. The other wolves eagerly followed. The trick now was to act as quickly as possible before the spell was broken. As soon as it occurred to the wolf that I wasn't as familiar as I thought I was, it would stop following me and pounce on me.
  
  
  But even now, the wolves were eating around my arm. Figuratively speaking, of course. When we came to groan under Karak's seat, she ordered, " Angrafen." Angrafen.
  
  
  "Carter," Karak bellowed from above me. 'Whatever you want for . .. '
  
  
  Volkov continued to urge her on. "Angrafen! Vater. Vater. Tasche und der toten Mann.
  
  
  I had a feeling that nu didn't need much persuasion to go to Karakom: they were very hungry right now. All of them leaped with surprising grace and speed to the top of the wall, where they bent their hind legs for the next jump.
  
  
  "Stop the ih, Carter.
  
  
  'No!'
  
  
  There was a commotion in the stands, and the men panicked. Some tripped over the backs of benches as they tried to escape. Some threw torches and staggered in the momentary darkness, unable to see anything. Some around them raised their weapons, but hesitated for fear of hurting their own. The wolves approached Karak, their long incisors glistening with saliva. Yelping in anger and fear, the bearded chief ran from his seat. Ego's blanket fluttered behind him like a moth-eaten cloak as he stumbled between the rows of benches, not knowing which way to run; ego's fear interfered with his every thought. He turned around and fired his Russian Revolver at the approaching predators. In his panic, he missed by several meters. He ran again and fell on the crumbling benches.
  
  
  The huge beasts bared their teeth and charged at their cowering prey. A strangled cry of horror escaped Karak's lips. He was kicking with all his might, but the emu wolves were impossible to deal with. Carac's jacking stopped when Milan's pet grabbed ego in the carotid artery. He saw blood spurting, and then he heard another sound rising in the arena: the sound of sharp jaws biting into soft flesh.
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  Most of Karak's men recovered after the first shock. They opened fire on the wolves with rifles and submachine guns.
  
  
  The wolves were well protected by the corners of the benches and the backs of the crates, but I was the perfect target. Her ran k moan, which engaged partially protected me from bullets, then bent down to the part that engaged collapsed under the weight of time. He leaped over a loose rock and walked back along the paths toward the feasting wolves.
  
  
  Some of the ponies looked at me as I approached, and growled menacingly. He didn't stop her. He couldn't do anything for Karak even if he wanted to. But I couldn't afford to lose sight of Milan the wolf. That wolf was the reason I came here, and damn it, I'm not coming back empty-handed.
  
  
  The wolves began to drag Karats ' body aside like dogs. The moment they leave the shelter between the benches, they will become easy targets for weapons. Bullets immediately exploded around them, and they ran in all directions, further scaring the men above.
  
  
  "Bleiben," Her pet Milan called.
  
  
  The huge wolf stopped abruptly, as if it was at the end of a long rope. "Come here," I ordered, amazed at how well prepared this wolf's body was. He obediently ran up to me. He rubbed me with his nose, soaking my skin with Karak's blood that soaked his face.
  
  
  Then I realized how a lion tamer must feel when he puts his head in a lion's mouth. He let the wolf sit up and ran his hands over the collar of his neck, searching for a hidden pocket.
  
  
  Suddenly he heard another burst of gunfire. Turning, he saw Sofia, Padra, and four others rushing across the arena toward the groan gap, firing as they went.
  
  
  "Come back," I called. 'Go back.'
  
  
  But the crackle of ih rifles and the answering clatter of submachine guns made too much noise for my voice to be heard. Lead splattered Sofia and her men as Karak's gunmen tried to target ih's swaying, running bodies.
  
  
  Odin around the men, wounded with a bandaged arm, suddenly clutched his face as the back of his head disappeared in a brain-and-bone explosion. The other five leaped over the gap, groaning, and crawled down the rows to where he was hiding behind the crates .
  
  
  "Nick, are you okay?" Sofia cried as she hugged me. Her tight hugged her, felt the trembling of her lips and the taste of salt, and then go down. "Thank God you're okay.
  
  
  I could use some Swedes, " I said, smiling.
  
  
  If she noticed my nakedness, at least she didn't show it. "And you, Prince, are still alive," she snorted, and with one hand she pulled the animal to her like a toothless sheepdog.
  
  
  "Did you find what you wanted?" The Padra asked.
  
  
  "Not yet," I said. Milan hid the bag well."
  
  
  "I'll find this for you," Sophia said. — I know where it is.
  
  
  "We have to leave immediately after that," the Padra said. 'Immediately.'
  
  
  "I had the same idea, Padra.
  
  
  "It's worse than you think, other.
  
  
  'What do you mean? I asked her, wondering how much worse it could be.
  
  
  In the rheumatism above our heads, a whistling screech rang out, a sound he knew all too well: mortars!
  
  
  'Dive in.'
  
  
  A massive explosion raised the entire wall of the amphitheater. The stone walls and rows of benches shattered in a blinding flash of light. "It's the Serbian army," Padra shouted to me through the pouring rain, around the cement and stones. More shells thundered around us. They shook the arena and tore large holes in the already destroyed buildings. Flames broke out, and we heard the staccato sound of heavy machine guns approaching. Karak's men were confused, firing and shouting to avoid the thunder of attacks.
  
  
  "The army is joining the artillery," Sofia shouted over the din. "They surround us. We've already seen ih in the quarry. Karak's men trapped us, but when they realized the army was coming, they ran like a coward's bitch.
  
  
  She handed me a crumpled piece of paper. "Is that what you came here for, Nick?"
  
  
  "I hope so," I said, unfolding the paper. To me, it was nothing more than a message, encrypted and full of characters. Its just putting the ego back, and then realized that I have nowhere to store the ego.
  
  
  The Padre laughed at my situation. "What size are you?"
  
  
  '50.' Her emu said is the European equivalent of a US size forty-four. I thought the Padraig was just joking, but he calmly raised his rifle and aimed it at the man high above us in the grandstand. "I'll try not to damage the suit," he growled. Then he fired.
  
  
  The fleeing man jumped up as his third eye appeared, then rolled down the benches a few feet away.
  
  
  "You can get dressed now," the Padra said with satisfaction.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, and crawled over to the corpse. Stripping my ego was grueling work, but I needed this Swedish job. Taking off his wool shirt and trousers, I asked him ," How did you get around the villa, Hash?"
  
  
  He shrugged casually. — I wasn't unconscious like you. When I was dragged to the dungeons, there were only four guards. With my hook and a good left hand, the odds were about even. He bumped into Sofia when he went to get help. We decided to try to rescue you around the dungeon. At that time, we didn't know that you were performing here in the arena.
  
  
  "Those were games for me." I felt a shiver run down my spine. "The prince saved me. I've never seen a dog as well trained as this wolf. It's unbelievable.'
  
  
  "Milan was a wolf himself," the Padra said with a grin. "They understood each other. They both loved the same woman.
  
  
  "Hash," Sophia protested, blushing.
  
  
  "And what a joke; Karak had it all along.
  
  
  "He's no joke," I said grimly, crawling over to the dead leader.
  
  
  "Yes, we saw it," Sofia said. "He died a terrible death."
  
  
  "But no worse than he deserved, Sofia," I said, picking up the Revolver where Ego had dropped Karak. I crawled back to her, pressing myself against the back of the crate as a mortar shell exploded in the arena, showering us with gravel and sharp metal shards.
  
  
  "Karak betrayed your husband," his voice, photos, and music said. "Later, ego contact informed the army that I was coming. In fact, that ego was killed by the wolf when it tried to turn ego against me.
  
  
  Then he turned to the Padre and asked, " What is it?": "Why is the army attacking now? After all, Karak had boasted that he would meet with government officials to make peace. It wasn't necessary.
  
  
  "The Serbs have too much hatred for us." The blond giant shook his head sadly. "Belgrade saw an opportunity to make Evan neglect his protection in the name of peace, and now they are killing us. Talking to them is nothing more than using a weapon in a war. Karaka tried to warn her, but ... '
  
  
  He sighed, then shook off his melancholy mood. — But we don't have time to talk anymore. We have to get out of here while we still can.
  
  
  She agreed, and we raced to the nearest exit, the continuous thunder of explosions and dust from falling boulders swirling around us like mist. As we ran around the amphitheater and raced through the streets, a bright adv = β shone on the western hills. No one tried to stop us. The entire hotel grounds were shaking under my feet, and explosions were booming in my ears. Walls and pillars shattered into shards of brick and cement. Fire and dust rose to the sky like mushrooms. Men ran around screaming and were crushed or torn to shreds . It was dead in Aptos, dead on a monstrous scale, and was nothing more than a fun exercise for the Yugoslav army.
  
  
  We ran down the street just as the city was being torn apart. Then we raced through a small area of mimmo shaking buildings. I saw a large structure ahead of her and heard the Padra yell at me as I ran, " The door. Moscow Gate".'
  
  
  We reached the main gate of Aptos in the heat of battle. The people of Karak were fighting for their lives, know no mercy, know that there will be no mercy for them either. The crimson sun shone on ih weapons. It was a shaky line of defense at best, and he doubted they would hold out for long.
  
  
  Four Croats, Sofia, Volk, and her, dove into the crowd, constantly shifting as shell after shell fell on the city. Crossing the empty square, we entered the ruins of a shell-shattered house, squeezed past a narrow balcony, and stumbled down a dark, crumbling staircase carved into the rock many years ago. Choking and coughing from the smoke and dust, we squeezed through a crack in the city moan. We were huddled outside the battlements on the edge of a narrow ledge.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," the Padra said stiffly. "This is our only chance. The retreat, where you came from, Carter, looks like a battleground right now.
  
  
  I wasn't sure if this was a better price for many people.
  
  
  The battle raged very close. Now he saw that the Gate was a massive arch, most of which had been destroyed. A small bridge crossed a small ravine that lay in front of him. Yugoslav troops occupied the bridge and used ego for a massive attack on the city. Behind the troops, you can see a number of SU-100s, mobile guns. And on the road for the guns was a column, French AMX-13, light tanks. Once in position, they will crush everything in their path.
  
  
  "You might as well try to kill flies with cannonballs," I said.
  
  
  "It's always the same," the Padraig snarled contemptuously. "We strike at the most appropriate time for us, and then disperse into the mountains. The military will never be able to find us, even with this powerful equipment.
  
  
  "But not this time," her emu denied media reports.
  
  
  "Only because of the insane betrayal of one around our people."
  
  
  "I'm not sure that was the case, Hash." Sophia looked at me in confusion. "What do you mean, Nick?"
  
  
  "Ah, Karak really was a fool. But what he did cost money, a lot of money. These people he gathered around him were bandits, not patriots. This means that he had to have hidden support, and I was wondering who it could be.
  
  
  "At least not the Communists."
  
  
  'No. At least not Russia or Tito, " I said. "And the ego West didn't supply it with confidence either. There is only one option: China."
  
  
  'China?'
  
  
  "Via Albania. Or maybe Albania paid the bill. We'll probably never know for sure. But I'm betting her on it. In the end, Albania is in a room next to this country, which has had many ups and downs in its relations with Russia, and with a little money Albania can stir things up a bit. They have nothing to lose, and if Croatia ever becomes independent, with Hema at the helm who wants to support Albania, Albania can earn enough: by taking a good chunk of Yugoslavia."
  
  
  "Karak would never agree."
  
  
  'Perhaps not. But what did the emu have to lose?
  
  
  "What we've all lost," Sophia said sadly. "Aptos".
  
  
  "Yes, Aptos," the Padra said with a bitter smile. "But at Karak, Aptos grew into a tumor, and it had to be removed. Aptos will die, but our struggle will live on.
  
  
  "We'll all die if we embarrass the ego," I said. Then we'll die like men, the Padraig mused as he descended the moaning trenches. "Not like animals hiding in caves."
  
  
  "I don't see where we can go," Sofia said.
  
  
  We passed through the shadows on the rough side of the trench. My nerves were tense, and the smell of cordite and dirt made my nostrils quiver. More shells rained down on us as the advancing soldiers breached the meager defense line with such force that the entire hotel a shook with explosions. He could hear the screams of Karac's men, panicking before the onslaught and fleeing rather foolishly as the Yugoslav army pushed ih into the slaughterhouse.
  
  
  Our path under the Gate was clear. The soldiers pounced on their victims, and were not at all interested in what was happening under the bridge. But then again, out in the open, we were in hell again. Fifty meters away were trees, rocks, and rocks. If we could get to them, we would be safe. But between us and that shelter were hundreds of soldiers, SU-100s, tanks, mortars, rocket launchers, machine guns and searchlights. The searchlights came on at dusk and methodically wandered through the fog of paint, looking for a possible target.
  
  
  Odin crossed himself around the former prisoners in the dungeon. Then we all ran like hell. A beam of light turned and illuminated us. He heard the thundering guns. "Get down," I shouted, and we fell flat on the ground.
  
  
  Bursts of fire and sounds of thunder; two 35mm shells exploded just three meters away.
  
  
  We jumped to our feet and ran immediately, coughing and sneezing, but temporarily hiding in clouds of dust. Chunks of rock and clods of earth fell all around us, but I was grateful for the gunslinger. He shot up the dust, which almost eclipsed us.
  
  
  Odin around the spotlights shone above the cloud, waiting for it to drop and reveal us. Machine-gun fire flooded the ground to make sure we didn't get back on our feet. When the dust finally settled, we were dizzy and gasping for breath, but we reached the rocks. The Padra looked a little green. He grabbed my shoulder with his furry left hand and said nervously, " We can't stop. We must move on immediately.
  
  
  "Then all right, but with a tank."
  
  
  "A tank? But why?'
  
  
  "The hills are dotted with troops. We'll never walk again. So we need something to move with. Now the tanks are the last to arrive, which means that if we capture the last tank in the column, we can deploy the ego and break through without encountering any resistance. Ok? Besides — "he added as a convincing argument," the only thing that can stop one tank is another tank. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it?
  
  
  "You're crazy, Carter. The Padra looked from me to the tanks, and vice versa. "How do we do this?" - he asked. "Leave it to me. Give me three minutes. And I need a wolf.
  
  
  "No, we can't..."
  
  
  Padra was interrupted by the explosion of another grenade. He dropped to the ground and hid his head in the crook of his arm, his head full of trips, photos, and music. Shells exploded in the trees above us, and hard chunks of trunks and branches fell on us. When Sophia looked up again, she saw blood trickling down her cheek.
  
  
  "Take the Prince with you," she said, wiping away the blood. Her carefully climbed out from behind the protection of the rocks, the Prince beside me. I moved cautiously through the undergrowth along the road, knowing that we were the perfect target for any machine gunner who happened to spot us as we headed for the last tank.
  
  
  I thought I'd reached it, but then I heard the heavy thud of another car approaching the bend ahead, a latecomer trying to catch up. Beckoning the wolf back, he crouched down, waiting for it to pass mimmo us.
  
  
  Behind them, the hills echoed with the barking of guns, the bursting of mortar shells, and the steady, loud crack of machine guns. Aptos died a terrible death. Huge chunks of rock broke off and smashed into the blue-white saint of exploding shells and the yellow-orange glow of destructive fire. The air was filled with screams and smoke.
  
  
  The last tank was already licking up, spewing exhaust fumes and grinding the ground beneath it. The AMX-13 is an old but still effective tank that is used in the same number of models as the Fiat. It carried a 35 mm rapid-fire cannon and a 7.62 mm machine gun. One member of the tank's crew was watching through the open front hatch, while the other was sitting in the turret hatch, holding a machine gun. He hadn't fired yet — and he couldn't without blowing the heads off his men in front of him — but the emu was eager to get into position and shoot.
  
  
  The AMX-13 passed mimmo slowly, and the Prince and I crawled after it. I jumped on board, using the handle above the exhaust pipe, and the wolf jumped after me. We didn't have time to catch our breath. As quiet as we were, the gunslinger must have sensed something was wrong. He turned, saw us, and reached for his rifle. Her shot at him by Revolver. The sound of the gunshot was lost in the noise of paint. The gunner coughed and slammed his gun down as he ordered the wolf to attack.
  
  
  The Prince was a true Croatian patriot and knew exactly what was required of him. He walked over to the turret and ducked through the hatch, ignoring the dead gunner. An incredible battle ensued inside the tank. He heard a growl, a scream, and a single ricocheting bullet. The tank shuddered to a stop, and the tank driver in front fell down, shot. She was shot in the head by an emu before it hit the ground.
  
  
  He rolled over and stopped next to the tank.
  
  
  After throwing the gunner off the tank, he jumped to take out the other two. Nu found her there with her throats bitten off. The Prince did his job well. Just as he was about to dispose of these bodies, Padra, Sofia, and her men came out, circled the bushes, and climbed on top of the tank.
  
  
  "The prince was very helpful in doing this," her father told them. Define me with bodies.
  
  
  First she was thrown off by one, then the others by the Padra. He hooked the ih on the hook and pulled it out like it was a big piece of beef. Then he and Sofia jumped into the tank, while the other two stayed on top. Sophia paled visibly at the sight of the blood, but recovered quickly. A single shot failed the interior, and that was our main concern at the moment.
  
  
  He lifted her into the driver's seat and looked at the control panel, trying to remember how to launch this tank. Only the engine stalled, and everything else seemed to be on and functioning. Being French, the AMX engines had to be Hotchkiss or Renault, and there were sensors and buttons on the dashboard to my left that looked familiar. I found the levers, the double bullies, the tread levers, and finally figured out which knob to turn to start the engine. The noise inside was deafening, especially when he stepped on the gas pedal several times.
  
  
  Her head poked around the front hatch to see kuda edu, and she put it in gear. The tank surged forward at a hideous speed.
  
  
  "Where are we going, Nick?"
  
  
  "Not in the right line yet, Sofia. I have to turn this thing around.
  
  
  Its not just circling around. He struggled with the U-turn and started moving back and forth, back and forth. It was like breaking out of a cramped parking lot in the middle of a city. By the time her maneuvered, hers was wet from the bank, but hers was completely possessed by the monster. It wasn't much different from a bulldozer. He used his gears very much and kept his revs high. We began to crawl away from Aptos.
  
  
  I asked her. "Where does this road lead?"
  
  
  "Eventually to Chitluk," the Padra replied. "We'll be safe there."
  
  
  "If we succeed," I said. — If they don't notice us now, it won't be long. We're the perfect target for ih fighters, and they'll know we're on our way to Chitluk." He paused to think, then said ," Is there any way we can figure out how to get to Jzan?"
  
  
  'Perhaps. But this is a big detour.
  
  
  Sophia came up to me. — Do you still want to help them?"
  
  
  — I gave them my word. By the way, we need to go somewhere, and judging by the way things were going in Aptos, it looks like the military did their best. We won't encounter much resistance in Jzan. And if we ever want to help these people, we should do it now."
  
  
  "And we have a tank," the Padra said cheerfully.
  
  
  "I just hope we're not too late," Sophia said worriedly.
  
  
  I rode the tank and turned off the main road, where Padra had told me to turn in the direction of Jzan. We were now driving along narrow, broken paths. The tank raced over the hills, I'm drowning, undergrowth and grinding ego tracks. We bumped into rocks that crumbled under the weight, causing us to slide madly.
  
  
  Slowly, jerkily, we descended from the hills, a nightmare ride on serpentines and steep descents.
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  A few hours later, we reached the northern suburb of Jzan. The streets were deserted, the houses dark. He heard the Padra say, " They go to bed early here."
  
  
  "I think they're already gone," I said grimly. 'We're too late. In Jzan, everyone is like that...'
  
  
  'Hold on. I see her brylev. The Padra leaned forward, craning his neck. "Yes, at the train station, on the other side of town."
  
  
  Her ego followed the instructions and soon saw the saint of powerful lamps. After passing the last corner, her, I came out on the square in front of the station yard.
  
  
  The square was surrounded by a hastily erected barbed-wire fence, as if it were a temporary cattle pen. At the station, just a single platform along the kiosk, there was a steam locomotive with a tender. The locomotive was a diligent 2-4-2 with sooty valves and a narrow pipe. A snake of steam slowly rose from the second hump of the cauldron. An old wooden freight car was attached to the tender, followed by a small passenger car.
  
  
  Work lanterns were burning above the area, and a handful of soldiers were patrolling. They were carrying a 64A, a Serbian version of the locally produced Russian AK assault rifle in Kragujevac. Several soldiers were loading the van.
  
  
  In the bright light, I saw that the cargo was made up of people. The lost, dazed faces of men, women, and children stared helplessly around the packed boxcar. The few pitiful possessions were hidden between them, rolled up in travel bags or stuffed into old cardboard suitcases. God only knows what camp the people of Jzan will be sent to.
  
  
  "We're on time," said his voice, the photos, the music next to me. 'At the exact time. They would have left in an hour . Then the Padre shouted to her: "I am going sincerely to them. Her walk is open to the train.
  
  
  'And then?'
  
  
  — We'll take the train. Too many people to squeeze into the tank. I'll try to get between the freight car and the guard, so you'll have a clear field of fire.
  
  
  "We are a puffiness train. .. "Her," I heard him grumble to himself. He snapped his fingers. "Hapsaki, we're on a puffiness train. .. He's really sick."
  
  
  We thundered through the entrance, pear tree fence posts, and through the barbed wire. The palisade buckled, flattened, and the barbed wire unwound behind us. Padra opened fire on the submachine gun, and two other partizan used rifles taken from the dead soldiers.
  
  
  He drove her sincerely, openly to the freight car. We caught ih off guard. They didn't expect any of their own tanks around ih to crash into the gate, let alone open fire on it. The two soldiers he was most concerned about were the ones closest to humans. But people with trips, photos, and music shot ih first. The Padra was busy shooting at the others, completely oblivious to the city of bullets.
  
  
  I gave more gas on the right track and released the left one. The tank turned and stopped next to the car. He turned off the engine and jumped out the front hatch. Leaning down, he ran to the open doors. -"Josip ," I said . -"Josip, are you there ?"
  
  
  The car was warm with human bodies. However, they remained deathly silent after our surprise attack. The peasants stood blinking, their faces frozen and grim with fear.
  
  
  "Josip, I've come back to help you."
  
  
  Her sense of rheumatism came from somewhere around the back of the car. Then the mustachioed Croat who had saved my life burst through the crowd, a smile lighting up his usually expressionless face. "You haven't forgotten."
  
  
  Arvia came up behind him. She flung herself around the car and into my arms. He staggered under her weight, clutching at nah to keep her from falling. "You haven't forgotten me."
  
  
  Sofia proudly walked off with the tanks. "Who is this child?" — What is it? " she asked sharply.
  
  
  Arvia pulled away from my chest. -"Who," she answered angrily, " is this old woman?"
  
  
  Suddenly, I had the uneasy feeling that I was safer in the arena. "Please, Sofia - this is Arvia ... '
  
  
  The Padra saved me from a dilemma. "The surviving soldiers are fleeing," he exclaimed. "But they'll be back with reinforcements. We have to go.'
  
  
  She was pushed by two jealous women towards the boxcar. "Quickly, go inside. We can always talk later.
  
  
  We have to get out of here first.
  
  
  — Where can we go?" Josip asked plaintively.
  
  
  'I do not know. her . .. 'Its hesitated and came up with a moment. "West to Italy."
  
  
  'Italy? Arvia clapped her hands. "Oh, do you think that's possible?
  
  
  "Of course," I said quickly. — But not if we stay here. Hurry, get on the train.
  
  
  She was helped aboard, where her father continued to spread the word. "We are puffiness in Italy. Italy. Freedom.'
  
  
  — You come in, too. Sophia.'
  
  
  "No, Nick. Its not coming in here...'
  
  
  "This isn't the time to be angry," I said. — You can do a lot more useful things there, and there's no room for you in the locomotive. I need you back in Sofia to make their journey easier. Please do as I say.
  
  
  For a moment, I was afraid she would refuse. But after a short silence, she climbed into the car with the others, her lips pressed together and her face menacing. Before one of the two women could cause any more trouble, her father closed the door.
  
  
  I didn't like the idea of leaving the poor in the boxcar, but it was all that was possible. For a moment, he considered putting some of the people around them in the security car, but it was too small to accommodate them all, and it would take too long to decide who should sit where. This passenger car was too much of an open target. He ran to the locomotive. The cab was empty.
  
  
  "Where," I shouted, " is the driver of this thing?"
  
  
  'Here. The padra ran around the cistern toward me. "I'm your engineer, Carter.
  
  
  'You? Do you really know how to drive a train?
  
  
  He waved the rifle excitedly and proudly. "My father spent forty years driving the Sibenik express to Trogir."
  
  
  He pulled himself up, and the wolf that came running after him jumped into the cab.
  
  
  They were both looking at me around the cab. "You," the Padra said, " will be my assistant.
  
  
  "And what does that mean?"
  
  
  -"That means you'll have to throw coal into the furnace." .. '
  
  
  I don't know the best solution, but I climbed into the cab, but I felt a little incredulous that he was claiming to be a machinist. Fair. He later discovered that there had never been an express train between Sibenik and Trogir. Besides, come to think of it, he didn't know anything about the Padra's father.
  
  
  Padra studied the sensors, scratching his chin with a hook. "The steam is a little high. It's good.'
  
  
  Gawking eyes whizzed by mimmo ego's ear.
  
  
  'What was that?'Stop it!' he snapped as the shot whizzed between us. He grabbed his Serbian M48 and walked to the side facing the courtyard. "Ah. No, there are nine Serbs on the field. He fired with his left hand. "It's only eight now. Don't stop chewing your nose, Carter. Let go of those bullies-voices-and highlight the throttle. To vote like this. And needles this reversible rod.
  
  
  I did it as he told me. He breathed a sigh of relief as the train began to move slowly forward, the wheels turning with a sudden force of steam. Padra fired as fast as he could, cursing the Serbian lead bullets that ricocheted off the locomotive's hull. She was caught on the throttle, and the train shuddered involuntarily and pulled farther and farther away from the station.
  
  
  Gradually, we managed to gather speed and drove faster and faster along the railway tracks. The gunfire subsided and the soldiers disappeared as we rode along the left bank of the Neretva River.
  
  
  "Where does this line go?"
  
  
  "South to the coast," the Padra said, coming to relieve me at the instruments. "If you can find a shovel somewhere... ... we need steam. The shovel was half buried in the coals. Coal began to throw her, trying to get a clear idea of the geography of the area, so that she could get her bearings. A thought struck me. "To Metkovich?" I asked her .
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  So the circle is complete, he thought to himself. I return to the exit point. And a certain Croat in Metkovic would have had convulsions if he had known that, deadly convulsions.
  
  
  The hills cast dark blue shadows in the moonlight, and the rails were like gleaming silver threads. We flew for miles, and the mountainous terrain became more rugged as we left the Jzan Valley behind. Sharp rocks closed in around us, and the road narrowed and became more windy. The Padra was peering into the darkness ahead of us, fiddling with his tools. And he raked the embers into the insatiable hearth.
  
  
  "I hope it doesn't explode," Padraig said. He tapped the pressure gauge, and the black needle went up a few more points. "It's an old corpse, the nen has more regulators than I have in my pants."
  
  
  "Well , at least we have enough coal for now."
  
  
  "Then we'll go as long as he keeps doing it." He yanked on the rope, and a sharp, ominous sound came down the long pipe at the top of the second cauldron. — I like that sound, " he said, plucking the string again. Time passed, in an uneasy and unsettling silence. The night shadows had deepened, and now the saints could see her, filtering through the packed freight car. No doubt someone had lit the lantern that was now swinging from the rafters. The connecting rods rattled, and the paddle wheels creaked as they made sharp turns. The engine rumbled, spewing smoke and steam.
  
  
  The tracks wound through the desolate mountains. Another steep signpost, and the slopes became steeper on both sides.
  
  
  Surprisingly, the area turned into a small plateau. A narrow strip along a deep rocky gorge. Frank ahead was the trestle bridge, a ramshackle structure around wooden beams that connected the two sides of the gorge. It was more than a hundred yards long and curved for greater strength, and on the opposite side there was another bend that turned sharply uphill.
  
  
  Her, looked around the cab and saw the main bridge open in front of us. "Go on," he called over her shoulder.
  
  
  The locomotive and cars shook even harder as we approached the rickety building. The thud of the wheels was deafening, and I wasn't looking at the incredible depths below me. The engine rumbled carelessly, spewing smoke from the superheated boiler with the terrible sound of steam escaping.
  
  
  Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The padra swore loudly, more annoyed than surprised, and reached for his rifle again. Other bullets hit the engine and tender, smashed through wood or ricocheted off iron.
  
  
  He crawled over to the Padre and looked out. Not far from us was another train, which was heading towards us at great speed. The other engine was a modern diesel engine that pushed a platform in front of it. Ee soldiers were equipped with a recoilless cannon and something like a pair of 65A, light machine guns with a conical flame suppressor and two supports. They were shooting at us, around everything they had.
  
  
  "One hit on a recoilless weapon and we would have gone off the rails." The Padra took it philosophically. "But the ih train is faster?"
  
  
  "They're gaining on us, aren't they?"
  
  
  — Then I think it's over. That slope over there will slow us down.
  
  
  The soldiers continued firing as we reached both ends of the bridge and turned up a long slope. I was seized with a chilling horror as our old train swerved for signs and slowed down as it struggled up the steep incline. Fortunately, the pursuing car was swaying too much for accurate shooting. This is the only thing that has saved us so far. But diesel and the platforms were now on the bridge, and they would be following us in the near future, firing at close range.
  
  
  There was no way to avoid disaster. Or is it? My mind was racing, tugging at the thin thread of hope. It would be suicidal to try, but maybe if you're lucky. ...
  
  
  It was the Padre who shouted it. "Stay alone for a while. Handle it as best you can."
  
  
  He stared at me in disbelief. "Okay, but for what?"
  
  
  "The only way to keep ih from trying to save us is to shoot down ih diesel before they get to us. Our passenger car is wasted. Maybe I can use it to ram the bridge with them.
  
  
  "God help us! The Padra exclaimed . — You're not going to go back and unhook the ego, are you?"
  
  
  — Do you have a better idea?"
  
  
  The padra blinked in disbelief, then dived for the shovel. He stood there and snorted, " If we need steam. Carter, I can handle it.
  
  
  He couldn't help but smile at emu as he crawled back to the tender. Shots from Yugoslavian field guns and 65A machine gun fire followed me as I crawled over the coals and down to the small platform. There wasn't much room, and the train was rocking violently.
  
  
  Her, jumped into a freight car. My bare feet touched the running board, and my hands gripped the iron rung of the ladder leading up to the roof. Her strong one grabbed onto it and then started to get up.
  
  
  Its not an acrobat. He crossed the roof of the boxcar on his hands and knees, not going to try to stand up and keep his balance in all the shooting and swaying. I reached the other side of the car and looked down to where the railroad ties were flashing past me. The two carriages swayed and rubbed randomly against each other.
  
  
  The bullets slammed heavily into the wooden walls of the car. I could hear the screams and groans of the peasants inside, and I wondered how much of the boredom around them was already there. Anger filled my chest as hers went down. He knelt down on the small platform and immediately began to pull on the clutch mount. It was a simple hook with a pin attachment, but it had rusted over the years. My fingers frantically tugged at the mount, trying to free my ego. More lead scraped the metal chassis around me, and Gawk furiously whizzed the mimmo of my head, missing by a hair's breadth. I could hear the screams of wounded peasants. Up ahead, in the cab, the Padra swore furiously, and the Prince began to howl. I kept working on the pin, but I couldn't pull it out.
  
  
  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I managed to pull out the mount. He kicked it off and turned to grab the ladder so he could hold on to it. Gawking tore off the sleeve of my wool shirt and scratched the skin on my forearm, but I barely noticed it. He was too busy watching the empty carriage stop and then slowly begin to slide back. At first it looked like it was only crawling, not having enough speed to stop the approaching soldiers, but suddenly it picked up speed and rolled down the slope towards the bridge.
  
  
  Our pursuers ' train was already halfway up the gorge. Our car lurched toward him, rolling as they rounded the signposts and sped up the bridge. Sparks flew from the diesel's drive wheels as the pneumatic brakes were hurriedly triggered, and the platforms swayed violently as the train came to a stop.
  
  
  The train sped toward them. Her breath caught in her throat. Now the Yugoslav soldiers were concentrating their fire on the car, desperately trying to blow it up and knock it off the tracks with grenades, but the car was pitilessly rushing at them like a rocket.
  
  
  They slammed into another with a deafening thud. Wood, metal, and human flesh flew through the air, suddenly accompanied by a blinding flash of mushroom orange light and thick, sharp black smoke. Parts of the bridge and the locomotive floated through the dark cloud into the middle of the canyon.
  
  
  Flames licked hungrily at the broken beams of the overpass. He watched as the remains of the locomotive and platforms still clung precariously to the passenger car, tumbling in a fiery plume to the bottom of the gorge. There, ammunition crates exploded with a roar that shook the ground and lit up the sky.
  
  
  Before the last thunder of the explosion died down, she heard Padra cheerfully honking the engine horn. He laughed with a great sense of relief and, grinning, pulled himself up the ladder back to the locomotive's cab.
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  After a while, he was already sitting in the cab of the locomotive, sticking his head out of the window. At the moment, we don't need coal, so its calmed down. He pulled his head back and looked at the wolf. The wolf looked at me. He sat in the corner, hating every moment of this trip. "Listen," her Father said. "We have to start thinking about Ed."
  
  
  "I'm afraid there's no restart on this train.
  
  
  'Yeah. Well, the Prince looks a lot better, and he's starting to take a special interest in a particular femur.
  
  
  — We'll be in Metkovich soon. I recognize the area.
  
  
  "I hope the station is well restored."
  
  
  The padra looked at me in pain. 'You're kidding.'
  
  
  "Indeed," I sighed. "I'm sure they'll be waiting for us in Metkovic. The military must have sent a message there.
  
  
  "I'm surprised we haven't reached another train yet," the Padra replied. "Maybe they'll be waiting for us at the Metkovich marshalling yard, where we'll have a chance to escape. But the shunting station is in a hall on the south side of the city, near the port. If we can get through there and find a boat ... '
  
  
  "You're kidding me," I said. — Even if we could get to the harbor and steal a boat big enough to take everyone there, we'd be drowned in five minutes. We'll never get to the Adriatic, let alone Italy.
  
  
  'Italy! You and your promises, Carter.
  
  
  "Unfortunately, this interrupted several circumstances," I said in my defense. Moreover, there is no longer a safe place for them in Yugoslavia. What else should I do? Take ih to Albania?
  
  
  The Padra gave me a sharp look, as if he was going to tell me exactly what to do with them. But he didn't want to, and after a moment, he grinned again. "Perhaps in addition to your other arts, you can also divide the water. Then we can all get through on foot.
  
  
  Her ego ignored the comment. — What about the airport?"
  
  
  — It's northwest of Sin, like any fifty kilometers from here.
  
  
  — I don't mean the national airport in Castel Stafilich, Hash. Is there an airfield near the university? The Padra stroked his hair thoughtfully. 'You're right. There is one. North of Metkovich. It's not far from the railway. But you can forget it right away. We only have a few guns, and many of the people around us are old farmers and old women."
  
  
  "The voice and the whole reason we have to try," I said grimly. — Because many around us are unarmed or don't know how to fight. We need to do something fast and unexpected. Otherwise, no one around them will ever see Italy. Do you know any other way?
  
  
  He shook his head sadly. — And when we get there, what then?"
  
  
  "I don't know," I said quietly, sticking my head out the window again.
  
  
  We wound through valleys, mimicking towering cliffs, through brush-shaded gorges. Gradually we descended, and the route became less dangerous. The night wind howled in my ears, and the pale moon lit up the pale steel bands ahead as we moved along the edge of the flat, overgrown glass.
  
  
  We entered the Neretva Valley, about four thousand hectares of impassable swamps in Khutovo Zavody, near Kaplina and Metkovich. I crossed it to another part of the valley when I left Metkovicha centuries ago in a Citroen. It was one of the largest wintering and hunting grounds for migratory birds in Europe. There were tens of thousands of ducks and wild geese.
  
  
  The night was clear, and the scattered lights of Metkovich shone above the treetops. Sergei approached, and the trees and swamps thinned out. Padra slowed the locomotive as we passed mimmo first houses and the banner. He turned on the reverse gear, closed the throttle, and turned to me.
  
  
  "I can see a siding over there. We'd better stop and walk to the airport. We can't go any further. Do you know how to use the light switch?
  
  
  'I think so. But why are we turning here?
  
  
  — Do you know when the next passenger train will arrive here?"
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "Well, hers, too. And I don't want innocent people to die."
  
  
  Steam hissed through the engine and sparks flew around the brakes as we stopped at the switch. He jumped down and went to the light switch. I had to unscrew the old-fashioned lock, and I almost broke her back turning the switch with the old lever.
  
  
  The castle blew a thick cloud of steam in my face as Padra brought ego back in. Slowly, he crawled up the side slope. It hissed and rumbled, and smoke was still billowing around the chimney as Padra and wolf scrambled around the cab. By the time the switch returned it to its original position, Padra had already opened the door of the freight car and helped people out.
  
  
  Ih was about twenty, some with makeshift bandages, some supported by two others. There were four people left in the car: they were killed when the soldiers fired on us.
  
  
  Sofia and Arvia were not injured. They came running to me. "Nick," Sophia called. 'What happened? What was that noise?'
  
  
  I quickly told them what had happened on the bridge, where we were now, and what our plans were.
  
  
  "But we don't have much time," he told her. "We have to get to the airport before the train is discovered and tracked down. By the way, is there anything to eat here?
  
  
  - Residents of our city have an eda with them. I'm sure they'll be happy to share, " Arvia said quickly.
  
  
  "Arvia and I have come to an agreement regarding you," Sofia said proudly.
  
  
  'Science fiction. But you'll have to tell me later, when we have a little more time. Now we have to go, and I'm hungry. Sincere as a Prince, and you know what he's like when he's hungry.
  
  
  Soon afterward, the Padra and her led the group, fortifying themselves with food from the peasants. As we walked, we ate bread, vegetables, eggs, cheese, and smoked lamb. We fed Prince little by little to keep the ego close to us, away from the others. I was afraid that he would scare ih, but they seemed to have taken ego into the bargain along with everything else in this strange odyssey, The Prince was a bit rebellious because the emu lacked meat, but luckily he liked cheese.
  
  
  We walked as quietly as possible through the deserted streets of the sleeping city, but a score of terrified peasants made a lot of noise. Several people asked me why we were staying in Metkovich, and it was pretty damn hard to answer. Hers, even Sam wasn't so sure.
  
  
  Opusen and Ploce are both close to the Adriatic, and there it would be much easier to find boats for a free trip to Italy. But assuming we made it out alive, and he knew the Padra was right when he said we'd probably run into trouble in those cities themselves. Both are resort and fishing towns with populations of a few hundred souls and small shelters inside or out. There are excellent roads leading there, which in this case would be a disadvantage for us. Ih fishing boats were family boats, too small for all of us. We must steal the ferry that runs between Ploce and Trpanje and risk crossing to the nen. I doubted that we would ever be able to pass the mimmo of the Wasp-class Foreign Ministry patrol ships.
  
  
  Not that Metkovich is such a big problem. It is a relatively large city, road, railway station and an important commercial building. Built in a place where the Neretva River branches off into a sandy delta with twelve channels, Metkovich has plenty of fresh water. However, it is in a hall close to pine forests, white beaches and the blue dress of the Dalmatian coast. It's an old-fashioned town, and everything closes at 7: 30 pm. Radio Belgrade goes off the air at midnight, when the city is no longer in the world.
  
  
  The lack of nightlife made us dangerously conspicuous. A passing car, a curious policeman, a lone stray within walking distance and we are discovered. We stayed in the shadows and walked through the narrow streets. At some point, we got lost and ended up in the town square. Gradska vilecnica, the town hall, is one of Metkovic's few tourist attractions. It runs through the entire gamut of architectural styles. It is partly Romanesque, with Gothic and Late Renaissance floors and a top that can best be described as an Austro-Hungarian ledge. The only thing missing here is Turkish tailors, but a few blocks away we passed mimmo mosque, built in 1566, during the time of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent.
  
  
  I didn't stop here for a minute to admire all this beauty. He didn't even leave the group to pay a visit to his old, dear friend, the contact who had informed me about the military at Evan Karak's request. Not that I wasn't tempted to pay this visit, but I was at the head of a lot of people who blindly trusted me to get ih out of trouble alive. Unfortunately, her mistletoe gave us no idea what to do when we got to the airport.
  
  
  We climbed over the wall on the other side of the city. All Yugoslav cities seem to have some sort of wall left over from the days when wars were a local affair. We crossed a stretch of swamp and a narrow strip of Mediterranean scrub, or macchias, olives, figs, and rosemary. At last we came to the cemetery, and on the other side, Padra assured me, we could see the planes.
  
  
  The church looked like a scene from an old Dracula movie. It was dark; the abandoned area was full of ruined sculptures and dead trees. It was called the Chapel of Blessed Ivan Ursini, the Chapel of Blessed Ivan Ursini. It was enough to cross the old cemetery to give old Ivan the creeps . The tombstones are dated long ago. There were even a few remains, tombstones of the Bogumils, a religious sect that developed in the mountains of Bosnia and Herzegovina in the Middle Ages. Obviously, you were at risk of contracting some kind of religious leprosy, because half the time I didn't know what was crying louder, the wind or the women of Jzan.
  
  
  We came to a long, close group of Macchias, beyond which we could see the distant, misty lights. We squeezed through the undergrowth, and there was the airport, just as Padra had promised.
  
  
  We reached the gravel road leading directly to the gate. The gate on the dell itself was nothing more than a hole in the fence around the field, with a booth on one side and a slightly larger booth on the other. A guard was standing in the smaller one, and someone was dozing in the larger one, so the field was more than protected. For me, it was an airport. It consisted around two 2,000-meter runways intersecting in a narrow X shape. At the end of each runway, on the gate side, there was a two-story control tower topped with an antenna and radar equipment. There were two hangars next to the tower.
  
  
  From where we were standing, it was impossible to tell what was happening on the pitch. There were several IL-14s and several RT-33s near the hangars, but the remaining planes were nothing more than vague black shapes parked along the perimeter fence. IL-14s and RT-33, to us were to us to what. My hopes were pinned on devices that I couldn't identify yet, which meant I had to get closer to see what they were like around me .
  
  
  Nickname...'
  
  
  Her, turned around. Arvia came up to me and gently touched my wand. "Nick, if we don't get to Italy alive..."'
  
  
  "We'll get there, Arvia," I said, crossing my fingers in silence. "It doesn't matter if we can do it or not," she pouted with feminine logic. — I want to tell you something." Ms. Milan and I have thought long and hard about the situation and decided that the best thing we can do is...'
  
  
  'Get down! The Padra suddenly hissed. We all hit the ground just before the Skoda Jeep rattled mimmo, less than a meter away. The Jeep stopped next to the sentry, who spoke briefly with the three men in the jeep. Then the Jeep started up again and pulled up to the tower. The security guard in the big house didn't even move.
  
  
  Excitement seemed to interrupt Arvia's train of thought. She sat up, blinking and busily removing the blades of grass from her hair. Before she could get back to what she wanted to say , the Padra asked me, " What now, Carter?"
  
  
  "We attack the guards and go inside."
  
  
  "I'm really looking forward to it. But how?'
  
  
  He thought seriously for a moment. Finally, he said, " A commando attack with diversions. Does anyone have a piece of cheese?
  
  
  The Padre and I walked slowly along the gravel path of mimmo sentry stalls, the Prince beside us. Then we made a circular motion to the booth. The security guard in the big house should have noticed us, but from where we were right now, we could see Ego's lips move in a contented snore.
  
  
  A few yards from the kiosk, she was standing with her hand on the Padra's shoulder. He immediately stopped so that hers could whisper to the emu, " I'm going first. When I get the man out of there, you go to the other guardhouse.
  
  
  "He will never wake up from his dreams," the Padra predicted. "And then we'll get on a plane somewhere?"
  
  
  "Not any plane, I'm afraid. We need to find one that can accommodate all of us, but not so big that we need a whole team of pilots.
  
  
  — Are you a good pilot?"
  
  
  "As good a driver as you are."
  
  
  I don't think he was too happy with that answer. "Tell me," he said quietly, " what do we do if there's no such plane?"
  
  
  "Hash," I said,"we can only hope."
  
  
  We crawled toward the sentry until we were exposed behind him. There were no cars in sight, no movements on the pitch. Her, the Padre nodded, and he nodded at rheumatism to let me know that he had done the deed. He left his rifle with one of the other men. It was a job for a noiseless knife or a noiseless hook.
  
  
  I rubbed a piece of cheese under the Prince's nose, held ego there long enough for him to understand what I was doing, and then threw ego across the guardhouse onto the runway on the other side of the fence.
  
  
  The wolf dived for the cheese, mimmo sentry.
  
  
  The man came out to see what was going on, and I came up behind him. There are times when you have to go barefoot, and this was one of those moments. Her received a small benefit from the surprise. The attack came so soon after the Prince's mad outing that the guard didn't even raise his SWORD, let alone direct his ego in the right direction. He didn't hear me until it was too late. The sentry turned, and I saw the irritated curiosity on his face change to surprised understanding. Then emu slashed her larynx with his palm, and ego's eyes rolled back under his lids. She was dragged back into the guardhouse by Ego before he could hit the ground. Its here ego ego 64A and ego M57, the Yugoslav version of the Russian Tokarev M1933 rifle. Her ego also picked up thick wool socks and boots. He had bigger legs than I did, but I was glad of that. My legs were very swollen and in terrible pain. On the other side of the gate, the Padra had already taken care of the sleeping guard. His back was to me, and I noticed that he was making a lightning-fast movement with his right hand. Then he stepped back, and he saw that the guard was still in his place, only the ego target was now slightly lowered to the chest, and the chest was soaked through with blood. The Padra joined me, also armed. "I left ego happy, "he said." Now it has two grinning rta's. Have you found the plane yet?"
  
  
  'Not yet.'
  
  
  The whole field could see her now. Her, looked at his end, praying that we were lucky. Three Goshawks, another RT-33 group, the wreckage of the C-47 fuselage, another Il-14, and a pair of Alouette III helicopters were lined up in a row. Nothing like that.
  
  
  Hers, I could feel the frustration growing in my chest. Anger at being so close and yet so far away, anguish at knowing that I had incited innocent people to revolt only to find that the road had reached a dead end.
  
  
  But then she saw the farthest corner of the airport, where Sergey was the weakest. It was a familiar airplane shape. It seemed impossible, but there it was: the Il-2, a twin-engine transport plane.
  
  
  "Hash, get everyone here, and quickly."
  
  
  The padra took a step forward; he checked that the road was clear, then swung the hook. The bushes on the other side of the road were beginning to move, and people were coming out all around them, running from all directions to join us.
  
  
  — Did you find the device?" The Padra asked.
  
  
  "Maybe," I said, grinning. "Russian version of DC-3". I crossed the field and they all followed me.
  
  
  There were many surprised looks. There were only a few people walking in the field, and we couldn't look like we were there legally. But, apparently, the Yugoslav army is the same as all other armies: you never go there as a volunteer, and you do not interfere with anyone. In addition, the motley brigade that marched on the airfield was missed by security.
  
  
  We passed Yastrebki, S-47 and passed under the big IL-14. Hers was running in front, and the group followed me in a disorderly line. I kept thinking why its running, because almost inevitably the IL-2 can be disassembled, run out of fuel or play such a game of batteries. They did not produce the Il-2 for almost twenty years, and it could not be airworthy, it simply could not be. But I kept running. It was our only chance. When he reached the IL-2, he yanked open the door and pushed everyone inside.
  
  
  — You're not coming?" Sophia asked as she boarded.
  
  
  "So sincere."
  
  
  "It's terrible," she complained. "It's tilted, and there are no chairs in nen."
  
  
  "This is a cargo plane. The chairs are removed.
  
  
  I walked around it, dropping the pads in front of the wheels, trying to remember what I knew about the Il-2. Well, it was basically a modified Dakota; 95-foot wingspan, 64-foot length, and 12.5-ton allen, a 1,800-horsepower engine kit, with a ceiling of 16,000 feet, and a speed of 140 knots when the emus were on their tail. But this plane will never fly, not in such a tired state, not with oxidized wings and spots of leaking hydraulic line.
  
  
  But there was air in the tires, which was a good sign, I thought, until I remembered that the Dutch had once saved a World War II fighter plane by draining a polder whose tires were also under pressure.
  
  
  Her ran back to the day, and boarded. He thought grimly that with any luck, we might just be able to start those engines. If they turned around, they could earn money. And if they worked, I could somehow get the damn car up in the air, if no one was pushing those throttles too many times, or flying too many times with too much supercharging or too low revs.
  
  
  Her, went into the cab. The IL-2 does not have a tricycle landing gear, so it is tilted on the tail. He gave everyone a few well-meaning words of encouragement, even though he didn't have much hope, and closed the curtain behind him. When her father turned around, he was sitting in the pilot's seat.
  
  
  "Wait, Hash. He jerked his thumb to the right. "All right," he said, moving to the right — hand seat.
  
  
  — It means you're shoveling coals this time."
  
  
  The cabin was a narrow, cramped cabinet with tiny windows. He slid into the pilot's seat and flipped a few switches. As with most Russian-made aircraft, the instruments are positioned backwards, so I had to examine the panel from right to left. But the lights were shining properly, and arrows popped up, indicating that I had sufficient voltage, fuel pressure, and air sampling. I went through the starting operations, yanking the throttles, fuel valve, and all the buttons and levers where they should be in the DC-3, praying desperately that it was enough for this box.
  
  
  Suddenly, a searchlight shone on our hull, blinding me as it smashed through the windshield. It was a light rifle, an intense searchlight with a narrow beam that the control tower used for road maneuvers. He focused on us, and stayed there.
  
  
  "Just vote," her Father said. "We've been discovered."
  
  
  "Blessed Arnir! What now?'
  
  
  "Say a prayer," emu told her as he pressed the start button. The left engine started to shake, and when the noise rose to a high, steady whine, it switched to Grid. The propeller turned on, took her ego to itself, and controlled the throttle . Flames erupted around the exhaust pipes, and the Padra shuddered.
  
  
  "Don't worry," he called over the din. 'It is ok. Don't worry about this Jeep coming towards us.
  
  
  A Skoda, packed with soldiers and weapons, shot across the field from the direction of the tower. Padra had already gotten up from his seat and was staring out my window, which made it a little harder for me to turn on the right engine. Ego pushed her away and said: "Take your weapons and take your men to keep ih away from us." I need a few minutes to warm up the engines.
  
  
  He ran out through the curtain without another word to us. The engines sneezed and rattled, which was common for cars of that time. As far as I knew, these were normal sounds for Shvetsov engines. A light blinked to indicate that the rear door was open, and two more lights came on to indicate that the hatches above the wings were open. I didn't hear any noise, but I saw the Jeep skidding violently, and several soldiers fell out of it.
  
  
  I had no choice but to stay where I was and wait for the engines to warm up. The temperature was rising so slowly that I began to wonder if we would ever be able to get off the ground.
  
  
  The Yugoslavs rushed toward us, aiming at me, the engines, and the tires. Padra and Ego's men fought back with their rifles and 64A submachine guns, which we took from the sentries. A few soldiers tried to approach, stopped in their tracks, stood up, and looked around as if they had forgotten something. Then they folded in half on the asphalt. The Jeep circled, firing incessantly. Another jeep with reinforcements arrived at the Angara . Forever was taking off now or never.
  
  
  He set the flaps to twenty degrees, pushed the controls forward, and released the intimidation. We started moving. We turned onto the runway. A glance at the wind indicator told me that we were heading in the wrong direction: I had a fair wind and we should have turned around, but I wasn't going to do it. I had enough trouble keeping this box upright, as it seemed to have developed a nasty habit of pulling to the right. Then he remembered that they were Russian engines, not Pratt and Whitney, and that they were rotating in opposite directions.
  
  
  Ground speed increased to minu, then to numbers fifteen. The instruments came to life; the sensors seemed normal. Again the plane was pulled to the right, and again it was taxied by the tail rudder. The thread of the runway loomed incredibly close. He returned the pressure. The plane was ready, but still couldn't get up. God, it looks like we need to go to Italy, not fly.
  
  
  "The second Jeep was coming straight at us. The ego driver was apparently some maniac who avoided a head-on collision. The two men straightened up madly from behind, firing around their weapons at the engines. The nose of the IL-2 was already up, so I could watch what was happening, but at the same time be a better target. The engines roared, and white flames shot out from the exhaust pipes.
  
  
  The Jeep began to lurch as the driver tried to avoid Nami in a last-ditch attempt. He shot at the plane and he felt the plane vibrate, but it was too late to get out and check what happened. A lever jerked it back, and the horizon disappeared. We were free.
  
  
  I kept pressing the left rudder to move to the right, and we flew over the end of the field, no more than a hundred meters above the ground. My ascent was steep, at an extremely oblique angle of almost a kilometer. Then he aligned her ego, and swerved to the left. When hers was flying at an angle, hers could see the action on the runway. Somewhere where hers had broken free, a fire was raging. The Jeep must have rolled over and caught fire.
  
  
  It climbed to an altitude of 35,000 feet, headed west-southwest, controlled cooling, and leveled off the plane. It seemed that we had a comfortable cruising speed of about 100 knots, and how we could get it out of the entire airspace of Yugoslavia, I still wanted to get rid of the pursuing planes. He could climb a little higher, but still not enough to avoid coastal anti-aircraft guns and s-2 batteries. Besides, the people in the back are already cold enough with all those shutters open. If I climb higher, I'll only make them worse.
  
  
  I looked out the side window, trying to get my bearings, but I couldn't see anything. However, in general terms, my direction was correct, and otherwise it didn't really matter. Sooner or later we would have reached the Adriatic coast, and then Italy.
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  The curtain fluttered so violently that I didn't notice Padra enter the cabin again. I didn't see him until he got down in the copilot's seat. There, he watched in silence as the exhaust fumes spurted out around the starboard engine. After a moment, he turned to me. and he said in a strangled voice: "I've never flown before."
  
  
  "Don't worry, Hash. Sometimes we do something for the first time.
  
  
  — Where are we going in Italy?
  
  
  — I don't know, we'll fly to the nearest airstrip. Perhaps to Pescara or further up the coast, near Bari. The main thing now is that we disappear around the airspace of Yugoslavia. As soon as we get past the Palagruga Islands, we'll get away from them.
  
  
  "The game will be won." He let the expression slip through his ego's mouth. 'Sounds good. How long will it take us to do this?
  
  
  "Forty, forty-five minutes. Twice as much even before the Italian coast. That is, if we don't have any new problems.
  
  
  "That won't happen," he said confidently. "We have left our enemies behind."
  
  
  "At least not at Metkovich's. And her, I doubt they'll try to intercept us over land, where there might be too many witnesses to the attack. But once we're above the sea, we're easy prey for whatever they send down Castel Stafilich.
  
  
  "What are the chances if they do?"
  
  
  I told emu the truth. "About the same as Aptos's."
  
  
  "Ahh," he said softly. Then after a pause he asked: "Then why don't we fly lower to avoid ih radars?"
  
  
  "Modern radar can detect a plane almost from zero meters away," emu explained to her. — A little common sense will tell them what our flight route is: the shortest route across the country. I don't want to go any lower if they attack and I have to maneuver, or if something goes wrong and I have to try to plan. And around for people I don't want to go higher."
  
  
  He nodded in understanding. "It's cold in the back, and some people are afraid of dying from lack of oxygen."
  
  
  "It's not exactly the middle of summer here," I growled. — Go back and tell them they won't die. And tell them to breathe through their hands if the wind is too strong in front of them.
  
  
  I checked her sensors again, but everything was fine. RPM remained the same, oil pressure and temperature were still to the right of the red line. The engines still sounded like they were running on a normal flight.
  
  
  He looked down as the shoreline became a string of lights, the dim lights of some seaside towns and fishing villages. The vast gray expanse of the Dinaric Alps was now behind me, and before me lay the vast, smooth dunes of dull water, the Adriatic desert. It was bloody wet down there, but from here it looked like a sandy desert. The old plane kept roaring, and he was almost beginning to believe that we had succeeded.
  
  
  Then I heard someone giggling. He turned to see Sofia and Arvia squeeze into the cab. The wolf was with Sofia, and he looked as unhappy as an animal can be."
  
  
  "In ten or fifteen minutes, we'll all be able to breathe more easily, and the legs will be lighter."
  
  
  Women giggled and jostled at the windows to look out. I looked at Sophia and remembered the haughty, disdainful woman I'd first met, and all I could do was turn around and shake my head. She would rather die than admit that there was something soft and feminine about her. Yet he was obviously present in it in a hidden form.
  
  
  The cockpit suddenly began to shake violently, as if a huge hand had grabbed the plane's tail and was shaking the ego as well. A flash of silver flashed past the window Sophie had pointed out and flew on, burning us with a fierce blast of air sampling.
  
  
  He struggled with the steering wheel and pedals to correct a possible skid, then looked out the window again. I didn't really need to: I knew what it was, and I also didn't know what the other silver flash was high above us.
  
  
  "Sofia, Arvia, go back to the others. Quickly. Tell them all to crawl back as far as possible, crouching low and keeping their heads down.
  
  
  They did what I said. Her, looked up at the Padre. He held the flares he'd found on the plane in his hands as a worried frown creased his forehead. "Trouble, huh?" he said, handing me a few rockets.
  
  
  "Come on," I said grimly. "A bunch of migs".
  
  
  Mig-21-F, to be precise. Fishbed at Mach 2.2 with Atoll air-to-air missiles under its wings. The best that Yugoslavia has to offer. The two of them are up against a twenty-year-old, unarmed propeller plane.
  
  
  'What should we do? Shouldn't we go lower?
  
  
  "High or low, it doesn't matter. But when they get close, Hash, light as many rockets as you can and throw ih out the window.
  
  
  'I don't understand.'
  
  
  — I don't have time to explain. They go to vote.'
  
  
  The planes flew in a wide, swooping arc that should have been just above our tail. Howling, they flew, their wing tips almost touching in a fantastic formation.
  
  
  "Now, Hash," I shouted. "Throw out those missiles."
  
  
  Her too lit the rockets as fast as he could and threw ih around the window. She would have preferred to have a gun Natalia, which would move the beacons away from the plane. But before it could have been reloaded and passed to the Padre's ego, the Migs were already too close.
  
  
  Behind us, four small explosions erupted around the Migs ' wings. As I suspected, they were firing at us all around their Atolls. Rockets are faster, bigger, and neater than guns. The atolls came up to us as the Migs took off to watch the amazing fireworks display out of reach. Below us, the rockets burst into white-hot flames, searing our wings and bellies. The missiles flashed across the sky, then one by one dived down, away from the plane, following the falling rocket beacons.
  
  
  'What... what's happening? Padra gasped, his mouth hanging open.
  
  
  "Atolls are attracted to heat, and burning rockets emit more heat than the exhaust of our old engines." Emu explained it. "Sometimes being a little out of date is an advantage."
  
  
  Rockets were fired far below us, at so-called targets in the direction of the Adriatic Sea. They disappeared beneath the surface, and a moment later the sea exploded into balls of orange flame and hissing white foam.
  
  
  "Ha," the Padra exclaimed. 'We did it. We pulled out their teeth."
  
  
  "You think so," I said flatly. "Migs have more fangs, and they're already coming back with the next bite."
  
  
  The two Yugoslavs were just two silver dots behind us, and they were fast approaching. He wiped her earlobe with his sleeve to wipe away the sweat, trying to think. It was released by the gas, and we began to descend in a wide, steep slide. My hands were wet from the bank of tools. Three thousand feet and lower.
  
  
  "So we're losing ih," the Padra exclaimed.
  
  
  The ego-naivete eased the tension and made me laugh. "The tethered goat has an even better chance against the Prince, Hash. But if we have to dive, I don't want to fall too far. And maybe, just maybe, I can hold her off ih long enough until we cross the border.
  
  
  - And if we come from Italian airspace?
  
  
  "Maybe the Migs won't follow us then."
  
  
  The altimeter read 2500 feet, then 2000, and then continued to descend. He hoped that if the Migs attacked, they would do so now. If they did, he could take one through them with us.
  
  
  But the fighters stayed behind, as if sizing us up. — What are they doing?" The Padra asked nervously. — Why aren't they coming?"
  
  
  "They'll do it soon enough. Maybe they'll draw lots to see who comes first.
  
  
  The left one went out for a run for a moment, again in a classic style. Slowly, but in reality, it is projectile-like above us, descending at an angle to our tail. In a sharp side turn, I turned 180 degrees, slowing down so much that my speedometer hovered just above the critical revs. This caused the pilot Blinks to dive a little steeper. But the Mig-21 is a maneuverable aircraft, and we didn't lose sight of everything for a minute. He came up with licks for a certain direct hit.
  
  
  "Machine guns. . The Padra began.
  
  
  "Weapons, Hash," ego corrected. "With this old chest, a few close-range attacks are enough to completely tear us to shreds."
  
  
  A lead bombardment followed. The fuselage was riddled with a sieve, and the wings were filled with fist-sized holes. A blinding flash of light illuminated the knowledge cabin. An icy wind howled through the shattered windshield, and thick black smoke began to billow across the dashboard. The IL-2 jerked sharply.
  
  
  "Do something," the Padra shouted at me. — Then there's nothing you can do?"
  
  
  He grabbed the levers, praying that they were still working and that they were still working for another second. Just one second...
  
  
  "Yes," the rheumatologist shouted at her. 'Now!'
  
  
  He pressed down on the aileron lever and yanked the tiller into his lap, releasing all the gas. The ship shuddered to the bone, trying to get up again, suddenly jerking its tail into an impossible position.
  
  
  For a moment, he planned to fly over us and then return in a circle, but the plane brought him to his trajectory. There was a deafening howl as the pilot tried to make a steep climb to avoid colliding with us, rolled over from the flag of permission to execute and shot flames into our faces. The moonlight shone on silvery wings as the crew struggled to control the plane. But because of ego, speed, and our height — we were now at 1,500 feet-they no longer had the height and space to do so.
  
  
  The battle was short. A modern fighter jet was deployed against ramshackle mining, and modern weaponry proved its inefficiency. He froze, unable to gain altitude, as the sea rose to take him. The dome flew back, and the helmeted figures frantically burst out. The plane then crashed into the Adriatic Sea.
  
  
  The tip of the wing hit a wave and he spun around in the air until another activity caught him and he flipped upside down into the hollow of the wave. There it lay, belly up, like a dead gull with its wings outstretched. Slowly, it began to sink.
  
  
  We had our own problems to contend with, but it couldn't be done without the Padra's enthusiastic shouts. "We shot down the ih! Hey, Carter. What a joke.'
  
  
  "Of course it's a joke," I snorted bitterly, still swinging the fire extinguisher. "And of course you know who has the last laugh?"
  
  
  The cabin turned to wet cashews as the plane tried to level it and put out the fire. The entire plane was riddled with holes, and the right engine jerked violently, spewing oily smoke. Flames licked at the air intakes and the charred wing, or what was left of it. He wondered grimly how many of our passengers were dead or injured around us.
  
  
  "Padra, come back and see how our people are doing," he shouted to her over the thunder of the dying engine. Hers was frantically working on the engine's fire extinguishers, extinguishing the fire in the starboard engine with foam. The padra got up from his chair and grabbed the curtain. 'But,... can we do it now?
  
  
  "We can continue on the same engine," emu told her hurriedly. "If I can put out the fire . But there is still that other point.
  
  
  'We can't ... ?
  
  
  "No, this joke only works once. Moreover, we no longer have the strength to do so. Hurry up!'
  
  
  She didn't want him in the cab next to me when the thread arrived. That's why they use blindfolds in executions. In the second moment, the emu was already in position, and the emu was not hindered in ego plays like the other. With relentless precision, it will reach us. And no one around us would say it again.
  
  
  It was leveled by a failed engine, gliding slightly to maintain speed, while simultaneously trimming the rudder to balance the uneven traction of the left engine. Moment turned for attacks.
  
  
  "Look," the Padra exclaimed. It was only then that I noticed that he hadn't followed my orders. He was still standing next to me. "Look, there's more to come."
  
  
  He pointed through the shattered windshield. He was right: there were six more fighter jets flying in. For a split second, fear clenched my throat, and then I realized it wasn't a blink. It was half a squadron of G-91Y Fiat fighters with the green-white-red badge of the Italian Air Force.
  
  
  "Oh, my God," I said. "We are abroad."
  
  
  — Will the other plane still be attacked?" He still has time.
  
  
  'I do not know.'
  
  
  I held my breath, wondering how Padra would end his attack and risk an international incident. Instant could fly in circles around the older and lighter G-91Y. He understood why the G-91s had flown here, not the F-104s. They could launch from grass runways nearby.
  
  
  The Italian plane approached, blurring across the horizon. He hesitated for a moment. Then it suddenly shot up and disappeared into the distance.
  
  
  "He's coming back, Carter," the Padra said in a choked sob. "He's coming back. Does it mean...
  
  
  "Yes," I said, grinning. He turned on the navigation lights, the turntable, then turned on the radio.
  
  
  "Yes," her emu said. "It's a game won."
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  Pescara is a beautiful seaside resort at the mouth of the Folha. There is little industry here, but more importantly, there are plenty of sandy beaches, warm water and hot sun. Unfortunately, he couldn't see much except through his hotel room.
  
  
  I stayed at the Pensione Cristallo Hotel near the beach, where the gentle breeze and gentle lapping of the waves helped me recover from my injuries. Hawk presented me with a two-week sick leave at AH's expense.
  
  
  The landing of the escort was rather uninteresting after our transition; and after the usual NATO hustle and bustle, the settlement went smoothly. Our man in Rime came to get a folded piece of paper that the Prince had given him, and later he told me that the message was that Albania was preparing a coup in Yugoslavia with the help of some Yugoslav resistance fighters. The Ih leader, a certain "Milan", was by then dead. Fantasy.
  
  
  Her, risked life and limb to get exactly this message on Aptos. This was one of the most ironic results of my mission. But then he remembered that he had snatched a tank and a plane from under the noses of the Yugoslavs, and led some of the villagers through the ih army and aviation.
  
  
  The Italian government took care of the residents of Jzan; she guaranteed asylum and promised jobs. Sofia, Padra, and the last two men in the entire ih group were going to return to Yugoslavia to continue the fight for independence, but for now she was resting with me in a hotel. The doorman made quite a fuss about the Prince, but the Padra scared ego even more than the Prince, and in the end the doorman agreed.
  
  
  The wolf was now with Padra, because at this point, the emu didn't need anything but a pet.
  
  
  The Padra and the Prince were standing outside in the corridor, guarding my door in case anyone tried to disturb me. Hers was lying naked on a wide bed. Arvia lay next to me and caressed me with her firm breasts.
  
  
  On the other side, Sophia moved sensuously, nibbling at my earlobe.
  
  
  This had been going on for four days, sensually, wildly, and casually, interrupted only by the breakfast we ate in our room. The girls seemed to realize that I was enough for them to share.
  
  
  They agreed on this together during the train ride. And he was able to imagine the worst form of sick leave.
  
  
  Thread
  
  
  
  
  Table of contents
  Chapter 2
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  
  Our agent in Rime is missing.
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original title: Agent vermist in Rome
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  AI has several suites in a Manhattan hotel, which I won't name. Her checked in there, followed by two weeks of R&H (Recreation and Recovery) at the AX Ranch in the Virginia Hunting grounds, near Washington, DC.
  
  
  This organization has several of its own agents and employees ' egos, and it gives me a homey feel . This also satisfies Hawke's security sensitivity; - Hawk, the grey, anonymous and ironic head of AX. It's just as easy for him to send me off to some wharf pub teeming with thugs, but the moment I return to the US after a dangerous mission, he watches me as if I were a rebellious child.
  
  
  I still had two months of unpaid leave left, and it was a great ending and place to start. My suite had a huge master bedroom with a super bath and a living room with a fully stocked bar. Nen had a room service kitchen, and the chef made you think you were in Napoleon III Paris, not gloomy New York. And the service was discreet and efficient. I also had a lot of salary savings accumulated in my bank account and bank account.
  
  
  I picked up the phone next to the bed and gave the switchboard Tiggy's number.
  
  
  Tiggy is Tabitha Inchbold. A five-foot-tall, perfectly built English noblewoman (her father was an earl) who traded the privileges of the local nobility for a job as a secretary at a public relations firm on Madison Avenue.
  
  
  "This is Nick Carter, Tiggy."
  
  
  "Ugh." Her voice was a mix of Cockney and Australian. 'Are you here? In the city?'Tiggy can pack a lot of meaning into a few short words.
  
  
  It only took a few minutes of lively chatter — Tiggy's discussion was full of veiled references to our last memorable evening together-to arrange a meeting for drinks and dinner together.
  
  
  It was half past three at the time. He took a long bath and finished with an icy shower to refresh himself and come back to life. There was a full-length mirror in the bathroom, and he was pleased with what he saw. Hers was fine again. The discarded alenka returned to me, my muscles functioned as if forever, and there were no scars left from the attempts of another competitor to cut out the guts around my body and use ih as a noose to hang me. Only a faint silver-white line showed where the ego's razor-sharp kukri knife had begun its work.
  
  
  I lathered up my face and shaved it clean and smooth before applying the pungent aftershave lotion. Back in the bedroom, he dressed lazily.
  
  
  He slipped into his jacket. To make up for the space in her clothing for Wilhelmina's luger, I filled her left inner pocket with a leather purse. I glanced briefly in the bedroom mirror and didn't find it all unsatisfactory. I straightened my tie and was ready to go to the bar that Tiggy and I had chosen as our starting point.
  
  
  Just as her hand was on the doorknob, the phone rang shrilly.
  
  
  "Tailor," he said aloud, but he came back anyway and picked up the phone.
  
  
  He put the phone to his ear and heard what sounded like a carnival tape recording, only the other way around. I pressed the red button on the phone converter, a common piece of equipment in our organization's hotel rooms, and in mid-sentence I heard a familiar voice: "... and her, I know you're on vacation, but the lousy budget I have to work with means I don't have people like you yet. No matter how weak you are to us, you are our only available agent.
  
  
  It was Hawk. He was on the other end of the phone and was talking to me through his office in Washington.
  
  
  "I missed the beginning, boss," I said, summoning all my patience. — Can you tell me again what happened?".. "Rome," he blurted out, shutting me up even more. "Something smelly was found in the Tiber. That's something-Clem Anderson, and dead as hell. Clem Andersson was an unimportant informant in Italy. He was never really part of our organization, but he helped us out from time to time, providing us with information that the big guys around the CIA and Interpol might not have noticed.
  
  
  Hawke, head of the top-secret, smallest and deadliest division of the global intelligence service of the Americas, continued: "He sent us a bunch of vague suggestions about some shitty movie they were going to make. Such a film, in which espionage and counterintelligence are presented as a glamorous affair. But you know all about it.
  
  
  One day, in a careless moment, I told Hawke that I really liked a movie she saw. From that day on, it left in me afterward, its childish and stubborn content. He was a movie fan. One around them is persistent, insurmountable misconceptions about my personal (haha) life.
  
  
  "At first, I thought it was just another ten — to-twenty-million-dollar movie deal," Hawke continued. "But Clem went on to say that everything goes much deeper. I let emu research this because he was a good person, very helpful in our network. I didn't care about it anymore, but now Clem is dead. So maybe Clem had learned something important. You are booked on an Alitalia trip at 20: 15 JFK, NY. You have an hour to catch the helicopter that will take you around Manhattan to the airport.
  
  
  "But, sir -" I said, watching a plump and juicy Tiggy disappear into the fog.
  
  
  "It won't take you more than an hour to read the data sheet," he said soothingly. "But it's coming in on the hotel telex right now. You will find the code in your mailbox at the front desk. Everything you need is in the hall, in this envelope. Money for expenses, ID cards, two passports. I won't keep you here any longer. I can already see how your eyes light up at the thought of the fun Italian sweet life. But remember: this is a job, not a walk." He mentioned something about an extra day in New York that I needed, but Hawke had already hung up. It was a game he played for her, and Hawke made the rules.
  
  
  I called her at the call center and asked her to bring the telex that was waiting for her, along with everything that was in my mailbox. Then I called her at the bar and left a message for Lady Inchbold saying that I was sorry to be called away on more urgent business. When the errand boy arrived with a telex and a thick brown envelope, he handed Em two twenty-dollar bills. Five dollars was for traveling between the left-bank Ukraine, and the rest was for flowers to be delivered to Tiggy. I got the impression that they would be as much of a comfort to Nah as the assignment I was suddenly given was to me.
  
  
  The six-foot-long telex message, unfolded like a huge piece of toilet paper, looked at first glance like nothing more than a boring report on the future of the Chicago soybean trade. However, when it was read by the ego through a polarized transparent plastic sheet with the code number four on the envelope, it revealed important content to the ego. A full report on Clemm Anderson's actions and suspicions, my cover story for this assignment with background, and a second cover story if necessary. The addresses of two contact houses in Rime, and some hastily collected information about the names mentioned in Anderson's reports.
  
  
  Ego read it quickly and carefully, unwinding the paper line by line and stuffing it into the standard shredder machine in our apartment. The more I read it, the more convinced I became that Hawk was sending me on some kind of ghost hunt. He was right in the beginning. These were rumors and gossip that seemed more relevant in the film's commercial than in the AX investigation. A few hard facts, and the rest is nothing more than bubbles. Lorenzo Conti, an Italian producer of wide-screen performances filled with sex and blood, who has participated in all classic productions, from "The Odyssey" to "The Lamb of Mary", was preparing a new epic called" Stream of Light". A film with an international occupation about what can happen during the Third World War.
  
  
  The tailor, everyone who had ever read the papers knew about it. Except maybe for Hawke, who had a hard time looking through foreign news stories, then enjoyed the comics for a while, and then threw away the newspaper.
  
  
  Conti was an unreliable and agile guy. Even in the most successful ego films, investors were left with only a fraction of the profits, while Lorenzo, on the other hand, took the profits to maintain his palazzo in Rimet, his villa in Capri, his castle in the south of France, and a large number of mistresses, stuffed animals, servants and all sorts of hangers-on. But it was hardly confidential news. Other respected producers around London or Hollywood followed the same greedy pattern.
  
  
  Clem Andersson made a footnote about the unexplained murder of a young Austrian starlet. A murder that Conti seemed to have on his conscience, especially since shortly after her death, he had a nervous breakdown and quit for two months of rest at home and in the clinic. But that was also normal. Stars are as replaceable as secret agents. And breakdowns for big movie stars are just as common as romances with aspiring actresses. Conti's partners in the new film are Sir Hugh Marsland, a former British minister with a dubious financial reputation, but no stranger to outdoor swimming pools, show business and clear contacts with English distribution companies. Dan Piero Simca, a fickle Italian midget; a playboy politician and banker, and a very normal partner in an enterprise like Vereldeinde. And finally, Chris Mallory, an independent American producer-director known for two Oscar-winning films about a decade ago.
  
  
  The line-up was as you would expect from a Conti epic. About ten top names in England, France, Italy and the countries of North and South America. Most around them were guest stars only five to ten years old, but ih names would look great in an ad. The two main roles were played by Camille Cavour, the last Italian sex bomb, and Michael, Sport, the English kingpin who had the best years, apart from advertising value.
  
  
  The telex message was completely destroyed, as was the transparent sheet. I sat down on the floor in a yoga pose to concentrate and review the material I already had in my head again. He let his mind go completely blank, and then everything unfolded again, as if it was being read by the ego at a higher level of concentration.
  
  
  No miracles happened. Admittedly, the film's main characters were con artists, and Clem made a lot of notes about the amount of military equipment assembled for Conti's version of World War III: tanks, planes, fake missiles with underground concrete bunkers for feeding, but that too, was commonplace. And he should also have noticed that many Italian, British, American, and NATO liaison officers had arrived with the materials.
  
  
  Every major war film, even if it is only half legal, can count on official government cooperation. That wasn't unusual either. All that remained was that Clem had been killed. But even that didn't necessarily have anything to do with the ego studies of the film Thread World . According to a few notes, Clem was a decent man, but rather dubious because of his gambling addiction, and because of his constant debt to illegal loan sharks. And the reasons why he ended up in the Tiber can be much more than ego curiosity about a movie epic.
  
  
  I had ten minutes to get back together. Her took Wilhelmina, my luger, Hugo, my stiletto and Pierre's gas bomb, around the ih secret cut at the bottom of the suitcase and re-packed the clothes she had just neatly hung in the bedroom wardrobe. He took off his jacket to put on a shoulder holster. Her sleeve was rolled up and the narrow sheath of her stiletto buttoned up. At this stage, I didn't need a gas bomb, which is where I usually put it, so Piera put it in a minute. Her bill had already been ordered, and the bellboy knocked on the door just as she was putting on her jacket again.
  
  
  He put everything else out of his mind and focused on his new identity. At JFK, NY, he was already Roger (Jerry) Carr, a rich Texas oilman who has only one thing on his mind — to enjoy life and realize that he has an income that will never run out. It was the part she loved to play, but Hawke, the tailor of hell, doesn't give me enough of it.
  
  
  As a Carr, I needed to invest in this movie not to make a profit, but to enjoy the prospect of being surrounded by ripe stars for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and maybe even a very, very late snack. I love that kind of thing in my role as Nick Carter, if it wasn't for the fact that it interfered with my work. If I had to go out as Jerry Carr, I'd have a second cover with a passport; that's Ben Carpenter, a freelance journalist. A somewhat drunken, loose figure with more social freedom of movement than a Texas playboy.
  
  
  At JFK, NY, a smiling girl who didn't look like she'd stepped out of a Renaissance movie or one of the latest Italian movies gave Jerry Carr a first-class plane ticket. I gave the correct signals in the passenger tunnel, and they let me through without searching my personal jewelry: luger, knife, and bomb.
  
  
  At the kiosk in the departure lounge, I bought enough magazines and paperbacks to fill a flight through New York to Rome in case I couldn't sleep. Ideally, you should get a good night's sleep at the beginning of the task, but this should be done naturally. Even the best doctors in the world haven't come up with a pill that doesn't give me the sleep I need to go out with as much fitness and presence of mind as I'd like.
  
  
  The Jumbojet plane was only half full, and he was almost alone in the first class plan. Sergey was turned on with a reminder not to smoke, and her seat belt was fastened. I had five minutes to observe my fellow passengers — a precaution I always take, whether traveling on a plane, on a bus, or in a donkey cart. Her, thinking about how much her I can relax and how safe it is.
  
  
  There were only ten passengers. Four businessmen, close to each other, almost identical in their dark suits and carrying those diplomatic briefcases. Three middle-aged couples with gold nameplates that identified them as members of a luxury tour group on a world tour. Everything is normal, innocent and distant, leaving me a whole row of seats to myself, with a few empty rows in front and behind me.
  
  
  As soon as the green saint lit up and we were airborne, I went back to the bathroom. There I removed the holster from my Luger and the scabbard from my stiletto. Returning to his seat, he put her ih in his own diplomatic briefcase and turned the security lock. If I'm lucky enough to close my eyes during a flight, I don't want to risk my jacket coming undone and my fellow passengers having weird thoughts about hijackings and the like . I was just engrossed in a light reading when the intercom beeped its presence. A seductive, soft female voice said in Italian, French and English that an eda would be served.
  
  
  There were two flight attendants. I couldn't say more about one thing than that it was there. But the other one caught my attention from the moment I first noticed it. She was a big woman. A few inches taller than my abandoned Tiggy. And more magnificent. She filled out her fancy uniform to the last inch, bending down to put my eda down. At this moment, there was so much of it that it almost filled the entire room. He remembered that once upon a time there was a French king whose wine glasses were blown out exactly according to the shape of the breasts of the ego of the then beloved mistress. He couldn't imagine how the man must have felt.
  
  
  I told her. - 'Thank you,'
  
  
  She smiled. And she was one of those women who smiled all the way from their long, shiny, reddish-brown hair to their longest nylon-wrapped legs to the tips of their shiny mini-boots.
  
  
  "Red wine for dinner," she said. "But we also have Colognola. A red wine that is at least as good as Soave's white wine list, and it comes from the region where she was born. This can also be submitted.
  
  
  Her English was almost without a chip; only a little stiff in the choice of words, but very exciting.
  
  
  I asked her. "Your homeland?"
  
  
  "Veneto," she said. "In Venice. But it's in Padua. More inland.
  
  
  "I'll try Colognola," I said. "But on one condition ... '
  
  
  "I am, sir ... She glanced at the passenger list in her hand. "Mr. Carr?" I was served as the last passenger in this section, and the other flight attendant had already left with her cart. "That you will taste this wine with me," I said.
  
  
  "It's entirely Conan," she said firmly. But it felt more like the beginning of something than a complete rejection.
  
  
  "The rules are designed not to be broken, or at least not to be broken, signorina," I said. "Signorina?"
  
  
  "Signorina Morandi," she said. Once again, she gave me one of those enveloping, all-encompassing smiles.
  
  
  "Roseanne Morandi, Mr. Carr".
  
  
  "Jerry, Roseanne," I said. "Can we agree to work around some of these issues? It's not like your department is crowded. He remembered his temporary role as an oil-rich playboy and found a twenty in his wallet. "If you give this to your friend, surely she can take care of the other passengers?"
  
  
  The smile was now that of a conspirator.
  
  
  "It's more against the rules, Jerry," she said, picking up the bible. This is a pair of stockings for nah. Its coming back soon with Colognola. It is as light and soft as Soave, but stronger.
  
  
  'How are you?' I told her that before she left.
  
  
  "Maybe," Roseanne said. 'We'll see.'
  
  
  She soon returned with two bottles of Colognola and a small tray of food for herself. She sat down on the seat next to me and put the tray on the shelf in front of her.
  
  
  "There are only two Sundays left," she said. "And then the chaos starts again . Then the tourist season begins. All seats will be taken. They all want something different. And these fat old businessmen who start pinching me because they've read something about these Italian pinches and now they want to put it into practice. I really like it better when things aren't as crowded as they are now. Even if society doesn't think so."
  
  
  She broke the seals on the bottles and uncorked the ih with a trained corkscrew movement. She poured some into my glass for me to taste. It was just as good as she said, light and fragrant, with a good aftertaste.
  
  
  He nodded to her, and she filled both glasses. We drank together in an unspoken toast. I had a strong feeling that we were drinking to the same thing.
  
  
  After a few drinks, Roseanne pushed back the awkward chair that separated us and leaned her full weight against me.
  
  
  "That's better, Jerry," she said, fixing her innocent brown eyes on mine as one hand wandered over my arm, which was slowly moving towards her breast. She didn't push that hand away, but squeezed it even tighter.
  
  
  Another flight attendant collected our trays and two empty wine bottles. Sergei on the plane was turned off, and as far as she could see, the other passengers, businessmen, and touring rich middle-aged couples were asleep. I'm not exactly new to love at first sight, but it usually happens in moments of threat, tension, and Never like this: simple, spontaneous, and uplifting: from the initial exchange of glances over a meal to a fast-moving release that can no longer be avoided. Within seconds, we lowered the back of the other seat, and we had all the space, privacy, and comfort that two people can only dream of.
  
  
  Roseanne helped me take off my jacket without taking her lips off my rta. Her tongue was in my mouth like a lost, frightened fish. She dusted off the top of her uniform and quickly got rid of her stockings and shoes. A tall, energetic woman with the unexpected tenderness of a light, sexy butterfly.
  
  
  Further, groping hands were everywhere. Under my unbuttoned shirt, now shamelessly lower and more insistent, and then biting my mouth and searching my tongue. I gave you as much as I got. Then she was invaded by nah, where those long, classic legs met, and there were slow moments of mutual ecstasy. It didn't require words; our lamps had already told us everything.
  
  
  When we reached the climax together, Roseanne just took a deep breath of satisfaction.
  
  
  Hers was still resting when Roseanne, the village girl, was open and smiling next to me. Except for a slight blush and the fact that her smile now resembled a well-fed cat's smile, she was quite the model of a respectable and respectable flight attendant who spent a few minutes chatting, and nothing more, with a respectable passenger.
  
  
  "If you ever want to fly with us again, Jerry," she said, " make sure you do it during the off-season, like you're doing now."
  
  
  I asked her. "You only make love in the air? — After all, I plan to stay in Rime for a few weeks. Maybe he could use his free time to explore all the major attractions. This means that you are the highest point of all the highlights.
  
  
  "Well, thank you, Jerry," she said. "I fly back and forth a lot. But if its free, you can contact me at this number. She gave me a phone number, which was carefully written down in a notebook. "I think it would be nice to know what else we can do on earth without all these people around us." She waved one hand at the other sleeping passengers and giggled. 'Where are you staying? If it's not too cheeky, maybe I could call you there.
  
  
  "Albergo Le Superbe," I said. "And if I'm not there, leave a message."
  
  
  "What are you going to do in Rime, Jerry?"
  
  
  It was an innocent and very obvious spin, but I felt my warning system kick in. A slight tingling sensation in my neck, which I understood to be an instinctive sign of danger.
  
  
  It was a corkscrew that anyone could have asked me, but the moment was unfortunate. Almost anyone would have done it much sooner. Preparing for intimacy is always done through conversation, and no one expects sex to soften the target a little. And the "goal" is what I felt from the first moment. It only took me a few tenths of a second to process this thought in my head.
  
  
  "I want to visit the movie people there," I said, without interrupting the conversation. "This Lorenzo Conti. Maybe I'll invest some money in an ego-driven new production."
  
  
  "Ah, the Thread of the World," Roseanne said, and he could almost see the relay click in the ghost for Madonna's smiling, sensual face in a maroon frame. "If you meet people like that, you won't have much time to meet some flight attendant named Rosana."
  
  
  I assured her that after our shared orgasm, she could never be insignificant to me.
  
  
  We chatted a bit about ourselves, the best restaurants in Rhyme, what a great hotel Le Superbe is, and so on. It was all innocent talk again, but what gave her away was that after linking my trip to Rome to "The End of the World," she had put aside all curiosity.
  
  
  So we chatted and napped for a few hours, still fine. Roseanne then apologized.
  
  
  "The Eda hasn't been filed yet," she said. "Breakfast before landing. You're not going to lose my phone number, Jerry?"
  
  
  I told hey I wouldn't do it.
  
  
  I didn't tell hey that I would send ego to an AX contact in Rome for an in-depth investigation of Signorina Morandi, her biography, and all her past and present connections to The End of the World and the late Clem Anders.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  The Leonardo da Vinea Fumicino airport outside Rome was a mess. He entered the correct name and quickly passed through customs and security checks. She threw herself into the taxi battle. There was a regular strike at the airport, and competition for taxis was fierce. She was eventually found by a friendly bastard who agreed to take me and my bags into town with two other passengers for just a fraction of the total per person.
  
  
  They got my reservation at the Le Superbe Hotel, and Hawk made his usual skillful arrangements. I was treated as if it was really controlled by Texas millions. When I checked in, I asked her if Chris Mallory or Sir Hugh Marsland were also registered.
  
  
  "Both of them, Mr. Carr. The receptionist was happy to confirm AX's information that Le Superbe is the unofficial headquarters of the Wereldeinde creators.
  
  
  "Then I'll just text them," I said. In my hand was a piece of hotel paper, before her, took out a pen around my pocket. He wrote the same message to both of them, thereby covering the risk that one of the messages would be lost. Her hotel should be contacted as soon as possible. "Dear Sir Hugh," she wrote (and "Dear Mallory" in the second message), " Lew, Kevin told me to see you in Rime. I want Stahl's film to be a masterpiece. And I think End of the World might still have a chance to do that."
  
  
  I held up a large, illegible signature, and Clare rushed to get the business card clips Hawk had given me, identifying me as a member of a representative Houston gentlemen's club .
  
  
  A bellboy took me up to the sixth floor, to a room that looked more elegant than the one I'd left in New York. Le Superbe started its hotel life in bright times at the turn of the century, and with its many style changes and renovations, it has never followed the modern trend of increasing occupancy by dividing its suites into smaller spaces. He took out two new 1,000 lire bills for the messenger, then handed emu one for 5,000 and told him to go back at top speed with the latest and most complete Rhyme card. I knew her pretty well in the city, but I planned to get used to it quickly, waiting for a response from my best set: two messages.
  
  
  He returned before it was finished unpacking. As a reward to her, refused the change, which he returned to the hotel.
  
  
  I spent a full five minutes concentrating on the map that, when unfolded, covered half of my Baroque bed. He confirmed his knowledge of the past, filled in a few vague spots in his memory, and located our contact addresses: one in noble Parioli, the other in noisy Trastevere on the other side of the Tiber.
  
  
  For further necessary and familiar routine, I took the Luger out of my diplomatic briefcase, disassembled the ego, and dripped oil on the firing mechanism. Then her, undressed in five minute yoga. Then her bench press to get some rest, which Roseanne so happily denied me on the plane, I want to forget about it for both ends of the day if necessary.
  
  
  If her messages hadn't been answered, something would have been wrong, because the more she thought about Rosana-the fact that her stimulating foreplay was both effective and erotic — the more she became convinced that it had something to do with "The End of the World."
  
  
  I fell into a deep sleep and had a pleasant dream that was a relaxed reenactment of my encounter with Rosana. Only in my dream, there was no one else on the plane and things were handled a little more carefully. Until the alarm bell rang.
  
  
  She woke up quickly, and was unhappy. The phone rang. He took the phone off the hook.
  
  
  "Mr. Carr?" A female voice with a slight foreign accent.
  
  
  — Will you join the conversation?"
  
  
  "Sir Hugh Marsland for you." Just a moment, please.
  
  
  He waited for her, and a voice that was too warm, too vibrant, took the place of a girl's.
  
  
  "You're talking to Hugh Marsland, Mr. Carr," he said. (Always beware if an Englishman forgets his title too soon.) Lew was very thoughtful in advising you to contact us. How's that old fool doing?"
  
  
  I answered her with the information Hawk telexed to me. Lew, that old madman, was traveling on his yacht, Mad Jane, off the coast of Diamond Reed with Mimi, the fifth Mrs. Kevin. I had to say hello to both of them.
  
  
  "I'm afraid there's nothing wrong with the financial side of both ends of the World, dear," Sir Hugh said, thinking a little of Lew. — But there's no reason why we shouldn't meet up for a little relaxation at la bella Roma. Renzo Conti and someone around us, we want to meet for a drink and spend the evening. I would be happy if you would join us. Say around six-thirty in the Monza lounge?
  
  
  I told her I'd like it.
  
  
  A short conversation was almost enough to give her a glimpse of Sir Hugh in the flesh and blood. A literate and well-mannered Englishman with a fake tough-guy society appearance who had to disguise his snobbery so that he could earn a pound, mark, franc, or lira that he didn't inherit like the other boys. And it was almost certain that there was room for even more money at the End of the World. It was only said to make the contribution more appealing to the dumb, rich Texan by making the ego seem unnecessary, so if they catch me, oni will pick me up and pretend the kids are having a good time.
  
  
  It was only five o'clock in the afternoon, and my extended rest had removed the discomfort of the time difference. I was able to put it to good use, they are the two hours that I had left before the game started. I got dressed (and made a mental note to buy some more colorful shirts and accessories to make my look even more convincing), and took the elevator down to the lobby in a gilded metal cage.
  
  
  The doorman called a taxi and I drove to Piazza Navona, a wonderfully beautiful and touristy place. Instead of taking a table on the Tre Scalini terrace, I crossed the square, took a few turns, and returned to my route, Corso Vittorio Emanuel. He arrived just in time to catch the bus to Trastevere. It was a warm spring day, and the bus was packed with chunks, and it felt like you were stuck in a warehouse full of the smell of stale laundry, but I knew I was free of the pursuers.
  
  
  The contact address was a ramshackle, sparsely furnished corner apartment above a tobacconist's shop selling cigarettes, salt, and lottery tickets. He climbed the rickety stairs and knocked three times. The door was opened by a thin guy in his twenties with flaxen hair who looked like an unemployed tractor driver. Perfect disguise for the international, wandering student population of the region. He maintained his listless junkie pose until he closed and locked the door behind me.
  
  
  Then he came out on his own posture, and Stahl looked a little more human.
  
  
  "Hyman, CIA," he said. — I was told you were coming." You're Jerry Carr, aren't you?
  
  
  'That's right.'Her shook emu's hand.
  
  
  "I feel very sorry for Anderson," Hyman said. "We had no idea what he was doing. Her ego searched all of her things, and we still don't have any leads on the ferret. He had a wild theory about the " End of the World." But the only conspiracy I see in this is the usual attempt to milk investors and maybe even the public." He let me into the back room, which had the same deadly atmosphere as the first room. There must have been some organization in this, though, because he walked right up to the old couch, pushed aside the mess on the floor, and pulled out a cardboard box from under it.
  
  
  "Maybe you'll find something that we've overlooked," he said without much conviction. "These are ego things, except for the clothes he was found in, his only good suit that he was buried in, and some other clothes that the ego maid sold at the flea market."
  
  
  "Ego maid?" My ears pricked up at the possible clue. "Corky. American student. Presumably, " Hyman said. The latest in a long series. A clean road in this direction. We checked it out. But you can get her address if you want. "Maybe," I said. — But let me handle this first.
  
  
  I'm not dismissing the CIA. But there were times when PEOPLE found out about things that they were missing out on. And rare medical cases were the opposite.
  
  
  "I'll be in the other room if you need me," Hyman said. "I bet you're the only one who has to burn hashish in a censer to hide the fact that I smoke Camel."
  
  
  He sat her down on the rickety sofa and Stahl examined the contents of the box. I had nothing to stop at. All repeats of what I already knew on telex. Anderson's pile of clumsily written notes to himself was familiar with everything from his dates with Cora and the other girls to his notes about Conti, Marsland, and Mallory. Clem Blessed Andersson was a chronic scribbler. It's just as bad a habit for a secret Service officer as it is to talk while drunk. On the other hand, she knew some good agents (never top-notch, but still good) who talked so much drunk and reported so many contradictions that they drove the counterintelligence guys crazy trying to extract a grain of truth from ih's chatter. The same can be said for Anderson's scribbles and notes. Except that he's gone mad, not the enemy, but her, Nick Carter, looking for a possibility that might not rule out retribution, and looking for clues to what might have caused ego's death.
  
  
  There were only three notes that were not duplicates of what I used to feed in my head. An obscure sketch with the names Conti, Marsland, and Mallory forming a triangle around the letter L. These include a question mark and an illegible note that can mean CH, the Swiss license plate designation. This is followed by something that reads like a Jungfrau, an Alpine spire in Switzerland, or, in German, a virgin (highly unlikely), or a Junker-in German, a nobleman, or wild plums — a drug addict. Or maybe some code word. The beginning of the second was a clearer note, consisting of no more than an "R". "R", and the courier? But who is it? In a moment of illness, my thoughts returned to Rosana.
  
  
  Third, in the middle of the belly of the blank card is the letter "AA". Klemmu had a drinking problem and might have been planning to contact Alcoholics Anonymous in Rome, but it seemed as far-fetched as my previous "virgin".
  
  
  Hymana thanked her, wrote down Cora's address, and left. She lived in a guest house nearby. Just in case it wasn't, I walked down a few alleys to Santa Maria Square, an equally common tourist stop in Trastevere, and hailed a taxi.
  
  
  I still had a little time to buy a pair of bright shirts and a pair of crocodile-skin high boots to maintain my Texan image. And I still had a little time to shave in my room and change for the meeting.
  
  
  Inspired by the mystique of stock car racing, Le Superbe Hall in Monza was decorated with reproductions of vintage cars in the same way that some English pubs are decorated with reproductions of horses and hunting dogs. Now, at six-thirty in the evening, ego was filled with Conti's camera crews, some singing, and the most beautiful and neatly dressed women he'd ever seen, all gathered under one roof.
  
  
  He walked into Monze's room with the somewhat schizoid demeanor that always seemed best suited to Jerry Carr. Half the uncertainty of a stranger and half the arrogance of a man who knows that he can write any check for an eight-figure sum. I ignored the waiter who tried to lead me to a table, and stayed where I was, half blocking the entrance, peering into the seductive darkness.
  
  
  I was still squinting when a tall, burly man with a red face, balding head, and a tight red mustache over his upper lip approached me.
  
  
  Jerry Carr? Hugh Marsland. The voice around the phone call recognized her. — I'm glad you could come. We're all in that corner. He waved a fleshy hand in an indeterminate direction. "Earn and maintain a happy company with an ego harem company." He gave a snoring whinny, and I followed.
  
  
  In the ego group and Conti's group, several tiny tables were pushed together. I was introduced to Lorenzo Conti, Renzo with friends, Chris Mallory, the aging star Michael Sport, the blooming, stunning Camille Cavour and others. He ordered a double Chivas Regal on the rocks, sat down in the gilded chair between Sir Hugh and Conti, and tried to peer into the darkness to see his new companions .
  
  
  Sir Hugh has already described it. Between the ego of his balding skull and the red moustache, he had the jovial and innocent face of an English boarding school boy, even though the emu was in his late forties. He looked like a cheerful and cheerful child until her ego eyes saw it. Cool, calculating stainless steel balls. He was tall and somewhat stocky, having long since retired from sports.
  
  
  Renzo Conti was the other extreme. Short, about five feet, slim and elegant, only 56 years old, according to my data, with blue-black hair. Either it was for estestvenno, or it was the best paint job I've ever seen. He was clean-shaven, with an aristocratic nose and dark brown eyes set in a tanned face. Ego Cerro-the green mohair suit was custom-made with Italian perfection. Nen was wearing a pale green silk turtleneck. He wore a gold Rolex on his left wrist. On his right ring finger was an antique signet ring encircled in pale gold. He smiled and showed a full set of shiny white teeth; better than most ego stars.
  
  
  Mallory's Stud was as big as Marsland. But he must have been a lot fatter, despite the expensive tailoring of his furry tweed suit. Everything about nen was so new, reflecting the ego's newfound prosperity, that you didn't need any additional information to notice it. I don't know why, but someone like Renzo can walk around in a suit for the first time, and it still feels like the ego family has carried the ego for generations. While someone like Studds was giving out a core of phony stuff, despite all the pounds he put into his expensive Zhirinovsky suits. The pack had a long and ugly face, the kind of ugliness that some ladies who are easy to impress call attractive. Especially with the scar on his left cheek. In any successful period of his career, he could have done it Vyacheslav. So he must have tried to keep it as a memento of his past ego's eyes were pale blue.
  
  
  Michael Sports. You undoubtedly know ego from the photos. He's an extraordinarily handsome Englishman, slightly less shabby than his ego-driven appearance on the big screen might suggest. He looks forty, and only reveals his true age of fifty-odd at the end of a stressful night out with bitches and drinking.
  
  
  Camille Cavour was something completely different again. And what-what, what is worth focusing on, for a moment. She looked better than her movie image suggested, and that movie image made her a sex symbol in just two short years. She couldn't possibly be taller than sixty feet barefoot, or weigh more than sixty pounds, but the result was perfect. Her soft brown hair was caught up in a yellow velvet ribbon and fell down her back. Her fantastic body was locked in a tight orange dress that hugged two protruding plum-shaped breasts. When she turned to be introduced to Sir Hugh, her two dark brown eyes, almost as black as ripe olives, had the dazzling effect of two 250-watt lamps.
  
  
  The rest was made up of lesser bosses, employees, actors and actresses, as Sir Hugh had already told me on the phone. I had a strong feeling that the whole party was set up for the gullible Jerry Carr, a playboy and possible investor.
  
  
  The waiter, dressed as if he had escaped from a seventeenth-century battlefield, brought me a whiskey, and Renzo, already a great friend of mine, offered me a cigarette on a flat platinum pipe decorated with a coat of arms. Perhaps the family crest. Her politely declined a cigarette and pulled out her own brand, filtered cigarettes, which her preferred. They are custom-made, and decorated with the C monogram, which can easily pass for Carr or Carter. Camille cooed in delight and asked if it was okay to have the kids. She was simply being asked to please you. She leaned in confidentially and made lighting a cigarette a special, intimate act.
  
  
  "Oh," she said, disappointed, after a long drag. "It's just plain tobacco, Mr. Carr.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," I said. "I realized that the Italian police are quite complicated about marijuana."
  
  
  "Pooh," she said. "For homeless people and hippies, yes, but not for people like us. Dottore Simca, who will be arriving soon, has a high political position, and everyone knows that ego stamina is partly due to cocaine. The same goes for Renzo.
  
  
  "No, — I said, suitably impressed. "Just call me Jerry," I said.
  
  
  "If you call me Camille," she said. She looked at me for a moment. "I think I'll sit next to you, Jerry," she said. "Even if your cigarette is just plain tobacco." I'm not sure what she did with G, but it doesn't make much sense, like a cross between Ch and Dsj, and it sent a strange shiver down my spine.
  
  
  Now we had a small square for the four of us: Camilla, Sir Hugh, Renzo and me. Camille snuggled up to me so close that there wasn't even room for a tissue paper between us.
  
  
  "Gerry has plans to participate in The End of the World," Sir Hugh said with a stifled laugh. — But I told em I was afraid we had plenty of money. Really, Renzo? "I'm afraid I think so, too," Conti said. "This is a budget of eight million, very large these days, and we already have two additional million for possible delays and inflation. Most of our budget is spent on unusual props and "special effects". We destroy entire cars. About ten votum-votum shootings will begin. Huge fleets will be sunk, not to mention the pocket money of half a million dollars for the royalties of stars like Camilla and the popular Mr. Sports. We also use the biggest stars in every country, including Russia and, for the first time, China, for guest roles."
  
  
  "What a failure, Renzo," I said. "I would give my last dollar to make a movie like this one day." As this last dollar was about to be buried under more than twelve million siblings, Conti's sigh was met with a meaningful frown.
  
  
  She'd love to see Gerry get a share in our film, " Camille said pleasantly. — I just met ego here, Renzo. You introduce the ego to me, and then you send it away again. It makes me unhappy, and you know how bad it can be for a movie: delays, repetitions carinf.com not responsible, doctors, injections, if I become unhappy." Her last film, "Madonna de Sade", cost several hundred thousand points more due to her temperament and temperament. "Thank you, Camille," I said.
  
  
  "But Camilla, doll," Sir Hugh protested. "You should know that there is a limit to participation. We can afford some software to meet your whims with an additional two million.
  
  
  "A few whims, Hugh?" Camille asked as one of her blood - red-fingernailed hands pointed at my every tribe and gave it a little squeeze.
  
  
  "Please, Camilla, my dear," Renzo said. — I didn't mean it would be impossible to help Jerry, just difficult. And if you want to make a problem out of it, maybe we can figure something out. But we have to wait for Pierrot, Mr. Simka, our financial expert. He has his own Swiss bank and is our political liaison. Don't worry yet, dear Camilla, and neither do you, Jerry.
  
  
  I asked her when this Mr. Simka would be joining us. This Swiss bank might be just the connection she wanted in Clemm Anderson's strange sketch.
  
  
  "Who knows," Renzo said. "If Pierrot comes, he will. And if Em likes to mess around in the Senate right now, he'll be around a little later.
  
  
  "It makes its own laws," Studds told Mallory. "Like he's making laws for Italy."
  
  
  "Or breaking the law," Camilla tweeted.
  
  
  "Well, well," said Sir Hugh, with a fatherly frown. "We must not allow Jerry to have any strange ideas."
  
  
  Renzo laughed, as if Sir Hugh had just told the biggest joke in the world. And maybe it was.
  
  
  It was followed by several hours of drinking and aimless feasting in the Monza lounge before Renzo looked down at his Rolex and said it was time to move the entire menagerie to the restaurant for dinner; this evening, he had hired a very special diner.
  
  
  "We can eat there, and then Studs will show Jerry some of our borrowed aircraft," he said. "I earned my millions by combining business and pleasure." He also brushed off this boast by adding ," And a voice like ih lost again.'
  
  
  According to my telex, he was in debt to banks and less tolerant private creditors until the last day. But I had to say that he continued to act like a person without a single care in this world.
  
  
  Six limousines were waiting in the hotel's winding driveway. Its awarded frequent be the first. Renzo, Camille and her in the backseat. Mallory and Sir Hugh are in the folding seats across from us, and Michael is next to the livery driver.
  
  
  It took me a good twenty-five minutes from the hotel to the restaurant, which I spent completely absorbed in myself. On the one hand, Renzo with cautious but detailed questions about my financial situation in case Vereldeinde invites me as an investor. On the other hand, Camilla, who is engaged, has involved me in some around her events . As soon as we were outside, around the hotel, I felt a small, silky hand on my hip, testing my reaction to her touch.
  
  
  "There are quite a few problems getting a decent amount out of the United States, Jerry," Renzo said. "Despite all this talk of free enterprise."
  
  
  "I always have a few million dollars in reserve in Nassau," her Renzo confessed.
  
  
  "Good location of the hotel in Nassau". Sir Hugh turned to join in the conversation. "No problem if you want to get your affairs in order quickly."
  
  
  Camille giggled and squeezed my thigh. "I'd much rather you slow down your business," she whispered in my ear. She identified the words, followed by a flick of her tongue that reinforced the free movement of her hand.
  
  
  "She got a transfer from Nassau once, and it only took two days," added Chris Mallory. "If her ego tried to get through America, it would take two to three Sundays."
  
  
  "And you'd have to fill out fifty forms for a paltry £ 400,000," Sir Hugh snorted.
  
  
  She also snorted, but it was the frustration and pleasure that came along with it. I didn't know how much longer I could hold out under Camille's gentle caresses without exploding. Yoga has given me some control, but it takes full concentration to achieve maximum results. And with Camilla's tongue in my ear, ee playing near my groin, hers had to keep the other ear open for Conti, Mallory, and Sir Hugh, and they responded without tying themselves directly.
  
  
  He gritted his teeth and spoke knowledgeably about the possibilities of a number of multinational companies with offices in Rome or Milan. I whispered a silent prayer of gratitude as the limo finally turned into the cypress-lined alley leading to our restaurant. Camilla let out an almost inaudible angry sound, like a small spoiled child who has lost her toy, as she snatched her hand away. The car stopped. When the driver opened the door for us, Renzo led us through the huge wooden door of an old stucco farmhouse. The entire first floor was turned into a dining room. Aft, under two huge spits, there were two large wood-burning fireplaces full of blazing fires. On one spit hung a very large wild boar, the fat of which drew small tongues of fire around the fire below. The other had three geese and five beaks.
  
  
  "We get Tuscan education at its best," Renzo said. He motioned us to the main chair and stopped to give the owner some cooking tips.
  
  
  The rest of the group rushed in. Soon, the traditional Italian multi-course dinner began. For the anti-pasta, a thick farmer's vegetable soup and / or pasta followed. Then roast wild boar with baked potatoes and artichokes. Then chicken or goose with mixed salad and zucchini. Then huge trays of sweet chestnuts and cream pies. Then a cheese board almost the size of Odin around the tables, and finally, to top it all off, all sorts of small things washed down with cognac, champagne and grappa.
  
  
  Camille sat down next to me. She ate all the dishes with the same gusto as the gluttonous stallions across from us. If she always came like this, then her small five-foot figure needed to be maintained by constant and persistent exercise. Our trip here gave me some idea of what it is for training. "For God's sake," Mallory said, helping himself to high — rise spaghetti and drinking ih chianti, " I swear to you. There's something about this Italian air that makes my stomach clench. A house of two around these dishes would be a full meal, and here I continue to eat it."
  
  
  Somewhere between the macaroni and the boar, there was a commotion at the entrance, and a whisper went through the entire dining room.
  
  
  "Pierrot is coming," Renzo said. "The Little Sage".
  
  
  The fat innkeeper came into view, stepping back and bowing to the lowly one. And after him, she was seen by the smallest person I've ever seen. Piero Simca was a neat, spectacularly dressed dwarf with well-cropped hair and a neat heart-shaped beard. He carried a short ivory-headed walking stick no more than four feet long. He was about five feet tall in high-heeled platform boots.
  
  
  Ego was led to our table, where the waiter had already placed two pillows on the chair. Everyone stood up to greet him, including Camille and following them awkwardly, as required by my role, yours truly.
  
  
  "Pierrot".
  
  
  'Professor'.
  
  
  "At last," Renzo exclaimed. "Professor Simka. Mr. Carr, the man I told you about.
  
  
  "Enough of this, Professor," the little man said, gripping my hand tightly like claws. "We are here as friends. Her name is Pierrot, Gerry, and I'm glad to meet you. Sit down so he can catch up on this debauched gluttony.
  
  
  He spoke perfect English with a slight American accent, in contrast to the British primness that is usually seen in literate Italians.
  
  
  Ego's smile was open and innocent. But there was a lot of anger in his small build. It wasn't the ever-wary look in ego's greenish eyes, but something like a soft rustle in ego's lean body. The only thing she could compare it to was a night long ago in Palembang, Sumatra. Then she tossed and turned for seven sleepless hours in her trash. Until I looked inside and found a tiny bright and shiny krait; one of the most fatal dragons in all of nature.
  
  
  Ego size did not interfere with Pierrot's ideas about healthy eating. True to his word, he was eating anti-pasta and spaghetti at breakneck speed, and passed us when the boar was served. Then he had time to talk.
  
  
  Sir Hugh told me about my desire to invest in the World End , his own doubts that this could be arranged, and Camilla's comment that she would be very unhappy if I could not become one of her sponsors.
  
  
  "And you wouldn't want her to be unhappy, Pierrot," Camille added.
  
  
  "Never, my dear child," Pierrot said, cutting off a large piece of boar ham and pinning his ego to his blade like a miniature hawk pouncing on its prey. — A man would move mountains to see you happy." And since I don't look the size of a bulldozer, the more reason I have to move ih for you. Let me think about it.'
  
  
  He closed his eyes, put the meat in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. A gray goatee moved up and down his wide tie as he chewed and thought.
  
  
  He opened his eyes with a satisfied wink. "Refusal to the Argentines," he said.
  
  
  I didn't have to play to look stunned. I asked her. "What is it, Pierrot?"
  
  
  "I'm thinking out loud, Jerry," he said. "Sometimes it's not too neat. I mean, there is a group of rich idiots in Buenos Aires who want to participate in our film; a small participation of about half a million. Nothing was signed, not even a handshake.
  
  
  And the whole world knows that Pierrot keeps his word. But if it wasn't for that handshake, why wouldn't our friend Jerry Carr take the place of these Argentines?
  
  
  "Why didn't I think of that? "exclaimed Sir Hugh with exaggerated admiration, as if he hadn't really thought of helping dear Jerry Carr get rid of some of the petrodollar ego the moment he finished reading my Superba message.
  
  
  — Do you really think you can do this?" I asked her, appropriately perplexed.
  
  
  'Can I do it?'Yes,' said little Pierrot. "I already did, Jerry Carr.
  
  
  My voice is a handshake that all our friends can witness." That tight, clawlike death grip again. — For five hundred thousand dollars for participating in the World End, plus the usual extra costs." But this is a matter for lawyers and tomorrow or the day after. No more talking about money tonight. Today we are just a group of fun friends who are having a good time. Do you agree?"'
  
  
  "All right," I said.
  
  
  "Very well," said Sir Hugh.
  
  
  "Nice to have you around," Studs murmured to Mallory.
  
  
  "Bravo," Renzo said.
  
  
  Camille's response was a long, caressing squeeze of my thigh.
  
  
  Business was not discussed during the round-trip meal. Later, we got back into the limousines and drove to the airport, where Piero's political dignity led us mimmo sentries to the rear of the airport, where the first part of the Vereldeinde Air Force was assembled. Clemmu Anderson's reports prepared me for something impressive, but I was still surprised. Not only did Conti make sure that various governments provided the best aircraft of their air forces-jet Phantoms, jet Sabres, and something that even in the dim light turned out to be a real B — 52-but there were also a handful of flying toys on display that she only knew about by name AX: Planes that weren't even mentioned in the latest issue of All the World's Aircraft, that irreplaceable annual registry of who makes what and kills whom. Two of these secret planes were American. The other three looked like Russian models that he only knew about from rumors and those few smuggled photos. Ih was three, which can only indicate that these incomprehensible eastern neighbors were moving forward much faster than our best intelligence service could keep up.
  
  
  For the first time, he noticed real enthusiasm in Renzo, Sir Hugh, and Studds. Tiny Pierrot Schell is in the lead, moving from one treasure to another like an admiring schoolboy.
  
  
  "Imagine if one around these objects appeared over Washington, DC, with the symbols of the Soviet Union, "he said," at the moment when an American plane appears over Leningrad, and one around them, say, with a swastika, appears over Beijing. Just imagine the reaction in all three cases, and how quickly civilization as we know it will come to an end."
  
  
  "This is the main theme of both ends of the world," Renzo whispered to me. "We'll make Laurentiis' Waterloo look like an old Shirley Temple comedy."
  
  
  I asked her. — Some movie with a message?"
  
  
  Chris Mallory burst out laughing in the deserted airport. At dinner, he was constantly drinking grappa, a drink that can be used almost as jet fuel without changing the distillation process too much.
  
  
  "It's a message," he said. "Message to the dead outdoor pool". With his slightly stooped figure in the moonlight, his bass voice coming from the ego of his long, wrinkled face, and that black cape draped over his shoulders, he looked like a vampire around one of the smaller brothers ' ego movies in the movies. "Studds means," said Sir Hugh gravely, " that you are right. It's a movie with a message, Jerry. And that message is that this stupid old globe just won't survive World War III with all the weapons available now, even to small countries."
  
  
  "Affordable even for film companies," I added dryly. Sir Hugh laughed. 'Actually. Of course, this hard work is only necessary for the details: takeoff, landing, and the like. Our latest action scenes, some of which will be the most stunning ever shot, will be shot on a smaller scale. To the highest category, planes over toy towns, ponds that will look like oceans, but everything is incredibly realistic." "This is a new process," Renzo said. "With computers, we can pre-program entire sequences. Two armies fight each other, destroying New York City by bombing, simulating nuclear explosions. One click of a button and just a few pointers."
  
  
  "You don't need a director, do you, Hugh," Studds teased. — I'd better go pack my bags." "You, Studds?" The man who led the Zulu rebellion in the movie? Renzo protested hotly . "Our small-to-large war will be as good as the data we enter into computers. And, Stud, there is no director who could develop this program better than you. "Look," said Sir Hugh.
  
  
  "It's getting late and I'm getting cold," Camille's soft voice echoed playing big boys. — We're going back, aren't we?"
  
  
  "You're right, my child," Pierrot said, trying hard to shake off his admiration. "My old bones are also starting to cool down. "I envy you young people who warm up so quickly. He looked openly at Camille and me.
  
  
  We rode back in the same limousine. Camille snuggled up to me again. Less active, but no less tempting.
  
  
  "It's hers tonight, staying with you, Jerry," she said as we got out, around the car.
  
  
  But the inn... he thought aloud.
  
  
  "Pooh. Do you think that Le Superbe is one of the cheapest hotels where a random whore should apply to the management for permission? This is a luxurious and civilised hotel, especially for the gentleman who has taken the best room, and especially for Renzo and my other one. She pressed my hand to her firm little breast. Her nipple was badly pierced by a thin layer of fabric. My notes on Camille make it clear to me that three years ago, she was also one around them random whores who put on their shows in cheap pink hotels. But money, popularity, and somewhat more selective cultural choices erased that period from her memory.
  
  
  Just before we reached the last corner before Le Superbe, we almost collided. A battered old blue Fiat 500 flew through the alleyway into the Piazza della Republica, right into our car. Renzo's driver jerked the steering wheel heroically, and the driver of the Fiat, a large gorilla in a checkered sports jacket, did the same. Two cars screeched to a stop side by side, their noses pointing in different directions. It was seen by a small bank on the face of another driver. Our driver shouted a few Italian curses at the emu, who immediately responded and drove on.
  
  
  The only advantage was that Camille landed in my lap, clutching me in delicious terror.
  
  
  "My God,"she said," I thought we were going to die before we even went to bed."
  
  
  Renzo, less shocked, laughed. "Our glorious Roman movement," he said. "It's okay, although in the middle of the night it happens to cut a little."
  
  
  In the lobby of the Stud Hotel, Sir Hugh and Michael Sport, who had taken the production workshop in the car behind us, left us alone. Renzo came up with Camille and me in a gilded elevator on the third floor, where he had a permanent suite with an equally constant stream of visitors, mostly bad guys. We continued on to the sixth floor, the bellboy's almost motherly smile on his face.
  
  
  "Oh, I know this number," Camille said, walking past me across the living room and into the bedroom. "I think it's beautiful. Look. She pulled a string, and the curtain she pulled back revealed a groaning mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling. "Oh, you'll love me on the big screen," she promised as she boldly ducked into the bathroom.
  
  
  I didn't need an education to get naked. But Camille had nothing to take off, and she was as naked as a newborn baby when its jacket and pants were just removed. She helped me with the rest, and he was glad he'd put the gun and stiletto in his suitcase. A small gas bomb that looked like a gold trinket could be left on the bedside table. I didn't have to answer confusing questions that might interfere with my current intentions ...
  
  
  My intentions, my feelings, and my ardor, which attracted me with their brilliant pedagogical abilities — were all reflected in this full-length mirror. Camille was right that I would have loved her on the big screen. And he was right about the way she handled her giant platter, around meat, pasta, and anti-pasta. And we both liked being right.
  
  
  The first time was fast, breathless, and instinctive. After lying side by side for a while to catch our breath and gently explore the other other, we moved on to a second, slower circle with long pauses and sluggish changes of position. We both felt a tingle from it and lay in the warmth and intertwined with each other. In the mirror, it was as if we were suspended in weightlessness in space, gliding through some fourth sexual dimension.
  
  
  But a part of my brain was working harder. I was lucky enough to always find a stronger stimulant in sex than, for example, amphetamine. Perhaps sex was just as addictive, but less harmful to the central nervous system. If Camille knew anything more about The End of the World than her six-figure salary, bed was the right place for me to find out. And he could only recognize her if she was completely relaxed. Given the ferret's actions so far, she seemed a few rounds away from a slightly weaker defense.
  
  
  Her petite body was inch by inch as delicious as Rosana's more luscious body. Camilla also had a slight advantage in experience and education. At that moment, her and felt a slight shiver in her, a shiver that had nothing to do with mistletoe or the cold. Her, was ready to enter nah again.
  
  
  'Him, Jerry. You, yes, now, " she said.
  
  
  I saw her small body in the mirror, bending, ready for me, and I was about to close my eyes for the first move. Then ih opened it wide again, but too late. In the mirror, he saw two fleshy figures enter the living room a day later.
  
  
  I tried to turn around, but the first one, a fat gorilla in a plaid jacket, was already hitting me on the back of the head with a ham-sized fist, a blow that could have knocked a bull over. I fell off the bed and landed on the thick carpet, where he planted a heavy shod foot against my ribs. Through the haze of pain and blurred consciousness, I thought I could hear Hawke's voice, just as I had on my previous training days. He said, " The first thing you should always remember is that you will have no excuses if you are caught when you are not on your guard." Perhaps someday the taxpayers of a grateful nation will put these words on my tombstone.
  
  
  Her half-conscious mind is as her second customer drags Camilla around our pleasure garden, one hand covering her mouth while the other suppresses her struggle. Then he gagged her, taped her up, and tied her up with torn strips of a thin Le Superbe linen sheet.
  
  
  Her, felt myself losing consciousness, but when a gorilla in a checkered jacket helped his discretion buddy tightly tie Camille up, she was grabbed by Pierre, the gas bomb. Ego tucked it under his arm. Her, thought that no one would search the person he dragged naked around the trash. Another thought occurred to me. The checkered jacket was worn by the driver of the Fiat 500 who almost rammed us. Then he stopped thinking.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  It took a while before she started thinking again. But after ten or fifteen minutes of it, he came to, tied up like a roll in the backseat of a Fiat 500 speeding through unfamiliar streets. They didn't bother to blindfold me, which was a bad sign. Obviously, they had no philanthropic intention of leaving me unharmed.
  
  
  The throbbing pain in my head was severe, but as far as I could tell, nothing was broken, and I didn't have any serious injuries. My mind slowly cleared, at least enough to admit to myself that I was even more startled now than when my locality of Russia began.
  
  
  At this time, my assignment seemed like nothing more than a tedious task. Go to Rome and find out, as soon as possible, if there is any reason to doubt Clemm Anderson, if there is anything more than just expensive and flashy film production. If Clem had been wrong, he might have packed up and flown home to resume his unpaid vacation and mend his broken relationship with Tiggy. He knew now that Clem wasn't wrong, but what was he right about?
  
  
  At first glance, it was as Hawk had hoped. Thread of Peace was just another extraordinarily time-consuming and expensive film by today's budget standards. But the outrageous accusations were probably nothing more than Conti's scam and the egos of his fellow prisoners. The speed with which they took my bait was further proof of this, as was ih's nice little gift of Camille to pique my interest.
  
  
  Ih The vast disturbing collection and intricate weapons were far more than the film actually needed, but that's not surprising given the overblown megalomania so often found in the homes of great filmmakers. The B-52s and other advanced fighters were expensive toys, but basically without firepower, no more dangerous than the Goodyear airship that flies over advertising-filled Rome.
  
  
  He had to admit that there were other levels below this surface. But they were still so vague, and so little researched, that none of Clem's hastily scribbled notes prior to my current abduction seemed to have any connection to an international conspiracy. All I noticed about Renzo, Sir Hugh, Studds, and even that dangerous dwarf Pierrot, was that they seemed to want to see me alive, and (with Camille's help) extremely happy. At least for the time it takes to sign a check for half a million and transfer money from the Bahamas to ih Swiss bank. We may have eaten chicken that night, but no one around the people who met her was around them who kills the golden egg laying hen. And Jerry Carr was such a chicken in ih's eyes.
  
  
  My rambling thoughts were abruptly cut off when the car stopped abruptly. A gorilla in a plaid jacket pushed open the door and pulled me out onto the hard floor. To my surprise, I found myself looking at the entrance to the country restaurant where we'd partied less than seven hours earlier. Now it was deathly quiet and deserted in the murky moonlight. I remembered Renzo, or someone else, telling me that he lived on a farm a few miles away. The staff has long since gone home, to Rome or somewhere nearby.
  
  
  The gorilla pulled me to my feet and dragged me along. Ego's bulky companion opened the wooden door with a shiny new key. Was this return to the place of our yahoo closely related to the" End of the World"?.. or not?
  
  
  If the Gorilla and the guy he worked for had been on a real chase — and I'd swear it hadn't started before our limo parade pulled out around the hotel — she'd be pointing at the restaurant. Abandoned after hours, it was a place for games they wanted to play with me. Even the most minimal connection to the criminal world will give the key in the shortest possible time. And the novelty of ih's plan pointed in a different direction than Renzo and his minions ' egos. If they had identified the ego, they would have had their own key. Chris Mallory said over dinner that this place and the entire hotel grounds around it had once belonged to the Renzo family, before gambling, expensive Zhirinovsky boys and questionable money robbed it of its semi-aristocratic heritage. I was still fishing in the same muddy waters as before.
  
  
  The door was open. The gorilla and ego companion carried me between them to the dining room. Half dragging, half carrying, they led me into the flow of the room, toward the giant hearths, now deserted and silent because of the faint smoke of the half-extinguished fire below. Tartan coat threw me into a chair like a sack of coal.
  
  
  "They keep firewood here," he said angrily to his companion in Italian. "Take enough for us to start a fire, Pepe. Enjoy a delicious Texas barbecue sometime.
  
  
  Hers wouldn't have lasted so long if he'd succumbed to the growing fear of torture. This is one company by profession. But I must admit that the thought of roasting over a small fire didn't make my dollar bill pound with joy. I still ferret had this memory of a giant pig dripping huge amounts of fat onto the red-hot wood below. Pepe returned with an armful of wood. He flicked ash from the coals and tossed half of his own food on top of her. The shooting flames licked at the irregularly shaped wood, and after a few minutes, the center turned back into a raging flame.
  
  
  The gorilla ripped the Band-Aid off my rta. "Okay, Mr. Carr," he said. " Now it's time to talk."
  
  
  He spoke English with a strong Italian accent, which I won't try to convey.
  
  
  He kept his lips pressed together as tightly as if he had a Band-Aid on them, and tried to make himself look defiant. It's not so easy when you're naked and tied up, but he seems to get it. He spoke to Pepe in the Italian dialect, and Pepe pulled out a heavy metal skewer, blackened and still with the remains of the boar that was still digesting it.
  
  
  The gorilla nudged me with his heavy boot, and Pepe spat on my back. They pulled out a strong nylon cord and began tying me motionless to the spit.
  
  
  Together they drove the purple me from here to the furnace and lowered the skewer into its holders. Then they fixed it with wing nuts. The skewer was supported by two vertical pieces of wrought iron, in which recesses were made at equal distances to control the distance to the firing plate. Full of humanity, they started from the highest level.
  
  
  "You, without your clothes on," said the gorilla, " it will be nice to warm up after the cold night air sampling outside, Mr. Carr." Before we go overboard and let you get too hot, I have a few questions.
  
  
  Her emu expressed his rheumatism along with his opinion about nen, his hosts and ego possible questions in a stream of short sentences.
  
  
  "Very good, Mr. Carr! Pepe!
  
  
  They lowered me down a step, and the warmth was no longer comfortable. I couldn't stop sweating, and every drop of water made a sizzling sound.
  
  
  "What is your real relationship with World End?" the gorilla in the plaid jacket asked. "Take the tailor," he said through gritted teeth. "His investor. I put money into it because I think it will make more money."
  
  
  He laughed mournfully. "I'm sure you can do better, Mr. Carr, if that's your name," he said. — You'll have to tell me anyway. What is your current relationship with World End?
  
  
  "Exactly what I said," I growled.
  
  
  'Nothing else? A sweet, innocent investor?... He pointed to Pepe.
  
  
  One more step down. What used to be an unpleasant heat sensation has now turned into a burning sensation.
  
  
  "Just this," I blurted out. "Just now, even if I don't make a profit from it, I still get my money from it through Camille Cavour. I can only afford the money for that. "Not exactly an innocent investor, then, Mr. Carr," the gorilla gurgled with a hyena smile. — But still not convincing enough. You want me to tell her that you're investing half a million dollars in a little girl when you can get a dozen of them for five hundred, and not so long ago you could have bought Signorina Cavour for fifty? Pepe!
  
  
  One more step down. Now I knew I couldn't stand it. Her would also not stahl speak, but that didn't help solve the problem ah. Of course, Hawke could have sent another agent, but depending on how long it took them to find my body, or whether my disappearance was unintentional, it would delay me for several days or even Sundays. And if Anderson really felt something, if there really was an international threat to the world order, it would be too little.
  
  
  Pepe added three more logs to the fire, and the flames grew even higher.
  
  
  Gorilla said. "I think he's done with that part, Pepe," he said with his sickening humor.
  
  
  Now hers hung back down. At first, it was a bit of a relief, as the distance to the fire increased, but the new fuel Pepe was adding to it also increased the fire, and he could already feel blisters forming on my shoulders and buttocks... And he felt something else. ...
  
  
  When my wrists were candid over the stove fire, I felt a slight decrease in tension as the nylon cord started to melt from Savchenko. He squeezed her wrists to hold on a little longer. I strained the muscles of my left arm to hold Pierre, who was safely hidden under my arm.
  
  
  "What is your real relationship with World's End, Mr. Carr? The interrogation itself was monotonous... Vlad was almost unbearable around me now. — Think of something more convincing than your gibberish about money and that movie bitch." Because otherwise, the thread of the world will come too early for you, and you will not be able to keep company for our little conversation.
  
  
  Pepe squealed with laughter and stood next to his boss to get a closer look at the roast.
  
  
  Now the time had come, now that they were both standing so close to me. Thank God they were looking more at my face than at my bound wrists when he forced out another plea. "Honestly," he yelled, " I'm better than anyone at the Conti studios." — That's really the only thing. She's just an oilman with more money than brains. I heard it, so you can get a little closer to the glamour of cinema. Don't burn me again, signor ...
  
  
  "Fried like a pig, squealing like a pig," the gorilla teased me. — We need a better rheumatologist, Mr. Carr. Maybe I should turn you around to face the fire one more time.
  
  
  He started to turn me around again. This was the moment.
  
  
  When he started to move me, her, he reached out with his free right hand and snatched Pierre out in one quick motion. He cocked it with his thumb and tossed it between Pepe and the gorilla.
  
  
  "Well, tailor..." was almost all he could still say sarcastically. Pepe collapsed on the floor next to me. With a sharp movement, it bounced off the fire plate and flames and quickly turned over. He quickly freed himself from the half-melted ropes around his ankles and crouched down, ready to meet his tormentors. I didn't have to worry anymore.
  
  
  The beauty of this gas bomb is its rapid and concentrated impact on a small area. He held his breath, but it was hardly necessary.
  
  
  The gorilla in the tartan jacket and Pepe were already candidates for the Campo Verano cemetery when she was exhaled again. The last of the gas was being carried away by the rising air above the fire.
  
  
  When hers got back on its feet, its not feeling as bad as it was supposed to, not even a few feet worse than someone who got burned falling asleep on the beach in Miami. I probably still have blisters and a few days of discomfort, but its going to be back in action .
  
  
  Suddenly relieved and aware of his position as her, he burst out laughing. Here she was standing alone in the dining room with two corpses. Nick Carter was already there, intent on getting back to the AX assignment again, red as a lobster after roasting, and still as naked as Adam before the fall, a good five miles from Rhyme.
  
  
  There were a few less dramatic things I needed to finish before I could plunge back into the impressive or meaningful action of Agent AH. I snuck into the kitchen of the restaurant and found some clothes in the closet. Hers was a dirty white shirt three sizes too small for me, loose-seam pants, a dirty chef's jacket that was too small, and a pair of crumbling work boots. It wasn't at all presentable for any environment other than the dark underside, but at least now I wasn't in danger of being arrested for indecent behavior.
  
  
  Dead or not, I had the feeling that the gorilla in the plaid jacket still owed me something. Carefully pulling the collection of clothes into his half-cooked carcass, he returned to his ego and body. I took off my ego jacket, which would probably give me more warmth than the short white jacket of the assistant cook, and made sure that the keys to the Fiat were in one of the ego pockets. He walked out of the village restaurant and closed the huge front door behind him. Then he put her in a Fiat 500 and pulled her out of the driveway. I was on Via Tiburtina and headed west towards the center.
  
  
  It was about five o'clock in the morning, and the first rays of the rising sun rivaled the darkness. There was very little traffic and very little sign of life until I turned a half-turn in the Piazza della Republica and saw a cluster of police cars in front of Le Superbe. From trucks to patrol cars and municipal ambulances.
  
  
  The Fiat parked her in the alley and walked back to Le Superb . When I tried to enter the entrance, I was seized on both sides by two giant Carabinieri, the main group of the Roman police.
  
  
  "Documents?" the one on my right asked, twisting my arm painfully.
  
  
  "Your papers," the one on my left said, squeezing my other hand. 'A foreign passport? ID card?'
  
  
  "They're in my room," I said. "At the Le Superbe Hotel.
  
  
  She repeated her application in Italian, and both officers looked at me incredulously. The Odin around them looked down at my disheveled, brightly colored jacket. And one look at my sagging trousers, my ragged legs, was enough to convince him that I could never, ever be a guest at Le Superbe. They debated whether to leave me lying in a ditch or take me into custody for a long list of unsolved crimes, ranging from rape, extortion of stolen art to fraud. The cop who tried to arrest me seemed to be winning on points, until I was finally interrupted by a woman's shout of recognition coming through the hotel's sixth-floor windows. Jerry, caro mio! Jerry. This is it. Look, Pierrot!
  
  
  I looked up and saw Camille in my bright blue pajama jacket standing in the window of my hotel room. Next to her was little Piero Simca, pointing authoritatively at the uniformed police commissioner who had joined them. Through the megaphone, he gave explosive commands that further disrupted the already broken silence of this early morning.
  
  
  "Sergeant Blundy." Kapralov Inverno. Immediately release this person and take the ego to the ego room. He consulted Pierrot, who had reached Thalia's ego. "Room 79. Instantly!"
  
  
  My two assailants instantly became affable, caring friends. They treated me as if I were being pampered-something of my literal whim, an address that greatly appreciated her-and led me through the receding ranks of curious passers-by and policemen to the lobby, up the elevator, and to my room, where the Colonel sent ih off with a brief thank you.
  
  
  "My God," Renzo shouted as he met us at the door. Camille, Pierrot, Sir Hugh, and Studs were standing behind him, dressed in different pajamas. "We thought we'd lost you forever." He was a producer, not an actor, and it was hard to question his sincerity, as he clearly respected dollar signs.
  
  
  "Me too," Camille exclaimed. "These are terrible people. I thought you were dead.'
  
  
  — But where did you get these clothes?" Pierrot snapped. Even in the midst of all this turmoil, he was still the fashion model for everyone in his Valentino satin pajamas, bright red robe, and Gucci slippers.
  
  
  I won't waste time repeating what happened as he explained it to them. He pointed to the driver of the Fiat that had nearly rammed us earlier, like my captor, and Renzo and Piero exchanged knowing glances.
  
  
  "There are enemies in the film world who can't stop trying to sabotage the production of both ends of the world and ruin Lorenzo Conti," Renzo said .
  
  
  Or maybe it's the revenge of those hot-tempered Argentines, Piero thought aloud. "Although how could they have found out so quickly that we didn't trade ih's interests for Jerry's?"
  
  
  These reactions seemed more than paranoid to me. Worrying about my safety doesn't really make much sense. But ih speculating about the backstory of my abduction was close to insanity. While they may have been paranoid, this in no way indicated that my co-stars were involved in this prank. They moved heaven and earth to find me. They were trying to persuade the Roman police and Italian army security units to find me and their ferret when they noticed my disappearance. Let me briefly describe what happened after my disappearance. It took Camille less than fifteen minutes to free herself from the torn sheets and grab her phone to alert Piero and Renzo. They, in turn, warned all the authorities. Ee the description of the two attackers was too inaccurate. She is liquid and blood I. H. about eight feet tall and muscular, like Ukrainian weightlifters. But the irrefutable facts of my disappearance itself, the torn sheets, the obvious scratches on the floor from the broken lock, were more than enough proof of the abduction.
  
  
  The police and security forces conducting the investigation acted quickly and efficiently. Ten minutes after the Gorilla and Pepe pushed me into the trattoria, roadblocks were set up all over the city. The three men worked with three different phones, sending teams of detectives to question some of Camilla's former lovers.
  
  
  "Not that it was left to anyone so unhappy, — she said with satisfaction. "But jealousy is unpredictable, and they just had to keep track of everything to find you, Jerry." There must have been a lot of red faces and unconvincing statements to the wives in Rime this morning. "Because I'm not done with you yet," she promised with a mischievous smile. She turned to the bed she was sitting on and pointed to a room full of movie people, cops, and detectives. "This is someone who hasn't slept yet, and has been through a terrible time. And now you're bothering the ego with your questions and nonsense . Out. All of you. Camille will take care of nen. Even Renzo and Piero nodded at rheumatism's impassioned orders, and the room was empty again. Camille sent a messenger to her address, and told him to get her makeup bag from the dressing table.
  
  
  "You're useless to me now, to us, whatever it is, poor Jerry," she said. — But I have a wonderful salve. It is beautiful in color. Like a man's sperm. She giggled. "And your burns will heal in a few hours." It's full of special things, enzymes and stuff. I once got so burned on a set in Sardinia that the doctor told me to stop carinf.com not responsible for at least a week. But in the morning I applied this magic cream and on the same day I was flawless, as always in front of the camera. This movie grossed two million in Italy alone, and its still a ferret I get at the box office if my lawyers push Renzo a little , so as you can see...
  
  
  I didn't see her at all, but I let her play with me for a while. She knew me well. She took the small rectangular makeup bag from the bellboy when he returned. He never once looked at the blisters on my purple calf when his was lying naked on the bed, or at Camilla, still wearing the top half of my pajamas when she was bent over by me forever. There's a lot to be said for these upscale hotels with ih the highest prices.
  
  
  Camille found a decanter the size of a small milk bottle with a pearl-gray concoction and quickly applied some of the ego content to my body. I immediately felt some relief. She would be recommended by sl for medical services, ah... Let me give them some advice, whatever it is.
  
  
  When she anointed me, my mind shifted to a higher speed. As always on an AI assignment, I had an impossible jumble of things that needed to be done right away, without a clear schedule for ih to complete. In the Della itself, it's much easier to run away from two thugs who almost fried you than to sneak around a hotel guarded by half the best Roman and Italian security forces.
  
  
  Camille called the maid into the room and made up the bed again. She and a plump, unflappable girl gently rolled me onto my side, then, on the contrary, laid clean, soft sheets, and then covered me with a light blanket. It was already dawn outside, and Camille had drawn the curtains on the two balcony windows.
  
  
  "You should get some sleep now, Jerry," she said. — If you find it difficult, I'll leave you two small pills that can send even an elephant to dreamland." But I think you're tired enough to sleep alone."
  
  
  She leaned in to give me an unconvincing first kiss on the lobe.
  
  
  "I have to go to bed myself," she said. "Oh my God, I must look like an old witch."
  
  
  She looked more like a 14-year-old hypersexual girl scout playing doctor, and I told her that, too. Hey, I really liked that. And I was glad that she wasn't going to continue her merciful duty by sitting on the edge of my bed.
  
  
  I thanked her again, and she said that I would be perfectly safe in her dream, because Colonel Dinges had posted sentries in the corridor, in the elevator, and in the lobby.
  
  
  I needed to meet the person two hours ago one by one around the contact addresses ah.
  
  
  I gave myself five minutes after Camille left, in case she came back to pick up some forgotten item before hers, and tried to sit down and order. Camille's lotion was a miracle. He almost felt human again. I'm not saying I'd like to bump into something harder than silk or Camilla, but the burning sensation disappeared and he found that he could get dressed without feeling anything but a few minor pricks of pain. He picked up the bottle with the two yellow capsules that Camille had left behind as sleeping pills and stuffed it into one of the side pockets of his doublet. This time he strapped a stiletto to her left forearm and put on a shoulder holster with Wilhelmina on it. I found one of them, around Pierre's twin brothers, in the secret compartment of my briefcase and stuck it in my pocket. I didn't know where I was going, much less to whom, but I wasn't going to be caught unarmed again.
  
  
  I found that I could even take the yoga pose that I was doing the most to help me with deep concentration. So, fully dressed and almost fully awake, he sat cross-legged on the Tabriz carpet in his luxurious apartment.
  
  
  The CIA, as well as the AH's own network, had already informed Hawke of the uproar of my abduction and my return. But God knows how distorted, inaccurate, decidedly incomplete, and confusing these versions can be. He had to give his own, correct report to the AH computers and Hawke's even more subtle mind. The financial prodigy AH Goldie Simon also needed to be warned to do a little bit of data manipulation before I had to push my new partners a $ 500,000 check through the bank in Nassau that he boasted about so much. The name and address of the bank were already in my backstory, so I didn't realize that part of the road was already paved. But Goldie would like to know when and how much. One of the advantages of my abduction and my supposed injuries was that Renzo had an important business meeting for a day or two. This time was obtained on the watch that he had lost, and which still needed to be made up.
  
  
  Finally, a thought occurred to me. He rummaged in his suitcase and pulled out an innocent reissue of a Zane Gray book. However, you couldn't scroll through the pages because nah didn't have any pages. Nah only had a small compact gelignite dollar stack, which exploded forty seconds later, then activated, making twenty clicks, and then scattered its contents on confetti-like ribbons in a huge mess over an area of more than fifty square meters.
  
  
  He went to the window and pulled back the Rivnenskaya curtain just enough to look out at the awakening street below. Two patrol cars and five obvious police officers on the street, plus a few plainclothes officers and passersby. There were only three uniformed officers on the street below the side window, automatic carbines under their arms. Any commotion on the street would cause ih to run there to help his comrades . Before checking her in, I looked around the building from the outside and thought about where I saw her, the service entrance. He was still there. Dating from 1897, the building was built by an architect who sought to imitate the grandeur of the great sixteenth-century palazzi. All the upper suites had balconies, the corners of which were stacked around massive, heavy cornerstones. Rectangular pieces of stone with a ten-centimeter ledge between each. It will take quite a bit of effort to comfortably descend ten to fifteen meters. But getting down to the three or five minute signs he'd hoped for without being noticed was a bit more difficult.
  
  
  He took off his jacket and rolled up his trousers. Then he put on her robe. Still unshaven and red from frying, he didn't need makeup to give my face any outward signs of strain. He went into the living room and opened the door.
  
  
  A giant in uniform was standing in front of me, a rifle ready to fire. I will be treated with all the respect I need for my plans.
  
  
  "I want to get a good night's sleep," Emu told her in Italian. "My nerves are going to explode, vote-vote." I cringed a little more than it hurt to make it look more convincing, and Carbine gave me a knowing nod. "Please see that I am not disturbed for the next three hours," I said. "I don't care who. When I get some sleep, I can talk to your officers, but in the meantime, I want to get some sleep.
  
  
  "But those were my instructions," he said, drawing himself up again in a military posture.
  
  
  "Great," I said. He staggered back to his room and closed the door. He silently got rid of his robe, rolled up his pants, and found a spray bottle of insect repellent in his suitcase. I don't know if the ego content will harm any fly, but if the ego is applied to the hands from a distance of six inches, it forms a thin layer that fits tightly to the skin. It becomes as hard as a rhino's skin, and when it dries, it can be removed like a glove. This is a neoprene derivative developed by one of our miracle doctor chemists. Even now I would need it.
  
  
  He held it up, waved his hands in the air, and flexed his fingers for a maximum drying time of two minutes. Then he picked up Zane Gray's book from the bed and held it to the window. He made a crease in the upper-right corner that would activate the thing, counted slowly to twenty-five, and opened the window. Then he let the emu float away and quickly closed the window again. Fifteen seconds later, this madness broke out .
  
  
  The gelignite exploded as if two tankers had collided with each other, and confetti shot across the street in either direction, almost at the hotel entrance.
  
  
  At this point, he was already at another window, and then outside. He climbed down from the balcony onto the brickwork of the corner, watching with one eye as people rushed from their posts in the alley to the scene of the explosion.
  
  
  My hands gripped the spacious alcoves, and I sank down, barely out of sight from the street. In just a few seconds more than it would have taken in a beautiful but antique elevator, hers finally went down. Once there, he walked down the still fairly deserted sidewalk to the other corner and signaled for a taxi.
  
  
  The emu called her destination, a place not far from my second contact address, but far enough away to get rid of my pursuers.
  
  
  When I got out, I turned her around two corners and entered the hotel lobby, where the sleepy clerk behind the counter nodded at me as if hers were an ordinary tourist who should be here. Then he went out through the service entrance. I came across her in an alley. Two doors down from my destination, I entered the portico and waited another three minutes to make sure no one was following me. The roadway and sidewalk were left empty. I went on, and then gave two short and one long beeps to the bell with the sign of the Furnace. There was a "chik" sound from the automatic door opener, and she was still inside, on her way up.
  
  
  On the second floor, a balding middle-aged man was waiting in the doorway. He worked for a related government agency. Nen was wearing a faded red flannel dressing gown without a belt over a bulging shoulder, which was barely hidden by a pair of rumpled underpants of a terrible design.
  
  
  "Questions, questions, questions. These cute boys still think her a combination of Lieve Lita and ANP. I want to talk to them for a change.
  
  
  "That's what she's here for," I said. "Come on, Mac.
  
  
  "Gilchrist," he said grimly. "Not A Mac."
  
  
  He walked through the neat, well-kept living room and into the bedroom, which now looked as clean as it was scruffy. The drawer of the large walnut chair at the far end against the wall was open, revealing a transceiver that took up half the drawer. The other half was occupied with a jumble of electronic devices, including a phone with a multi-button device to reformat speech.
  
  
  "Kidnappings, murders, bombs," he grumbled. " I thought I was in the diplomatic service, not in a respectable spy society. Let me make a phone call, then you can talk to your superiors through the speech converter. Maybe I'll rest her then.
  
  
  He turned his dials a little, then tapped the Morse key next to the device.
  
  
  He continued to grumble. "Some around us have to earn a living during normal hours. Nine to five. Do not run from one bed to another and from one barbecue to another. Here you go, Carter. Well, you will need different spies for your spy network.
  
  
  Hawke's dry voice is already absurdly in my ears when he finally answers the phone. "You're kind of a genius, Nick," he said. "I'm sending you to solve a small problem, and the first news I get is that you're the main problem yourself. I could hear him flipping through his reports impatiently. — It says here that you were abducted by two guys who tied you to a spit and were about to roast you alive when you broke free and walked away from them. Death by "unknown cause". Well, I can guess without further prompting, but I always thought it would take four men to grab one, around my boyfriends. And six to fight you.
  
  
  I risked ego being interrupted to explain to em how I was abducted. Not that it made Hawke any more tolerant.
  
  
  "I know that your messing around with that hot chick was necessary," he said — " but not in the sense that you lowered your guard in the process. I don't care if you go to bed with Hema to..." I could almost feel my ego's thoughts shifting to the sensational, if incredible, discovery ... it gives you your information. But not if you open yourself up to elimination.
  
  
  "I haven't been eliminated yet," I said.
  
  
  "Whose guys are these?" "What is it?" he asked , as if I had a complete catalog of photos of international criminals with me.
  
  
  "They didn't show me their driver's license," I said, responding to his sarcasm. "The bodies were also undocumented. But I don't think they liked Americans very much, which might indicate Communists. Although this does not lead us to anything. One day Uncle Sam is everyone else's, and the next day he might be the enemy."
  
  
  "Stick to the damn facts," Hawke said. "Save your political philosophy for your friends. I have ih photos on telex, and Rome can only confirm that they are freelance guild members. They are available for rent to all comers. But what I want to know is: did you find anything that would confirm Anderson's suspicions?"
  
  
  "I found enough of it to make me suspicious," I said. "But it's not enough to understand how serious this is and where it's going." I switched to a brief outline: my idea that "Thread of the World" was nothing more than it appeared on the surface, but also that the university's collection of props can be very tempting for someone who is passionate about making an international mess. There are always these steam rooms, anywhere in the world.
  
  
  "Until those two men broke into my bedroom," I concluded, " I doubted Anderson was right. But someone tried to question me. And they, the questions they tried to squeeze out around me, all pointed openly to the "Stream of Light".
  
  
  He paused for a few seconds to consider the facts her emu had told him. I heard the rustle of paper again.
  
  
  "Something else," he said. "Bomb attack. Did someone else try to kill you, or is it the same rapture again?
  
  
  "It was me," I said. Before he could protest, he informed Emu of his urgent departure by Le Superbe to inform emu of the equipment to me.
  
  
  "All right," he said with a sigh. — How are you going to get back now?" Are you going to blow up the entire Colosseum right now?
  
  
  I told emu that I didn't think it would be necessary, and started to tell him about my plan to go back .
  
  
  "The less I know of the outrageous details of your ways of working, the easier my life will be. But what no one here can understand is that someone managed to find out that you were on that plane. Are you sure this girl Rosana wasn't just attracted to your fatal charm?
  
  
  "It probably helped," I said modestly. — But I'll bet you money that she's someone's baby." Giving hey the address of my hotel may have sped up the action a bit. But it's just as valuable to them as it is to us."
  
  
  "I wish we had them," Hawk grumbled. "I will conduct a triple check of the girl: we, Probably, and Alitalia. I'll also pass on the financial details to Goldie. Five hundred thousand dollars. I knew it, but it might be a new record. I have data sheets on the way to meet your new friends. Invite Gilchrist to share Anderson's scrawl, so that he can immediately make a few guesses. You'll get answers from Hyman. Gilchrist usually just thinks. AA, Swiss license plate, German virgins. It was mentioned by a word similar to Jungfrau. "Maybe that Andersson guy was crazy . Or maybe you are. Maybe all of us. Well, you go back to the hotel and try to get an hour's sleep before you go back to recreating the scenes around the Nero Rhyme.
  
  
  The scrambler clicked as Hawke hung up.
  
  
  Grumbling, Gilchrist shoved the scraps of paper he'd taken from Poe Anderson into the slot of his transmission equipment and was happy to say goodbye.
  
  
  I took a taxi and dropped off behind the hotel, where I noticed a service entrance. I didn't care if anyone saw me, but I didn't want to screw up my gatekeeper by outsmarting him.
  
  
  He took the elevator to his floor and stopped at the wall of the lobby. The corner was a few feet away from my car. When I reached the corner, I saw a sentry, a corporal by rank, standing guard and alert at the door of my apartment. Good.
  
  
  I shook out the yellow capsules around the bottle Camille had left me. Her quickly threw the bottle into another thread hall. She didn't have to wait for the sentry to return. He was a tough, well-behaved boy, and he could rely on him. The second I heard the sound of the bottle hitting the wall, hers dove through the door. The sentry took the usual five or six steps down the corridor, already holding his carbine at the ready. It took me a minute to roll up my pants, put on my robe, and stick my head out every other day to see the sentry return to his post with a blank expression on his face.
  
  
  "I'm going to call her room service for breakfast," I explained. "I just want you to know that this has happened. Didn't I just hear a sound? "Nothing, sir," he said. "A small explosion. Students, communists, and monarchists. You always have these troublemakers. By the way, the kitchen also has one around our people who keeps order.
  
  
  He decided to follow Hawke's advice and try to get some sleep before the next surgery. Camilla's lotion worked so well, except for a few vulnerable spots, that it looked like I'd never been fried.
  
  
  He took off his dressing gown, hung up his trousers and jacket, tossed his shirt and tie on a chair, and prepared to go back to bed. It was a cold March morning breeze, so I went to close the window in my room.
  
  
  But not only that window, but the window in front was open. He knew damn well that he'd shut it down as soon as he'd dropped the bomb. Someone was in my room during my absence. Someone who might still be there.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  Sleep will have to wait a little longer.
  
  
  He pulled the Luger out of the holster that hung over his doublet and headed back to the car. It was easy to search the room: an intruder couldn't use the corridors to return to an already searched area. Just two large rooms, a living room and a bedroom, as well as a large bathroom. Inch by inch of her, walked through the living room. I didn't forget to look behind the sofa, behind the heavy drapes. The liquor bar was too small even for a man of Pierrot's size, but he looked in anyway. Everything was empty. It's the same in the bedroom: behind the curtains, in the closet, under the bed.
  
  
  The doorbell rang. It took her a few seconds to lock the bathroom door and jam a chair under the doorknob. If a customer hid there, they wouldn't be able to come out while I was receiving the lunch tray.
  
  
  A waiter in a white jacket handed me a tray of food. I was flanked on one side by my doorman, and on the other by my second uniformed guard, who assured me that he had been in the kitchen overseeing the preparation of breakfast. Ih thanked her, tipped the waiter, and went back to finish his search.
  
  
  The bathroom was empty, too.
  
  
  But the open window remained a mystery. In my absence, someone had entered, probably from the roof, where the uneven profile of the gutters, decorative sculpture, and chimney coverings hid everyone from the eyes of the street patrols. Well, this required a smart, fearless person. I couldn't afford to underestimate my opponent.
  
  
  My second examination of the bedroom confirmed my diagnosis.
  
  
  My suitcase and diplomatic briefcase were thoroughly searched. Everything was carefully returned to its proper place, with the exception of the almost invisible hair seals that she had put in both items before leaving. The secret compartment in the small briefcase was not found. She had a luger and a knife with her, so there was nothing suspicious about me as Jerry Carr. She took out an innocent-looking transistor radio around her suitcase and went back to work. He searched three rooms again, this time for listening devices. The radio looked like any other radio of the same size, but with a few movements of the ego, it could be turned into an effective detector of hidden electronic listening devices.
  
  
  I didn't care if you were listening in on me. Everything related to my real identity as Nick Carter has been saved for safer places than Le Superbe Apartments. But I did take a quick look at the latest and most sophisticated video equipment: wide-angle lenses no bigger than the head of a pushbutton, capable of transmitting images to a screen more than a kilometer away. It could have been controlled by Nick Carter's speech, but the moving footage of me taking it apart and oiling the Luger, rummaging through the secret compartment in the required replacement of a TT gas bomb or other toys (from the Tech Tricks Department) wouldn't quite fit my hypersexual, simple image of Jerry Carr, the Texas playboy.
  
  
  It was received by a single beep in the living room, a small nail transmitter on a pedestal in the corner of the room. The ego was probably enough to pick up even the most muted conversation in the area. Left her ego where it was.
  
  
  There were two ihs in the bedroom: one behind the mirror above the dressing table, the other half hidden behind one of the fabric buttons on the quilted headboard. I didn't know whether to feel flattered or offended by this disproportionate interest in my use of the mattress. But he left her ego alone. Either microphone can work both ways, and I might be able to use ih as innocent bystanders for AH.
  
  
  There was no sign of anything in the bathroom. This was partly due to the fact that running water can cause inconvenience even to the best eavesdropper. So if I ever had to have a serious conversation with Hema libo, I would do it with the full cooperation of a shower, running taps, and repeated flushing.
  
  
  A little less flustered, he ate his cold breakfast and then flopped down on the bed. It must have been an hour and a half later when the only transmission I got was a phone call. It was Camille. Radiant, bright and caring . She asked me if ee lotion helped me.
  
  
  The longer I could stretch out my recovery, the better it was for my children. So I thanked her and said, hey (it's true) that the medicine miraculously helped me, but (it's not true) that I still feel a slight shiver, even though she's taking pills if I get a chance to get some sleep.
  
  
  "To be honest," she said seriously, " your burns are a little more serious than a normal sunburn. You need to get some rest. Renzo will call you. And if you can, we can all have a late-night lunch and then go to a script meeting. But it will take several hours. It's always a late lunch in Rime. So get some rest. I really needed a few hours for my beauty treatment to recover from the devastating effects of last night!
  
  
  I thanked her again and threw myself back on the bed, not to fall asleep, but to let my body calm down while my mind checked the facts and made plans.
  
  
  This message about a late lunch doesn't make much sense well. Voting scenario overview is even better. Hers was still too uninformed about too many things, and the more hers learned about the "End of the World", the better it was. Maybe then I can shed some light on this darkness.
  
  
  Renzo called a few minutes later. He let out a few convincing groans when he answered the phone. Dinner was scheduled for two-thirty, in a neat eatery not far from the hotel. The script discussion was to take place immediately afterwards, in the club's closed meeting room.
  
  
  "There you'll see some slides with other details around our equipment," Renzo said. "And then you'll immediately hear the main plot lines."
  
  
  "Gee, I'd like that, Renzo," I said. "But I still feel like I've been flayed alive."
  
  
  "I don't want to rush you, Jerry," he said sourly, " but this may be important and interesting for you as an investor... Unless you've changed your mind."
  
  
  "Of course she's still in the dell," I said. "I just hope I can get through all this script discussion."
  
  
  "Wonderful," he said. And he told me that he would reschedule the start of lunch a bit so that I could get some more rest. — And I'll make sure we finish our meal with Romagna cognac around my family's land." This will give you the strength to test our survey scenario. While.
  
  
  I had five hours of free time. Corkscrew's question as to how I might use this time was answered almost immediately by my venerable sentry, who politely knocked on my door and handed me an envelope left for me on the table below.
  
  
  "Our expert made sure that it wasn't a mail bomb," he said. But he stayed with me in the living room until I opened it without any fireworks or radiation. It was a neatly typed invitation to the opening of an exhibition of primitives at the Via della Fontanella Gallery next Tuesday.
  
  
  I showed her this to emu with the comment that in the meantime I was put on the list of cultural suckers. He laughed and left me alone.
  
  
  When it was gone, I inserted my thumb nail into one around the corners and easily removed the plastic I knew was there. It was Hyman's report on what Hawke had found out about my questions a few hours earlier. The external mechanism of government agencies may have the speed of an overgrown slug, but small government agencies such as AG can operate at the speed of light if necessary.
  
  
  There were six small gray squares on the rectangular map without the plastic cover. Ego carried her into the bedroom and took out a 200x jewelry magnifying glass around the hiding place in my diplomatic briefcase. Then I also needed the help of my bedside lamp to decipher the tightly packed data and transfer ih to memory.
  
  
  The first square contained mostly annoying details of my half-million dollar check, how it was handled if there was ever a need to unsubscribe. The first two and third were related to the analysis of Anderson's own scribbles, and he noticed that the smart guys of the internal service had done no more about it than they had about hers. A sketch with names centered around the letter L, with the letter H on it, and an illegible Jung... And with something else, I got a dozen different interpretations. The only thing that made sense was the interpretation that he had already given her, the fact that the letter L could mean Lugano, where Dottore-Professor Simca mistletoe had his connections with the Swiss bank. But at best, it meant some kind of fiddling with franks and lire. Odin around the skeptics read the scribbled word how do you like us, roughly speaking: youthful growth, which, in turn, may refer to Piero Simca, given the growth of the ego. Another argued that it should be jungflucht, another jung-freudig, another jung-flucht, respectively relaxation, joy, curse. One is even more absurd than the other. This is what concerns doodles.
  
  
  For the AA designation, I need a list of equally meaningless possibilities-from the advertising agency and automobile association to the petty gentry. Also not very logical. I would have found it myself for ten minutes in the library across the street from the embassy.
  
  
  The first two squares at the beginning of the second line contain more detailed information about Sir Hugh Marsland, Lorenzo Conti, Chris Mallory and Piero Simca. All this was very interesting, but I couldn't fit anything into any scheme. Apart from perhaps a ruthless ambition coupled with, at least in Sir Hugh and the Herd, a great deal of emotional and mental instability, which is not something that would be rare to find in the home of great movie figures. The Herd's problems seemed to center mostly around the bottle. He was a regular drinker and usually tolerated large amounts of alcohol well. But from time to time, at intervals of six months to a year and a half, somewhere in the ego of the calf, the safety catch was triggered, and the ego was taken with a siren to a very safe nursing home. Although the report notes Renzo's shift to cocaine, which Camilla mentioned earlier, but the ego faints were not related to drugs or alcohol. This only happened when, as was often the case, he was overworked or exhausted by all the antics with which he financed his empire and his imperial way of life. He had seen that Ego mother's family, a small but ancient nobility, did indeed own the lands around Rhymu. The entire hotel's grounds and property were expropriated first by Mussolini's fascists and then, after the war, by the Christian Democrat government.
  
  
  Her also saw that four years ago, then alone for his nervous breakdowns, Renzo was cured and settled down at the same country vacation home where Studds had one-around-the-ego periodic battles with delirium tremens. But it was an expensive, popular, and influential house, and if I had to research the patient list to make new connections, I would have found half the people who appeared on the front pages of the Barents Sea territory in Europe, as well as some Americans and Asians.
  
  
  Sir Hugh Marsland was a man with no obvious flaw in his coat of arms. On the way from a promising student across Birmingham via Oxford, he had many unproven flaws. He was still climbing. It had the mysterious ability to wander around industrial complexes just before ih went bust or went bust, already monetizing its shares in pounds sterling, Swiss francs, or German marks. He became a millionaire several times in pounds, and in dollars about twice as much. The grateful Queen awarded ego a knighthood for ego charitable work (Order of the British Empire, 1963; Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire, 1971), although my notes indicated that ego's activities were mostly limited to putting his name on letterheads and milking the pillars of society. He held several semi-paid positions, one of which was in the United States in the UN division of UNICEF. He wasn't married, but he liked girls and occasionally seemed a little rude to them, although he tried to stay away from public scandals.
  
  
  Piero Simca was, unsurprisingly, the most interesting of the four. Like Renzo, he was related to the old nobility. But unlike Renzo, he kept the family property during all the government shifts and mistletoe's initial capital multiplied by an interest in everything from the petrochemical industry to art treasures. He was mercilessly bullied and harassed because of Rost's ego, he refused to allow himself to turn into a buffoon, and by this point, Rost's ego had already gained the upper hand. From Trieste to Sicily, the ego was called the Little Giant. Ego's ancestral estates were located in the north, near Lake Garda. He entered politics as a Christian Democrat, but later split off to form his own even more right-wing splinter party. He hardly mattered at all in national elections, but ego's own constituency always returned ego to the Senate, where he used his position to negotiate and intrigue with all the other parties. He has been a talented advisor to all parties, including internationally. And the UN has used its services to negotiate with Arab terrorist groups, South American Tupamaros, and rebel leaders around Central Africa. A Milanese newspaper called ego "little Henry Kissinger," and perhaps that wasn't such a supposedly bad definition.
  
  
  The last square was the women's territory. First Camille, then Roseanne. This was followed by a short list of Camilla's lovers, which read " Who, What, Where - Italian industry, politics, finance, and the global elite." Most of the people on the list were avowed hunters of women of public repute, but I was somewhat surprised to find Piero Simca among them, with a note that the ego name in her bedroom was Don Lupo (Lord Wolf). Elsewhere, he wasn't mentioned as particularly active in deals, but what I knew about Camille firsthand was that she could have any man, no matter how big or small he was. There is nothing special about politics in the della Camilla, just that she was registered as a communist, which means nothing in Italy. This is a kind of chic in rich European film and theater circles. Pierrot memorized her classes and accidentally mentioned them to Camille around a certain curiosity and healthier interest. My desired Roseanne seemed more interesting in light of my own adventures. She was born in Padua only twenty years ago. There, she went to school and went to college for two years before becoming a flight attendant at the age of 19.
  
  
  Instead, it quickly moved from national flights to intercontinental ones. The reason why ei had to leave the university was because of her association with some Maoist student and her actions. But she was registered as a member of the Monarchist Liberation Party, a breakaway party of Piero Simchi. It is likely that she made her career thanks to Pierrot's recommendations, as her father was the steward of some of the northern lands of Little Giant.
  
  
  All this was supposed to be a somewhat tentative explanation, but it raised more questions than answers. If she was somehow involved in the" Thread of Peace " through Pierrot, why would hey participate in an attempt to kill a Texas golden hen before it could lay its golden egg? Or had she already severed old ties with this man and simply used Pierrot as an old family acquaintance? This won't be the first time someone has switched sides to get the job they so desperately want, just to please their superiors. But if anything smelled like "The End of the World," my past experience associated it with an organization with money, not a random noisy group of young people.
  
  
  My thoughts began to spin. One of the best ways to stop wasting my time on self-gratification is to call the phone Roseanne gave me. Most airlines gave crew members a day off or so when they returned from a long flight, and each encounter with Rosana, whether she had dispelled the mystery or not, brought a different kind of mistletoe charm. Anyway, Camilla will be too busy with her beautician for the next few hours.
  
  
  He found her number in his notebook and gave it to the hotel operator. My line was almost certainly tapped, but with my current image, it wasn't unusual to want to call a pretty girl. Especially since several members of the anti-Nick Carter movement or the anti-Jerry Carr movement needed to know that they had already screwed up once.
  
  
  The call was answered by a girl with a Central American accent and a stuffy nose. Then he heard her shout, " Roses, some joker, Carr."
  
  
  Then Rosana's sweet, husky voice. "Hello, Jerry. What a surprise! I didn't think I'd hear from you again, now that you've seen all these beautiful people around the movies. Besides, I heard on the radio that you were kidnapped and then you ran away. I thought you were in the hospital and couldn't... uh, do something.
  
  
  It came out so charmingly and innocently that there didn't seem to be a nine-to-one chance that she was the finger that pointed at the Gorilla in the plaid jacket and Pepe.
  
  
  "No," I said in the same cheerful tone. "He's not in the hospital, and I can also ... er ... use some things. But, dear Roseanne, there are still a few things I'm not sure about, and maybe you can help me figure it out if you have the time.
  
  
  Her laugh was as obscene as it was delicious. "I always have time to do charity work and take care of you," she said. 'When?'
  
  
  I asked her. "How about now? I had the dubious honor of putting a security guard in front of my room. But if I tell emu, he'll miss my visitors.
  
  
  "Ah," she said. "This is even more exciting. I'll be with you in fifteen minutes, depending on our terrible traffic patterns."
  
  
  She kept her word. She had been warned by a sentry for the day, and he knocked respectfully to jealously announce that a young lady who claimed to be a nurse had arrived. "Not a nurse, but a physical therapist," Roseanne said cheerfully. She burst into the living room, wearing a gray shaggy fur coat and a funny gray hat, like a cap. She carried her hat across the room, setting it down on a crowded chair. Then she climbed out through her coat.
  
  
  "My God," she said in one word. "It's worth more money in private than on a plane, and you look so good in it, like your whole story was made up just with the intention of luring me here."
  
  
  Without a coat, Rosana's tall, aristocratic figure was covered up by Rivnenskaya just enough to meet the requirements of public decency. She was wearing a short dress all over a light-fitting lilac material. Her beautiful legs were covered by pearl-gray stockings. In her gray suede platform shoes, she reached almost to my eyebrows.
  
  
  "Better than in uniform, huh?"she said, swinging her skirt boldly and glancing down at her bare thighs.
  
  
  "Let me show you my humble room first," I said. Her gallantly took her hand. She turned and pressed her body against mine. Instead of gently giving me her hand, she gave me a hug that involved her entire body.
  
  
  — I don't think you were hurt at all. She sighed, pulling back a few inches. "And I'm still going to babysit you like crazy."
  
  
  She gasped with delight when she saw the large bed with a mirror, and the curtains were drawn across it when we entered the bedroom.
  
  
  "It's not like those damn airplane seats, Jerry," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking off her ballet slippers. She deftly moved her hand to her waist and began to pull down her shorts. "It's like an Olympic swimming pool for those who train in the tub." She blinked hard. "If I'm reading between the lines, you must have been playing here with Signorina Cavour when they grabbed you, really?"
  
  
  "Well, — I said. "She accidentally came in. You know how it is, Roseanne. This world of cinema...
  
  
  Roseanne laughed again, a pleasant smile that suddenly spread all over her body. And now her body was exposed for even more effect.
  
  
  "There was something else in the papers," she said. "They said that you were abducted completely naked, and the first alarm was raised by the beautiful Camilla. She posed for news photographers with a sheet pressed against her, pretending to be on the phone. Pooh, Jerry, don't think I'm jealous. Jealousy is for virgins who don't know how many different, wonderful experiences everyone should have."
  
  
  He'd already taken off his jacket and was fumbling with his belt.
  
  
  "Stop," Roseanne ordered. "I'll do it myself. You're sick. I have to do everything for you.
  
  
  She gently pushed me back onto the bed and began to undress me with cooing sounds full of sympathy and obscene compliments.
  
  
  She was the same beautiful, desirable girl she'd been on the plane, but there was something different, something nervous and defensive about her endless stream of words, no matter how sexy they didn't make much sense to us. She wasn't high on drugs; her body was examined carefully. There were no needle marks on the satiny skin of her hands. But she spoke, flattered me, as if she were making a fervent effort not to interfere with us by writing us down with her question, except in support of making love. The questions I asked her to ask hey, like a kind of shock effect, I would have to do with listening devices. But she might have been fed a decent chunk of (for me) useful misinformation by these listening devices.
  
  
  Because of the way we got along, even this small piece of incorrect information had to be put off for later. Roseanne has completed her full nursing schedule. Her full, soft lips and inquisitive tongue were as healing as Camilla's magic lotion, and I tried to give her just as many physical compliments as she gave me. Then we were on the bed. Rosana's wide, glowing eyes registered our every move in the mirror, as if she were not only giving herself and me pleasure, but also arranging a final audition for the harem of some strange oil sheik.
  
  
  "Oh, Jerry," she said, still shaking from our climax. "It was too good." It seemed that nah wasn't just affected by sex, no matter how stressful and rewarding it was for us. It's time to kick up this tailspin, and no one listening will find it suspicious that I'm showing some curiosity after yesterday's fuss.
  
  
  "Listen," I said, stroking her hair, and we stretched out on the bed next to each other. — Did you tell anyone I was staying at Le Superbe, dear?"
  
  
  Her body involuntarily pulled away from my hand, but her bright eyes didn't blink. The play of the eyes was a well-known proof of honesty, but just as much of it, he saw them as a sign of an obvious lie.
  
  
  "No, Jerry," she said. 'Oh, my God. She rolled away from me and pulled herself up to sit up on the bed. "You can't possibly think that I have anything to do with the beasts that tortured you." She started to cry. And to soothe all this shuddering splendor was a pleasure that once again led from one to the other, this time more gently, as he took on the role of caretaker and caretaker. When our breathing was even again, I finished my questionnaire, which was more apologetic, friendly, but still inquisitive and appropriate to my role.
  
  
  "Take the tailor, Roseanne, dear," I said. — I didn't think so. But it was so sudden and so completely pointless. Besides, no one knew I was here.
  
  
  "Ah." Roseanne accepted my apology and gave me a messy line of kisses from my chin to my navel. "Everyone in Rime always finds out very quickly, Jerry. Full occupancy of the hotel, taxi driver, your movie crew. I suppose someone mistook you for someone else, didn't they?" "It must be," I said. "But, you see, I don't know anything about you, except that you are beautiful and absolutely unique in Spain, and that you come from the great wine country of Colognola."
  
  
  "Padua," she corrected me thoughtlessly, amused by looking in the mirror. — Do you really think I'm pretty, Jerry?" Not too big?
  
  
  "I couldn't stand us an inch more," she said half truthfully. "And an inch less won't be enough." "That's very nice," she grumbled. "In rheumatism I'll tell you what a simple girl she is."
  
  
  She told me her biography, which also confirmed what I had already read in the microprint. She even mentioned the Maoist group at the university and dismissed it as a childish whim. And that thanks to Pierrot's support, she got the job.
  
  
  This was the opportunity I'd hoped for, and now it was my turn to seize on it with a mixture of resentment, disgust, and jealousy.
  
  
  "Little Casanova,"I exploded. "Look, I've heard something about the ego reputation of all women. And the thought of you with him... He clenched his teeth convincingly to push away the image of Rosana and Pierrot, an image more comical than offensive.
  
  
  "I said I'd tell you the truth, Jerry. She lifted her chin defiantly. "So I made love to Don Lupo , and it wasn't as bad and disgusting as you might think. By the way, your hot Camilla is barely bigger than a midget, and you can't hear me taunting her, can you? 'Good. Her mouth twisted in snarling indignation. "You should know —" she said,"that the sweet young girls of the rare curative ones are given free services."
  
  
  I asked her. "Are you still seeing him?"
  
  
  'Seeing you? Roseanne said. 'Yes. My father works for him. And he's an important and regular first-class passenger. But that's no more than that, Jerry.
  
  
  It doesn't make much sense to have plausible, and I couldn't dig any further without revealing myself. The next time I see her, I'll make sure it's a place where she can safely continue her investigation. Right now, time was just ticking away.
  
  
  As if guessing my thoughts, she reached out to take one last lustful look in the mirror.
  
  
  "Every bedroom should have a wall like this," she said. "If its going to be rich... But now its got to go. I have a meeting in an hour.
  
  
  His didn't worry about it. I had a lunch appointment in an hour.
  
  
  — I'll call you tomorrow, " I promised. "Or you can call here." I do not know what your friend's schedule is, but Pierrot and his friends have made up an ego for my entry into the movie business, but I will not let this ruin our reunion.
  
  
  She was already dressed again, if that's what you'd call the cover-up of an airy dress, and he followed her into the living room. Suddenly, she was as calm and serious as she had been a moment ago, carefree and enthusiastic with her fragile chatter.
  
  
  "You've made me so happy in such a short time, Jerry," she said. "On the plane, and then here again. So much so that it scares me and makes me think."
  
  
  Hers looked as serious as she was to adjust to her new mood. She was laughing.
  
  
  "Don't worry, Jerry," she said soothingly. "On second thought, I don't mean finding a way to marry you like most girls would. I'm thinking about other things. But tomorrow we will talk and play."
  
  
  After a kiss, she left.
  
  
  I returned to the living room with the feeling that my questions might provoke some action in her direction, without having the faintest idea in what direction these actions would develop.
  
  
  He drew the curtains on the mirror before shaving and dressing for dinner. My transistor did not give me any signal, but in the TT department AH, once showed me a mirror of our own researchers, who perfectly transmitted the video image. Electronic components were scattered all over the surface and individually may have been too small for ih to be detectable in a search. I didn't care that anyone might enjoy watching Rosana and me so busy on the big bed, but I couldn't let prying eyes see my diplomatic briefcase, ego secret compartment, and ego contents.
  
  
  He changed his suit for another one, which he specially made to hide the Luger unnoticed. If there was something intimate going on with Camilla in the first or second half of the day, he had to quickly take off his clothes without showing his arsenal. But at the same time, I didn't want to go unarmed into unknown territory, just as unarmed as last night. Hugo, the stiletto, was easier. He simply covered the scabbard on his left hand with a double layer of bandages, which was allowed for a person who had recently been almost burned. Camille's lotion wasn't supposed to completely heal every inch of my body. Especially since those centimeters that Camilla was most interested in remained intact. Hers has already passed this test with Rosana.
  
  
  In the mirror over the bathroom sink, he looked almost healthy. In AH, we don't do complicated dress-ups and make-up, we leave it to the smaller brothers in other services. I just smeared a little gray under her eyes and deepened those few wrinkles on her face. That, and the few sighs I let out from time to time, should have convinced my new colleagues and all the onlookers that I hadn't fully recovered from the rough night.
  
  
  Full of respect, my doorman led me to the elevator at the end of the corridor, where another sentry let me in and escorted me down the stairs. There, another carbine came with me to the counter. All this was very flattering, but it greatly limited my future activities. She made a mental note to ask Pierrot to relax his guard a little, if possible.
  
  
  He, Renzo, and Studds had already left, but Sir Hugh was waiting to take me to a meeting at the club in his chauffeur-driven Rolls. Two police officers on motorcycles rode in front of us, and a third officer rode behind with a submachine gun. Whoever tried to attack me on the way, it wouldn't have been someone around Pierrot's friends.
  
  
  The lobby of the mistletoe club is exactly the languid, dark, ultra-bourgeois decor that Italians like to use when it comes to chic and elegance. All of last night's party was there, except for a couple of purely pop stars, plus a couple of gray-haired, stocky gentlemen of various nationalities who were introduced to me. Mostly investors and a few technical specialists. There was also the screenwriter, Kendall Lane; a skinny, nervous, preoccupied American in a blue flannel blazer, beige slacks, and Gucci flip-flops. Whenever I needed to shake hands with someone, hers was clumsy, and whenever hers accidentally bumped into someone, hers was so timidly withdrawn that everyone must have thought they were dealing with a crazy oilman. If someone tried to link my identity to that special, unbreakable Nick Carter, the sight of me here would confuse that person a little.
  
  
  Lunch was plentiful in ed and drinks and in an informal way egoistically conducted. Italians take Eda very seriously and do not allow her to be spoiled by talking about business. He was between Renzo and Camilla. Pierrot and the screenwriter are playing this game opposite us. Camilla's beauty treatments have made her more beautiful than ever. But in her case, these visits to the beautician were mandatory, more for some social prestige and interaction with other clients than to add to what was so perfectly present in the beginning. She whispered chaste intimate things to me, flaunted me as if I were a new poodle, and took full credit for my rapid recovery.
  
  
  The only person who still mentioned the Thread of Peace was Writer Lane. He once started out as a writer, and now Stahl is a successful screenwriter specializing in spy films. He didn't feel bound by the polite Roman taboos about talking about Ed. He thought he had a damn good story, and there was nothing to stop em from telling it piece by piece before the official meeting.
  
  
  Despite the twitching, possibly the effects of the dexedrine that was still in his system, Lane was a pleasant, easy-going man. A sincere but clueless left-wing liberal, stuck somewhere in the 1930s. My biggest obsession was World War III. Quite justified concern. In this regard, in addition, for one of the reasons for the existence of the AH and my own appointment. The ego story, like most good stories, always began with the words: "What if..."
  
  
  -"What if," he said, pointing across the chair at me over the third course of pheasant and polenta, " it all started not with one of the superpowers of the Americas, Russia, and China, but with a group of immoral people with enough power and the ability to create a series of incidents in these three countries? The "big three" would instantly react differently to the other. And since they all have enough nuclear weapons to destroy the entire world, it would be a Mother Earth flood. Thread of the world, you know?
  
  
  He told emu that he understood. But wasn't this a bit far-fetched?
  
  
  "I don't think so," Lane said fiercely. "The whole globe is a powder keg. Just take twelve months of violence: the Lotz massacre, the Olympic Games murders, the London bombings, the Belfast bombings every week, the execution of diplomats in Sudan, the expulsion of the British government from Bermuda... Oh, my God. And that's just the tip of the iceberg."
  
  
  "There was no Third World War around this," Emu told her.
  
  
  "Ah," Lane said, as if giving the emu a tip. "Just because it all stretched out over a certain period of time. Try to imagine what would have happened if all these incidents had occurred within two or three days. Add to that a few explosions... What's next?
  
  
  "Then everything might blow up," I admitted. "But it still seems a bit unbelievable to me." "This objection has been raised many times." Pierrot turned in his high chair beside him to answer.
  
  
  "Renzo can explain."
  
  
  "By some miracle, Kendall provided us with a two — level scenario," Renzo said. "And Stud knows exactly how to shoot something like this perfectly. For an intelligent and interested viewer, this is a significant caveat. For others, and unfortunately for most, it's nothing but brutal black humor. And even for the third level, for the completely brainless, it will be such a fantastic sight that the whole world will definitely want to buy tickets."
  
  
  "But this story has to stay tough," Lane insisted. "Black humor, beautiful. But no comedy. The idea of calling this secret organization LAL weakens her a little.
  
  
  I asked with a mouthful of polenta.
  
  
  "The elimination of all forms of life," Renzo explained. 'My idea. But I won't shove this down your throat, Kendall.
  
  
  "The Ethiopian Liberation Front called itself ELF," Pierrot said. "And there was nothing funny about it.
  
  
  "Well, let me see," Lane said, putting on the face of a genius who is tormented by all these boobies, but who is trying to live with them.
  
  
  "With stars like Camilla and Michael," Renzo waved at the chair where Michael Sportu was sitting among the crowd of fans,"we could still do this and make millions."
  
  
  "I only made one movie that lost money," Camilla said seriously. "But given this possible sale to television, it may simply not be on the expense side. You're safe investing in me, Jerry.
  
  
  "Just kidding," he whispered in her ear, " no one cares if he's safe with you or not?" Her rheumatism got that seductive, mischievous smile.
  
  
  Over a cup of coffee and cognac, I had the opportunity to talk to Pierrot about something that was bothering me a lot: my heavily armed pursuers. I couldn't keep throwing helignite bombs if I wanted to leave my room again. Such a maneuver in heavy traffic would have filled the morgue with too many innocent passers-by. Either way, it's too much to hide behind Hawk. Of course, I couldn't tell Pierrot why I needed this freedom to keep in touch with AH. But an extra guard of numbers is a very convincing and plausible way to approach a Roman.
  
  
  "It's like I'm... well, not on my own," I explained, glancing sideways at Camille, who had just been talking to the banker on the other end of the phone.
  
  
  Pierrot's tiny eyes behind the pink lenses lit up so much that I almost trusted my ego to the nickname Don Lupo. — I understand how uncomfortable the protection can be, " he said, wincing and winking. "For almost every man I know, being friends with Camille should be enough, more than enough, but I can see that these stories about you Texans aren't an exaggeration, Jerry." That wink again. — I will make sure that in the future there will be a little less of such a restrictive rule. A few words to the relevant ministries.
  
  
  "I think one person in the elevator is enough," I said. "If he lets me through when he sees her, I want to be left alone." "One at the elevator on your floor and one in the lobby," Pierrot decided for me. — This is a good exercise for our young officers. But you will be missed if you pull the right earlobe with your left hand. Look like this. He showed it to me.
  
  
  It was good, simple code. My respect for Pierrot, which was already high, soared even higher. The important annoyance was gone, but the main corkscrew was still unanswered. Rando tapped the rim of his brandy glass with a fruit knife.
  
  
  "We'll go to the conference room on the second floor now," he announced. "Group members only
  
  
  Thread of Peace, so I'm afraid we'll have to say goodbye to our temporary guests for now."
  
  
  When the lunch group broke up, the girlfriends of the male investors and the boyfriends of the female shareholders sulked. They around us, who took the stairs or the elevator, were limited to assets of at least $ 300,000 each, plus Lane, a writer, and a few technicians. There were thirty of us, bound together by the strong glue of money and the greed that was bound to follow.
  
  
  I hate it at conferences, but this World End session was a little more interesting than most of the others. Mostly because I was straining my ears to catch anything that might lead to Anderson's suspicions and mine.
  
  
  Lane began with a brief description of the plot, which she, for example, already knew, LAL, a group of maniacs intent on blowing up the world as a whole. This will be done by launching some diversionary bombardments and provoking some incidents in designated capitals and potential fires, triggering the Big Three's retaliation mechanism before anyone anywhere in the world lives long enough to realize that it was all a mistake.
  
  
  There were well-known, incredibly secret airports and private armies (even more improbable to me professionally than to the rest of the audience, who devoured it all greedily). But I have to say that Lane made it believable and put good emotions into the two main characters. A British secret agent who goes through the whole plot, and an ego Italian hostess who deals with being misled by terrorists, but also starts an affair with him. Camilla and Michael joined in a round of applause, and Lane gave a brief personal explanation of the film's importance to the ego of the huge audience.: "A third World War is not only possible, but it will undoubtedly destroy civilization, just like us." .'
  
  
  "That's all they said about the outbreak of World War II," the banker in the row in front of me snorted cynically.
  
  
  "That's what might happen," the gorgeous countess beside him said. "Or you haven't been looking around lately."
  
  
  Now it was Renzo's turn to speak; and he mentioned the names of the great stars who would play along.
  
  
  Then Sir Hugh came in with stacks of papers to explain and defend the colossal budget. Before that, all the attention of the audience was focused, including on me. It was a masterful presentation, and now its seen how Sir Hugh managed to milk millions from his countrymen and others, and put ih into his personal bank account. No part has been mastered, but if you cut it into several parts, you will get a neat melon, which the four partners can divide neatly among themselves, as long as they do not cut each other's throats first.
  
  
  His ego-like demeanor, his manner, comradely but aristocratic, mandriva linux but never condescending, matched the ego figure. He had good-natured and well-informed responses to several of the audience's ego comments.
  
  
  "Just one actor isn't worth $ 100,000 for two days of work."
  
  
  Sir Hugh: "This one does advertising. If he is sober and we bring ego now to a hospital in Sussex. Yes?"The last one is for a West German industrialist.
  
  
  "The insurance money seems very excessive to me. I pay her less a year for all my factories."
  
  
  Sir Hugh: They seem excessive to me, too, Herr Schmidt. But that's why insurance companies are so thriving. But without insanity. We managed to get some of the most expensive military equipment in the world as props in an almost gratuitous loan. We need to be as protected as possible in case one of our B-52s, which costs more than our total budget, can crash."
  
  
  Other questions were also answered with the same charm and authenticity.
  
  
  The last act was for Chris Mallory. He talked surprisingly coherently after all the brandy he'd drunk. He explained that "Stream of Light" will be the first film to make full use of computer control. He said that recreated models of cities, fleets and battlefields.
  
  
  "It's all old-fashioned," he said. — But the difference is that all these small components are built into the circuitry of our main computer. I program it, turn on the machine, push a button, and the sixty percent round trip is recorded in one take."
  
  
  This drew scant applause from movie-savvy investors, who had learned the hard way that endless re-runs can be used to make movies. carinf.com not responsible the sea battles in the pool can turn out to be almost as expensive as the movie itself.
  
  
  "For other scenes, we have Renzo's studio, which is currently the largest in the world," he continued. "Trafalgar Square, Times Square, Place de la Concorde — all of them are recreated there. And a third camera crew will do additional on-location footage of the entire outdoor pool once Bunny Sawyer and Ego cameramen arrive here by the end of next Sunday."
  
  
  Piero performed to thank all of us for our trust (and money) and to tell us that there will be a guided tour to Renzo's studio tomorrow.
  
  
  Lane asked Studds when the meeting was over.
  
  
  "We need another scene," he said. "Such a giant tanker was blown up. The explosion of gas in one of the ego tanks is enough to lift the entire ship about three hundred meters around the water. And when all the tanks are full, you'll have miles and miles of burning oil. Perfectly matches our intentions, doesn't it?
  
  
  Stud's face broke into an approving grin.
  
  
  "That sounds great, Ken," he said. — But how will it explode?" "It's simple: A torpedo. Probably remote control from a speedboat, " Lane said. "Everything you can touch. You can't miss it. No way.
  
  
  "Great, Ken. You will make some colorful images for me, and I will get a model of this tanker for you in less time than it takes you to write this scene." He stopped and scratched his head. "How do we know that the odina around these supertankers is passing through a narrow strait, say, next Monday? A channel, for example. Or even better, near Leningrad.
  
  
  "I'll ask Mary to call one of these big oil companies." Ken made a note on the back of the envelope.
  
  
  Studds spotted Camille and me behind him.
  
  
  "Great ideas, this guy," Laine's friends boasted. — I'll send Sawyer to film the real ship, and then we'll move on to the ego explosion in the pool!"'
  
  
  Gently, but firmly, Camille tugged at my elbow. "I was thinking of going back to the hotel to see how well you've recovered, Jerry," she said. — Then a nice late dinner in my room, and then we'll see how well you've recovered." And whether you need any other treatment.
  
  
  A mosquito-sized thought gnawed at the back of my mind, but Camille's simplicity stifled the thought. We returned to Le Superbe and were undisturbed for both ends of the day and both ends of the night.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  I woke up in my room. Camille snuggled up to me, but as happy as we were, I woke up feeling uneasy for all the time I'd lost. Camille clung to me like a charming leech, and the sentries were still in full force.
  
  
  Then, after her first afternoon meeting with Camille in her hotel room, Pierrot called her. He just laughed happily and explained to me that it took em a while to get in touch with some minister or general, so I just had to make sure to have some fun in the meantime.
  
  
  So Camilla and I played Tarzan and Jane, Romeo and Juliet, Jute and Jewel, and so on until dinner, with all the dishes in her chambers. We then dressed for a brief chat with Sir Hugh and Studs in Camilla's room before returning to my quarters, where a burly teenager still stood guard with a carbine.
  
  
  She was an action person, and what I was doing now was more like working for those guys Hawke calls "Dick Hannes agents," individuals who are more patient with meaningless chatter than she is, and that one fluid ounce of information comes from about forty liters of dirty work.
  
  
  He chattered away, and tried as best he could to get something useful out of her; but no, nothing. Sir Hugh and Studds discussed the small advantages of the English Channel over the Gulf of Finland in the explosion of this supertanker. Although they were talking about toys, there was an unpleasant twist to ih's enthusiasm.
  
  
  "But you don't understand, Studds," said Sir Hugh. "In the future, you have a chance that the burning oil will reach both Dover and Calais." He pronounced the name of the French city in English .
  
  
  "But if it doesn't happen in the Persian Gulf, but in front of Leningrad," Stads said, " we can force these Russians to respond with everything they have on artillery and missiles."
  
  
  "The plot is enough for the Russians to react," Sir Hugh said. "Kendall's idea is also for us to completely destroy two cities in the beginning."
  
  
  "All right," said Stud, giving up Leningrad in favor of Dover and Calais, like a poker player throwing his bad hand on a chair. "I'll have my modeling boys make a model of the English and French coastline." He knocked over his double grappa for the hundredth time.
  
  
  "It seems to me," I ventured to comment, " that you're putting a hell of a lot of things on a three — month schedule."
  
  
  "That's the beauty of the computer, Gerry," Sir Hugh said. "As soon as Studs finishes his program, we'll do in a few days what it would take Sundays to do in any comparable movie." "Months," Studds said. He and Sir Hugh grinned at the same time.
  
  
  I asked her. "When do you start? She should have been here, but I was thinking of taking a break and going to the Jungfrau." He allowed the last syllable of the Swiss mountain name to follow him freely, watching carefully to see if he reacted.
  
  
  "Tailor take it, we start mid-belly next Sunday," Studds said. "As soon as Bunny gets here with his cameramen. Stay here. You can always see this Jungfrau again. Besides, sweet little Camille is much higher up in my book.
  
  
  That's all I learned from Sir Hugh and Studds. Big bold zero. Renzo and Piero went about their business.
  
  
  He tried to get some more facts about Pierrot out of Camille, but she, like Roseanne, saw it as jealousy and was glad of it. This didn't add much to what I already knew. As with Rosana, her comment was oddly casual: "You should know that a girl has to do a few things to get ahead in this movie world, Jerry, "and again with respect:" You'd be surprised if you found out what kind of person he is. I mean, for women. I took it as a joke at first, but he's a great man, Jerry, and not just in a political sense. In all his actions, he comes to the edge of the abyss, and then you have months when he retires from the public stage to rest and take care of himself."
  
  
  That last one was something new, and Hawke had to figure it out... If I ever find her personal freedom.
  
  
  These were my thoughts and frustrations when I woke up. And the moment he woke up, before Camille could move, something snapped into place with a loud thud.
  
  
  At Barr, Studds said the case wouldn't start on a round trip next Sunday. At the club, after lunch, he asked Lane to find out which tanker was passing through the English Channel or near Leningrad on Monday. And now it was Thursday morning.
  
  
  Something was wrong or still wrong. But if it did, it could very well point to something much more serious than just some war game in miniature.
  
  
  As an AX agent with the Killmaster rank, she's already used her talents on other assignments more than enough to support cute young ladies or get rid of lesser club members like I did a few nights ago. Now I had a lead, and I didn't have a hell of a lot of time to check it out. My day was divided into a morning visit to the studio. He should have kept that promise if it hadn't been for the hotel ruining both its role and the opportunity to explore just the place. Then there was lunch, followed by another mandatory meeting with Renzo and Ego's lawyers, where he had to write his check. According to my Rolex, it was 6: 45 in the morning.
  
  
  He slipped around the trash without disturbing Camille, went into the living room, and opened the door.
  
  
  The sentry was gone.
  
  
  He returned and dressed quickly and quietly. I wrote her a note full of affection, telling Camille that I was running on business and would see her this morning.
  
  
  Then I was outside.
  
  
  There was a sentry at the elevator, but he was signaled to the emu with his earlobe, as he had agreed with Pierrot. The guard chuckled and let me enter the elevator. It's the same with the security guard in the lobby. He smiled back. I didn't know what story Pierrot had told them, but I didn't care.
  
  
  The streets were practically empty, and any taxi approaching the hotel might belong to the other side. He walked the five blocks to Grand Central Station and took a taxi without waiting in line. I gave it to the driver to direct him to the corner near the house of Saint-in-Trastevere. I didn't have any sympathy for that annoying Gilchrist, and he was pretty sure that I could now get Hyman's help and the ego of my CIA minions to work.
  
  
  I took the usual precautions of paying the driver, and after making sure that I wasn't being followed, I was soon at the door of the house.
  
  
  Hyman opened the door. The same listless posture and demeanor as before; sleepy eyes, dressed in bright green pajama bottoms and an old army shirt around the cotton. He was immediately in standby mode as soon as she walked in.
  
  
  "Did you get the package you left for her at the hotel?" No sullen Gilchrist guy. A smart young agent, still passionate about the game.
  
  
  "Received, Read, and saved". I knocked on the door. "Then I destroyed it. I have very scant hints and a few questions for the DC. Do you have a queue?
  
  
  "Just a speech converter," Hyman said. "But that's enough. Besides, I can't take it anymore. Old Gil is our communication genius. That's why he keeps all the heavy pieces in a Parioli. Don't be fooled by that grumpy old man, Carter. He knows more about radio, data processing, and computer programming than anyone around these so-called experts. He is always ready in case of danger, but emu likes to pretend to be a simple accountant working from nine to five."
  
  
  "Nice to know," I said. — But what I need right now is a conversation. First with your home base, then with you. Where's the phone number?
  
  
  We went into the back room, where Hyman was apparently sleeping on a hunched bach bed. He gave ego a good kick with one end, and the torn plush revealed a pull-out board with a familiar red phone on it.
  
  
  "Should I stay or go?" Hyman asked.
  
  
  "Keep listening," I said. "You may already be classified from now on, in case I have to deal with a deliberate or involuntary disappearance again."
  
  
  "Yes," he said. — I heard about your little walk last night. In quiet Rime, we usually don't have such actions. He slumped into his chair as her pressed a button on the phone for direct communication to the AH headquarters.
  
  
  The bell rang.
  
  
  "Four o'clock in the morning, if you don't already know," Hawke's voice said.
  
  
  She was pictured by Ego in an empty office, with a large thermos of coffee, a huge mug, and a stack of papers on the table in front of him, his long fingers tapping impatiently as he studied the data.
  
  
  Without further introductions, he told emu about his last 24 hours and forced inactivity.
  
  
  "Okay, okay," he muttered. "If there's one thing I hate, it's a person named AX who apologizes to himself. I know Rome isn't a jungle, so if you let yourself get kidnapped, you can't blame ih for keeping an eye on you. Say something positive for a change. It is informed with a full reflection of all that has been passed, as well as a thorough sifting of its own data obtained. But even with this choice, it took me a good fifteen minutes to detail all the conversations, both in the bedroom and those that were more social in nature. In addition, I shared with him my observations that might have something to do with my mission. If you're in doubt about something, don't ignore it; it's been hammered into us all during our training. So I had to include a few conversations that seemed gibberish to me, but might make sense to the guys in the background in Washington if they fed ih to the computers.
  
  
  Hawk listened to all of this, and also recorded the conversation on a tape recorder for closer study later.
  
  
  "We'll see," he said when it was finished. "It wouldn't be so bad to notice this error with the date on the tanker."
  
  
  Hawke's "not so bad" was roughly equivalent to a government medal.
  
  
  "Now ask questions about what you want us to do here," Hawke said.
  
  
  "I have two with a solid foundation and two guesses," I said. "The first priority is this tanker. Can you make sure that there is no supertanker in the English Channel on Monday? And on Tuesday, too?
  
  
  "No problem," Hawk said. "The energy crisis is over, and our contacts with major shipowners have been established. So they speed up or slow down enough to keep the area clean."
  
  
  - And Leningrad?
  
  
  "That weird buddy of yours, Studds, doesn't seem to know that there aren't any mooring facilities for a supertanker to dock there," Hawke said. 'Next corkscrew.'
  
  
  "I need a full report on this Swiss bank in Lugano and some more data on Piero Simca," I said. "Both can go for that L, in Anderson's sketch: Lugano and Don Lupo. "It wouldn't be that hard," Hawke said. "But this Little Giant will be a little more difficult. You already have everything we can dig up, but I'll see what else I can do for you.
  
  
  "In the same context," I said, " we should check out all the holiday homes in Sussex. Studs and Renzo went there for treatment. And I have a feeling that Pierrot was once a client there. Probably under a different name. But ego growth must be recognizable.
  
  
  "That'll do," Hawk said. 'Is that all?'
  
  
  "One more thought," I said,"and one request."
  
  
  "Come on!"
  
  
  "That's a very vague suggestion," I said. — But maybe your financiers will do a good job on Magnamut, the insurance company that dictates a round-trip policy." If it is suspicious, it may mean that this is a way to move a lot of money."
  
  
  "Take the tailor," Hawk said. "We are not an agency for careless citizens."
  
  
  -"Tailor, boss," I said, " you're not a financial company either, and you have half a million dollars that you might soon lose just to keep up my cover." If I find out that the money is missing, I must find out where it is going and why. And maybe that's what Andersson wanted to know. "All right," Hawk growled. "And the request?"
  
  
  "Her hotel would have had full control over Hyman, the CIA agent here," I said. "I would also like to have the right to use Gilchrist, just in case."
  
  
  "I'll settle for Hyman," Hawk said. — I've already taken care of that. Gilchrist is an old fool, but if you think you're ego-using her I'll see what I can do. But why him? I can give you a selection of other agents in the area who are ten years younger than Ego, and twenty times better.
  
  
  "I don't want to give up my ego," I said. "He's an electronic genius. Something in my head, my head, is too deep to even tell you, but if I can put it all together, I may need this Gilchrist very soon.
  
  
  "If you jump like that," Hawk said, " I'll provide for your ego." Unless you came up with the Roman virus that Clem Andersson contracted.
  
  
  "If so,"I said," Gilchrist might be my antidote to not ending up like Clem Anderson." Hawk finished with a sad but approving growl.
  
  
  ************
  
  
  Hyman stood up. "So I'm your man," he said with a grin. "What do I do, boss?" "God knows when the time will come," I said. "Just two things at the moment." He looked at his watch and saw that the hands showed Rivnenskaya eight o'clock. I wasn't expected at Lorenzo Conti's house until ten o'clock. With Roman traffic, it was possible to add half an hour to each meeting. "First, let's see what I know so far and what can be learned from it. Second, put me in touch with Klemmu's girlfriend, Cora, for an hour. Maybe she doesn't know shit about us, or maybe she knows something without realizing the importance of ego.
  
  
  Hyman had shoved the red phone back into the ego den in old Bakharev and was already dialing a number on a regular phone sitting on a rickety table.
  
  
  "Cora?" Let's say twenty rings later.
  
  
  "Of course I know him. But you're awake . Hey, I'll be at your place in half an hour with a person who really wants to talk to you. Another terminal from home... America, how else...? I know her, but he wants to talk to you. So stay put until we get there. Maybe I'll buy you a cup of coffee with cornetto. And if that's not enough... He lowered his voice a little ...think again about who helped you deal with the difficulties associated with your temporary residence permit. While.
  
  
  "She's here." He turned to Sell and me. "Now let me know what I need to know."
  
  
  As an agent, I prefer to work alone, but there are times when it's good to have someone around to test my theories. It was one of those moments, and Hyman was a good, tough, and sensible guy for the job.
  
  
  "We found out..." emu told her. I won't repeat my resume, but with Hyman on the list and Hawke's permissions, she's not going to be held back, except perhaps for a few details about Camille and Rosana's talents.
  
  
  "Until I was abducted by the Gorilla in the tartan Jacket and Pepe," I continued, " I thought Anderson was crazy, and I saw too many threats in the usual movie fanfare. These ecstatic ih questions reminded me of something bigger back then. But on the other hand, it seems to me that Renzo and his accomplices are clean, because they would have to wait for my check to be in ih's possession before they could liquidate me.
  
  
  "I don't see much potential in it," Hyman said. "Not really.
  
  
  "Now comes the sensible part," I said. "I started thinking in a different direction. What happens if this "Thread of the World" movie is nothing more than a kind of cover story that makes things disappear into thin air? Ordinary moviegoers are also suckers. They think they can make fun of their investors. But in the process, they have accumulated enough dangerous weapons that an unknown third party has turned the 'both ends of the World' scenario into reality."
  
  
  It took Hyman a few minutes to think about it. "Implausible," he said. "But it's possible.
  
  
  "Then Mallory's blunder last night changed the situation again," I said. "If there is a plot to destroy the world and he plans to blow up a supertanker, he must be involved. So maybe someone around the World End company is involved. Maybe some of the group are conspirators, and the rest are stupid idiots.
  
  
  Hyman nodded.
  
  
  "If it was a different group of people —" I explained, " or some other place with a smaller crowd and less police than Rime, I could just go there and crack a few attack skill values. Until I heard the truth from her.
  
  
  — But if you were to crack a few of the attack skills and force Pierrot to ask some questions in the Senate, there would be some very unpleasant situations for the ego of His Excellency, our ambassador, and for yourself before this drinking session ends." Situations where the CIA, as well as the AH, can't stand you anymore, " Hyman finished for me. — So what am I doing other than introducing you to Cora?" "Call your people by their names on this list," I said, handing him the typed list of names of fellow investors that I'd been given at the lunch meeting. "Special attention to Mallory's connections. He's a famous director, but he's worked his way through the unknown. I started out in the studio as an assistant, worked my way through my technical prowess in film, and there were a few questionable moments along the way. This will keep you busy for today. If anything else happens, I'll knock on your door. Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow morning at the same time. Hyman stripped out of his nightgown, put on jeans and a faded turtleneck, sandals, and a medallion made around an old SS cross.
  
  
  "Sorry about the mess," he said unnecessarily. — But this is just my work suit.
  
  
  He led me outside. We crossed the road and entered a narrow street near Santa Maria Square. Another old building and on the second floor floor.
  
  
  Cora opened the door for us. A small, dark girl with a pale face; not glamorous, but a sullen face on a good body, hidden in bright, fashionable trousers and a wide wool sweater. He looked over her shoulder at the smoky room, which smelled of stale incense and hashish. The space that once looked like a cozy and fun place with colorful posters and scattered pillows, but due to a lack of dedication and money, on the contrary, has plummeted and now turned into a small mouse hole. Another little mouse, a somewhat plump black girl, lay oblivious to the mess and slept on a cot, under a half-covered Indian blanket.
  
  
  — Can I get a cup of coffee from you?" Cora asked Hyman, not even looking at me.
  
  
  'Of course. Let's go." This is Jerry Carr. Cora, Jerry.
  
  
  "Hi," she said without enthusiasm. We went down the stairs. Outside, we went to the espresso bar on the corner, and played this game on the table. Then she asked, " You... Were you a friend of Klemm's?"
  
  
  "Cleveland." I searched my memory and asked for a biography of Klemm. "We grew up together. He couldn't decide whether to become an actor or a writer. I had the opportunity to visit Rime, so I decided to look for ego. But then I heard it..."
  
  
  "He couldn't solve that here, either," Cora said. The waiter brought her a steaming double espresso, and after the first sip, some life came back to her pale face. "Poor Clem. He had a job writing English text files, and he thought he might work for an American newspaper. But this job was always tomorrow or next week. He lived not far from here, and she moved in with him. Two months later... Bwam! Someone kills the ego and throws it into the water. She's not herself at all. Damn it!'
  
  
  "Christ," I said. "Clem never seemed..."
  
  
  — Are you some kind of religious turd?".
  
  
  Not being a religious bastard or a confirmed blasphemer, Stahl gritted his teeth and waited. She wouldn't want to turn Cora against her, but not until I had some information.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," I said, " but what I mean is that Clem wasn't the type of guy to turn someone into an enemy. On the dell itself, he had no enemies at all."
  
  
  "That's not true," Cora said confidently. She frowned. "I mean, he was kind of a slob. I'll admit it, but he was a nice slob. We also got along quite well, and I didn't have a single overly jealous Latin lover."
  
  
  Her pouty, childlike lips were set in a tight line of self-control. "We liked the same things. And not only superficially. Clem was full of mysticism, and I loved it. Tarot, Yijing, and transcendental meditation.
  
  
  My ears pricked up. 'What did you say?"'
  
  
  "Jung," she said. "To Clemmu, Freud was nothing more than an old Victorian neurologist to overworked Viennese aunts. But according to ego, Jung was on the right track with this collective subconscious and ego universal myths, you know."
  
  
  "I didn't know that," I said. "It must have started after Cleveland." 'Don't know that.'Cora was getting grumpy again, but I kept insisting on what might be the real lead.
  
  
  "Do you remember anything he said about Jung?" "It's just that these psychiatrists didn't understand ego these days," she said. "You want us, not the Nest." He also had a name for those soul watchers. He called ih the Cabin Boys.
  
  
  "What did he mean by that?" I asked her to.
  
  
  "Well, according to ego, most psychiatrists only provided alibaba to people, and didn't find out exactly why they were so mad," she said. "So the patients just keep going crazy, just a little bit worse. Where Jung himself cut through all this nonsense and showed people how to change themselves. Only a true Cabin boy is a difficult road, and "cabin boys" pretend that they can take the shortest path much easier. But what the hell does all this have to do with you, boy?
  
  
  "It's not every day my friend is killed," I said solemnly. (In some AX commands, this happens every other day, but that's a different spin.) "Her best bet is to find out as much about it as possible."
  
  
  "Then you're either a sickly vulture or a little detective," she said, pushing her chair back from the chair. "I don't really like vultures, and I've had enough of amateur sleuthing Klemmu. So thanks for the coffee and goodbye .
  
  
  It was already half past eight. I had the best piece of gold I could have hoped for, so I let her go without comment.
  
  
  He said goodbye to Hyman and took a taxi back to the hotel. In the lobby, I had that familiar, indescribable feeling of being watched. But it could also be because of the sentry in the elevator. Besides, he wasn't going anywhere but his room anyway, so he left ego alone.
  
  
  The suite was deserted. Just a message written in broad strokes of lipstick on the bedroom mirror to remind me of Camille.
  
  
  "You are a brute and a vile savage," she wrote in large capital letters. "And hers, I hope that as often as possible they will take revenge for me. See you in the studio later." There are no signatures. An equally large postscript PS. "You left me with terrible bruises . This will be another nice item in the cosmetics budget. Day.'
  
  
  I shaved, changed quickly, and found a limousine waiting patiently to take me to the center of the Lorenzo Conti Empire.
  
  
  Renzo and ego, our direct subordinates, took us to mimmo mock-ups of cities that were to be destroyed before the End of the World, and took us to a cleared construction site to show off even more military equipment. From Arab tanks to flamethrowers, plus a number of other things that still ferret were on the banned list. We crossed in two helicopters to Anzio, which looked like it was in the throes of the last invasion, with parts borrowed from the Sixth Fleet and other NATO navies, as well as several expertly armed speedboats provided by the Israelis.
  
  
  It seemed that Renzo and Piero, with the help of Sir Hugh and Studs, could have obtained the H-bomb formula from Harry Truman without the intervention of the Rosenbergs and Fuchs. There were two huge warehouses at the end of the site that we didn't visit. When I asked her what was in there, I was told that it was a repository of props throughout past films. "Someday I'll turn her ego into a museum," Renzo said.
  
  
  This may be true, but I didn't think I wouldn't wait until I had a chance to buy a ticket. These warehouses simply asked for an earlier investigation.
  
  
  We went back to the administration building, where Studds put on a little show on his computer. He had a small mock-up village around which tanks and artillery were concentrated in the hills around nah. Also, a number of small, moving soldiers scale up.
  
  
  Studds waved his punch card in the air, then stuck it in the slot of the small computer, and it all started.
  
  
  Tanks and armored cars moved forward; artillery bombarded the village square with incendiary bombs; fire broke out, and small figures moved and fell. It took three minutes.
  
  
  "And now we're getting some idea of what it's going to look like on the screen," said Studs, with the pride of a small child. He recorded the entire scene on video, and after we flipped a switch that plunged the entire room into darkness, we got a video that would eventually look like it was on a wall screen. It was incredible. It was very much what is p/. Even small soldiers actually moved, fought, fell and died over long distances. "Of course, this will be interspersed with close — up shots on the set," explained Studs. "But, my God, the viewer gets a hell of a lot of warriors for your money."
  
  
  I had to admit that it was all very impressive, but Stud's display of technical prowess didn't allay my suspicions.
  
  
  Renzo gave us a great lunch in the studio staff dining room. Camille didn't seem to have any hard feelings other than teasing me from time to time. Pierrot, partly interested in my early walk, was all smiles and angry looks.
  
  
  In the midst of this chaos, I was called to the phone, or rather, in the luxury of Renzo, I was presented with a phone. Which made it even harder and even more confusing, since the voice on the other end of the line was Roseanne's, and Camille was sitting next to me.
  
  
  "Hi, Jerry," she said in her husky honey voice. — You're talking to Rosana.
  
  
  "Oh, hi," I said carefully.
  
  
  "That doesn't sound very cordial," she said. "You're talking... It's like talking to a man, Jerry.
  
  
  "I hope so with all my heart," I said.
  
  
  "Oh, oh," she giggled. "You are in the circles of very different people. Perhaps people like Signorina Cavour?
  
  
  "Well, something like that," I admitted.
  
  
  "In that case, when I see you again, you will be kissed on the nose, on the ears, on the chin..." Roseanne began to give a precise and mischievous description of where she would send all those kisses, apparently taking pleasure in my helpless humiliation as if she were here in person.
  
  
  -"Yes, Signorina Marti ... no... I understand...
  
  
  Her chatted on her end of the line as if it was a private conversation.
  
  
  Taking full advantage of my unfortunate situation, Roseanne became serious.
  
  
  "Remember the last time I saw you , you talked about thinking?" — What is it? " she asked flatly. "I was thinking," she said. Much more than was possible when we were together in the trash. I think... I thought, Jerry, and I was a fool. I have many important things to tell you.
  
  
  "Great," I said, hiding my excitement. "Where are you now, Signorina Marti?"
  
  
  "In my apartment," she said. — Can we talk today, but not when?" Hers, hopefully as soon as possible.
  
  
  "I have an appointment with the movie people after lunch," I said. Its not at all possible to pass mimmo this without revealing your cover. "But maybe around four-thirty?" "All right," she said.
  
  
  I felt dizzy. Perhaps Roseanne was the only person who could unravel the tangled tangle of threads that had become my assignment. If so, then she was a danger to the same people who tried to roast me last night outside of Rhyme. She might be a great girl, but nah didn't have a gas bomb. There was only one thing I could do. Hyman's ego nest couldn't pull her out. Her also couldn't give hey odin around two contact addresses on the phone. But we still had them at the two formidable sentries in Le Superbe.
  
  
  "If you can come straight to my hotel, signorina," I said, letting my voice be so low that I could barely be heard. 'Within an hour. Wait for me there in my room. I'll order her to see you, and then, her, I'm sure we'll settle this corkscrew to our mutual satisfaction.
  
  
  I hung up on her. "Oilmen," I said. Camilla and Renzo stared at me for a moment. "Don't leave me alone." None of them around them seemed to want to ask or find out about anything.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, after I'd apologized for going to the bathroom, a reset button popped into the pay phone. I called her at Le Superb and told the desk clerk to instruct the sentries to let Miss Morandi into my room and make sure she wasn't disturbed.
  
  
  He returned to Piero, Renzo, Camille, and the others with a sense of relief.
  
  
  Finally, the company broke up. I had to quickly leave with Renzo to get some paperwork and sign a check at the lawyer's office. Pierrot had some business to attend to. Camille said that Nah has an appointment with her speech teacher at 4 o'clock, but maybe we could have dinner after that. I told her that I liked it and that if something went wrong, we could meet up later. I needed freedom of action in all directions, because I didn't know what Roseanne was going to say to me.
  
  
  I tried not to sound downright impatient during our drive back to town and the endless discussion of the contract. Hawk insisted that I get an Italian-American lawyer to make it look very plausible. And the lawyer claimed to read all the minor points twice, once in Italian and once in English. Then there were problems with checking the signature at the bank, and when everything was settled and sealed, it was already five o'clock. Le Superbe was just a few blocks away. Politely but insistently, she was turned down by Renzo's request to go to a club and have a drink to celebrate.
  
  
  "You're all alone around us now, Jerry," he said.
  
  
  I told emu that we'd better celebrate together later that night, and it wouldn't be fair to toast together without Pierrot, Stud, Sir Hugh, Camille, and even Michael Sports.
  
  
  "You're right, Jerry. But today we frolic a big holiday. In the Monza hall or at a disco somewhere. Her mistress will take care of everything.
  
  
  'Good. He shook the emu's hand and set off at a brisk trot down the busy sidewalk.
  
  
  The guard in the lobby nodded approvingly when she returned and said that a young girl had indeed been admitted to my apartment. But the second sentry on my floor confirmed it.
  
  
  He threw open the door and shouted: "Roseanne," and found her luscious, beautiful body sprawled on my bed, her neck cut open from ear to ear.
  
  
  Someone had written something in Italian in a copious amount of blood on the mirror, the same mirror that Camilla's lipstick had recently covered.
  
  
  "Death to traitors".
  
  
  Her body was still warm.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  He sent her to Rosana's death. With my bold confidence in Le Superbe's precautions, I felt as if my hand was wielding a razor-sharp blade to cut her beautiful neck.
  
  
  He thought about it, but he didn't hesitate out of desperation or guilt. The AX agent is a human being, but it cannot allow the external effects of emotions to overwhelm the ego, no matter how deeply they are felt. Although mentally cursing herself for her stupidity, she was already packing the minimum amount of luggage needed for a safe retreat. One thing was clear: the gay, sex-crazed Texas oil playboy Jerry Carr had ceased to exist and was as dead to my mission as poor Roseanne.
  
  
  Renzo and Piero were able to acquit me of the murder of two bandits. And Pierrot had enough political power to keep me from being charged with Rosana's murder if I ran out into the corridor and raised the alarm. But even Piero's best efforts could not have stopped the long, drawn-out process of Italian justice that I was about to face. Days of interrogation, possibly isolation as a key witness. And, no doubt, I'll be followed around the clock again. And all this at a time when I needed as much freedom of movement as possible.
  
  
  I was able to drop everything except what I was wearing and an easy-to-carry diplomatic briefcase containing spare gas bombs, Luger ammunition, a silencer, and a few other innocuous pieces of equipment. Her changed clothes. Hers changed from black patent ballet slippers to a pair of rough sandals that were comfortable at first, and two square heels were places to eat things. Left for heavy brass knuckles, right for the built-in radioactive tracker.
  
  
  He stood for a moment at the foot of the blood-soaked bed and silently promised Rosana that somewhere along the way, as part of my mission, if possible, I would avenge Nah.
  
  
  The sentry at the end of the hall blinked when she returned to the hall so quickly. So em was allowed to see Rosana in all her living glory, and he didn't understand that the man couldn't stay a little longer. But with Americans, there seemed to be an implied expression of ego, you never knew. I signaled to the guard in the lobby and got the same incredulous look from him. But they'll be even more surprised when they find Rosana's body. If my personal radar was working properly, whoever killed Rosana would have triggered the next stage of the trap for me within a few minutes.
  
  
  He took the first taxi he saw, got out in a busy area near the Vatican, and ducked into a coffee shop.
  
  
  My expensive - looking light twill coat didn't look double-sided, but once I unzipped the quilted lining, it turned into a gaudy, worn-out raincoat that might have seen better days, but in the distant and gray past. A small spray destroyed all the creases on my gorgeous trousers and made ih look dirty and sloppy under the brim of my coat. A small piece of sandpaper was enough to make the polished ballet slippers look old and worn. When I hit the corner of a diplomatic briefcase with a penknife, I was able to peel off the calfskin, leaving a badly damaged letter bag .
  
  
  Jerry Carr went into a small coffee shop and left her ego there, along with the lining of my doublet, my dark gray hat, and the remains of my calfskin.
  
  
  Ben Carpenter came out; an elderly, poor, discouraged citizen around the same fringe world of boarding houses and writing scripts for extras that was also Clemm Anderson's blissful territory. The final touch could wait a little longer.
  
  
  The house in Trastevere was only a short walk away, and Ben Carpenter wasn't the type to spend his lira on a taxi unless he was too drunk to worry about anything. He walked two miles, mostly along the Tiber, looking for potential pursuers. On the Ponte Garibaldi, the great bridge, he used his usual tactic of shaking off the pursuit in the alleys. There was a coffee shop across the street from our contact house, and I stopped for a cup of bitter espresso, watching the street and sidewalks through the curtain to the full before crossing the street and knocking.
  
  
  Hyman opened the door, surprise in his eyes.
  
  
  He asked. — Why not tomorrow morning?" But he let me in quickly and slammed the door behind me. "You look like a bum." Her coat shook her off, and he whistled softly at the sight of my tailored suit, which started at mid-thigh and went down to my neck.
  
  
  — I need a suit, " I said, taking off my jacket. "And some shirts." Old ones. That's all.'
  
  
  "Pretty big size," he muttered. "But I can have ih."
  
  
  He rummaged in the back of the closet while he told Em his bathroom story about turning her hair gray.
  
  
  "You're playing against experienced people," he said when he finished.
  
  
  He found a suit that looked like something. It was rumpled, and it fit me well enough in Rivne to give the impression that it had belonged to Ben Carpenter for a long time. He only had one shirt that didn't fit me, but he thought he could buy a few more in one, around the street markets. For now, everything was fine.
  
  
  I shifted the contents of my pockets into my new suit, put on my shoulder holster before putting on my jacket, and was quite pleased with the sight of the man who was looking at me through the mirrors. Hyman criticized me.
  
  
  "You need something else," he said.
  
  
  I'm so proud of this much younger CIA agent. but it hurts to hear from a borrowed errand boy that I'm still missing something. But I liked Hyman, and still the ferret, he was very helpful. So I was patient.
  
  
  I asked her. "Fake beard?"
  
  
  "The smell of alcohol," he said. "Anyone who looks like you and doesn't smell like cheap grappa is suspicious."
  
  
  She admitted that he was right. This boy had a future if he lived long enough. Working with me has not been observed to have an ego chance of survival. But I made a mental note that if we both survived, I'd bring it to Hawke's attention. Hawk is constantly talking about the new blood that AX needs, but the only fresh blood we ever get is blood spilled by old pros like me .
  
  
  "I still have distilled Tarquinia, which is still used to turn up the noses of street drunks," he said. — Let's sit in the main lounge and pour you a drink." If you drink it, I'll have one of hers, too.
  
  
  We went back to the living room and played this game on a chair with wobbly legs, and Hyman pulled out the cork of an unknown bottle of pale wheat liquid. He poured me two fingers into a wide, not too clean glass of water, in keeping with the ramshackle atmosphere of his home. Even before I lifted her glass, I was surrounded by the smell of fusel. It can hardly be worse than vitriol, I thought, taking a long drink. But it was even worse. Her ego swallowed her and suppressed the urge to vomit. He raised his glass again and drank it down.
  
  
  "Hmm," Hyman said. I also poured myself a small, minimal amount.
  
  
  He drank and sniffed. A tear appeared in her eyes. He pressed his hands to his waist and sniffed again.
  
  
  "I'll try something different next time," he groaned.
  
  
  "I have some information for you," he said, catching his breath. Gilchrist delivered it by messenger. That's consistent with what you said this morning. But I still don't see any leads."
  
  
  He handed me some typewritten sheets.
  
  
  "I was just about to reduce iht," he said. "I have a darkroom behind my closet, but it's easier this way. Destroy ih when you're done. This plastic jar is a paper thinner. He pushed a large bottle of Chianti towards my seat and began to read it.
  
  
  The Bank of Lugano turned out to be a dubious enterprise even by Swiss standards, more than 80% of which was owned by Piero Simca...
  
  
  It started out as a border exchange office for Italians, who transferred their lira across the border and exchanged ih for much safer Swiss francs. It expanded to real estate and trust management. In recent years, according to Hawke, he has become extremely active in buying up gold bullion. The super-secure basements held an ego worth about $ 40,000,000. Now that the monetary crisis had broken out, gold speculation was popular, but it went beyond the usual limits.
  
  
  Hyman had already read the material, and when she was finished with the sheet, he rolled up her ego and put it in this solvent.
  
  
  The insurance company was at a dead end. It was one of the oldest, richest, and most respectable societies in Europe, connected with respectable partners both there and in the United States.
  
  
  Holiday homes in Sussex were even more unsettling. Our words about Pierrot. But several former employees, who were quickly tracked down in London and Tunbridge Wells, recalled that the mysterious guest was in a locked room at the same time that Renzo and Studs were there as patients. No one saw the ego, but the ego was a psychiatrist-an outstanding Jungian, Herr Dr. Untenweiser! Odin's informants swore out loud that the guest was a child or teenager. At this height, Pierrot looked like a teenager at every glance.
  
  
  As if the jackpot wasn't enough, an investigation in England also revealed that Easeful Acres was part of a long, lucrative network of private clinics owned by Coetzernes in London. And the chairman of the board was none other than our other Sir Hugh Marsland. Moreover, everyone else on the Council was a silent figurehead, happy with the annual payments, leaving Sir Hugh in complete control.
  
  
  These four key figures were in the same place at the same time. It's true that a few years ago, but it took several years of preparation to complete "Stream of Light".
  
  
  "Voice of the Ages and investigation," was the last comment, but it was followed by five stars *****, which meant that the bulletin also contained the latest news.
  
  
  "Trans-Ins Mutualité" — the message included the name of an insurance company that had not previously aroused suspicion- " appears to have been partially taken over by a Swiss bank. It's still a very secret deal, but it mostly involves a few corporate insurance divisions. As soon as possible, more detailed facts are on the way. They no longer had to pronounce the name of this Swiss bank for me. It was supposed to be Piero's small business in Lugano, with the department dealing with film insurance.
  
  
  So Pierrot and the other three were able to transfer money from one pocket to the other. Everything is very legal and without traces of ih in the books, so as not to alarm investors. Investors also didn't need to know that ih money wasn't being used for profitable investments, but for this growing accumulation of gold bars in the basement.
  
  
  "It all fits," I tried to tell her, but Hyman silenced me.
  
  
  While he was reading the reports, he put it on a chair in his radio and played loud Italian pop music mixed with the smell of grappa. Now the music was interrupted for a summary of the Barents Sea territory.
  
  
  '... An hour ago, the body of Rosana Morandi, a twenty-one-year-old Alitalia employee, was found with her throat cut. Police are looking for Roger "Jerry" Carr, a wealthy American who stayed in the hotel room and quickly left at the time doctors say Miss Morandi was killed. The officer on duty after the previous incident involving Carr confidently stated that no one else had entered the ferret room with them, as he had let Miss Morandi in according to Mr. Carr's telephone instructions. This was followed by an editorial about sex-hungry rich Americans threatening the traditional chastity of Italian women, followed by a flattering description of wanted men.
  
  
  "Jerry Carr is a tall, handsome man with an aristocratic demeanor," Poe said. "He is stylishly dressed, and ego was last seen wearing a dark gray Homburg felt hat, a light gray English-style coat, and a gray flannel suit. He was between twenty-eight and thirty-five years old, and he speaks a little Italian.
  
  
  Hyman looked at me and saw a grizzled, rumpled man who smelled of grappa. He chuckled. "It would take a pretty smart guy to tie you to that description," he said.
  
  
  "But these very smart guys are looking," I said grimly. "The scheme we just read is not designed for the faint of heart."
  
  
  "But you'll see what I meant when I said there were no leads?" Hyman said.
  
  
  "Absolutely, mate," I said. "Now we know for sure, and the Hawk gradually, like Clem Andersson, was on his way to something very important. We know that Renzo, Studds, Pierrot and Sir Hugh Marsland first met at Easefil Acres in Sussex, led by Hema-what Clem Andersson would call "The Cabin Boy" This letter L in the Nest notes: may mean Pierrot, or ego bank in Lugano, but it doesn't matter. We know that the "Thread of Peace" has accumulated enough military equipment to start a small war and possibly activate a large one. But until we can prove that weapons are more than just props, we don't have much to rely on, buddy. "It's really too much," Hyman said. "Where does this take us, Carter?"
  
  
  It was believed that Ben Carpenter spent several years in Australia, and her began playing an ego role.
  
  
  "I gave em a brief description of myself. 'Carpenter. Like Carr, nen has the first syllable of my name. If I have enough time to take on a new identity, I don't care about turning into Jose Gonzalez or Helmud Schmidt. But if you need to switch quickly, as we learned through trial and error, it's more convenient to leave something around the original name. So if someone tries to call me to answer ih "Hello, Carter", it will be exactly the same as if I said to her: "My name is Carr or Carpenter"...
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  "Let's get back to the real facts," I said. "The best we can prove right now is that there is an almost legitimate situation going on. It must enter the locked buildings on Conti's territory. And fast.
  
  
  Hyman checked his watch; he'd left his Rolex in the bathroom of the coffee shop. As much as we liked them, it was too expensive for Ben Carpenter.
  
  
  "You'd better wait until dark," he said. "I explored this place on my own. First, they have guards and watchdogs. Once you overcome this, you may encounter an even more complex inner protective ring. We're not dealing with little boys. But the A. A. must have known that, or they wouldn't have sent Nick Carter.
  
  
  "Ben Carpenter, buddy," ego corrected. "Wherever we are. Perhaps you can start practicing candid now."
  
  
  "All right, Ben," he said. "What do you have to crack Contiland?"
  
  
  He unbuttoned his jacket to show Em the holster he'd already seen. "And a knife," I said. He didn't mention her to Pierre. You should keep a few things in reserve just in case. He showed her emu a heel loaded with the radioactive substance that had been left behind. I had to show em this because it was his hotel, so he would know that the tracker in the hall is on the same transistor radio as the listening devices.
  
  
  "You press this button," I explained. — And in the wave range, this is an indicator of longitude and latitude with an accuracy of five percent per kilometer. Then click the button below and you will hear a beep, which increases in strength as you get closer to the detected element. Never use it until I'm more than an hour late for a meeting or report."
  
  
  He mimicked the action correctly, then slipped the device into the pocket of his jeans.
  
  
  "Everyone is very smart." he said. — But how to pass mimmo dogs and sentries?
  
  
  "As for these dogs," I said, " buy me a cheap hamburger." I'll soak it in ego valerian extract. This will become irresistible even for the best dog, and then I add a sedative that works instantly. I'll stay on one side, and you'll be on the other, a few hundred yards away, distracting the guards.
  
  
  "All right," Hyman said. 'But how?'
  
  
  — We'll find out when we go there." We have to find a place for me first. I can't put this house in danger any longer by staying here. 'Foreign passport?'.
  
  
  Ben Carpenter's emu left her. It's okay, with a fake visa from six weeks ago, so that there is no doubt because of some kind of residence permit. The decrepit face in the photo was similar. Her self was a model for it, as well as for about twenty other photographs during her long career.
  
  
  There are no real boarding houses in this area, Hyman thought aloud. — And she'd like you to be close, though not too close." "The old woman across the boulevard accepts paying customers. She is short-sighted and not very picky.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  "Let me make a phone call first." He checks his pocket diary, dials a number, and speaks in garbled Italian to someone on the other end of the line. He raised his voice convincingly, and Stahl haggled over the payment.
  
  
  "You have a room," he said as he hung up. "Thirty thousand lire a month, paid in advance. You can bring people in. Girls, I mean. This old woman knows she's robbing you. She'll just want to see your passport, but that's all. She doesn't keep records for the copo , because it's black money. Let's go.'
  
  
  The Italian papers print stories quickly, and as soon as we were out on the street, my old face, a neat Jerry Carr, enlarged from a photograph taken at lunch, stared at us from all the newspapers.
  
  
  UCHISHIDO! RAPIMENTO! VIOLENZA! MISTERO!
  
  
  "Murder! Rape! Violence! A secret!'
  
  
  I gave them seven pluses for correctness and was surprised when it looked so clean, cool and neat again.
  
  
  It was borrowed from Hyman by a battered suitcase for extra clothing, which Em managed to dig out of the closet. We stopped at a market stall, and her husband added two used shirts, bleached jeans, an extra pair of shoes, and a battered lab coat that read "U.S. Navy Hospital, Alcohol Rehabilitation Unit, Naples."
  
  
  "Jesus, Ben," Hyman said. "This outfit will make you Moma Pinelli's favorite tenant."
  
  
  Another street, a corner, and he went up two flights of stairs in front of me and introduced me to Mome Pinelli, an obese lady in her fifties and sixties, dressed in a mottled black mourning robe, a reminder that Pope Pinelli, who had spent many years in Ethiopia, had allowed God's grace to descend upon him. Nah's hair was white, and a mole on her chin had several black tufts growing out of it. She was in a good mood and greeted me and my 30,000 lire enthusiastically. She only gave my passport a cursory glance.
  
  
  "The room is at the back, Signor Ieman," she said to Hyman. "If you want to show me." Hers is too old to run back and forth. Does your other guy want American cigarettes? I only have them for 300 lire a pack.
  
  
  "Later, Mother. You'll outlive us all. Hyman kissed her on both wands and led me to the back room.
  
  
  "If he wants to bring the girls upstairs, tell emu that they can't squeal or scream loudly," she called after us. "I have a name that needs to be maintained in the area. If he wants hashish, I can get it, too. And very cheap.
  
  
  It was a long way from the Le Superbe suite, and not just geographically. There was a bed in the room with two dirty blankets, a coarse muslin sheet, and one stiff white sheet.
  
  
  I also saw a large wooden chair and a small chair with a drawer. It had a sink with an oval mirror, and the inevitable bidet at the bottom. One window with a beautiful view of the blank wall two meters behind it. Hyman fiddled with the rusty taps, and the water began to run in spurts. "The faucet is still running," he said, somewhat surprised. "You got it , Ben. Down the hall is a toilet with a shower. Put your suitcase in the corner and we can go out to dinner and introduce you as the new occupant in Trastevere. There's no point in going to Conti's territory before ten o'clock.
  
  
  He led me through several banners to the trattoria, which usually consisted of one room and opened out onto the sidewalk with four tables.
  
  
  "The best pasta in town," Hyman said. — By the way, there hasn't been a tourist here since the West Goths. Marko!
  
  
  A boy of about seventeen, wearing a greasy white apron, came through the back door. "Marco, this is my old friend Ben," Hyman said in Italian. And her, muttering a few words to them that Carpenter could learn. "Pleased to meet a friend of Signor Hyman's," Marco said.
  
  
  "You'll serve us, Marco," Hyman said. "For him, it was Dottore Hyman. Ben is going to stay with us for a while. So, like a real Roman, bring us some red wine until we decide what to eat.
  
  
  — Si dottore, Professore. Mark said. In a moment of illness, he returned with two bottles of red wine, something like Chianti, but stronger and brighter in color. "And some napkins, for God's sake," Hyman complained. "This place is losing its style." Marco returned with a stack of paper napkins, and Hyman and I picked up pens to compare the floor plans for Conti Studios and the surrounding areas.
  
  
  Immediately after the first drinks, we ordered spaghetti with mussels, roast lamb and artichokes. And while we were having coffee and grappa, we were still comparing these sketches."
  
  
  "Okay," said her over our latest version. "I think the warehouses are too close together, but the rest seems to be on scale." "They guard the ego like a military base," Hyman said. "But they've focused their attention on the front here."
  
  
  Ego pen tapped on the front gate where Jerry Carr had driven in that morning in a luxury car as a welcome guest.
  
  
  "There are no real roads beyond it," he said. "They have a fence around the barbed wire, dogs and patrols all around the rear from time to time. A vote of confidence... Ego feather drew a shaky line. "Problems," I said. "How do we get to the back without going through the front first?"
  
  
  "You're an expert," he said.
  
  
  He looked at the map again.
  
  
  "No roads," I said. — But I'm pretty damn sure I saw a trail somewhere."
  
  
  I put a cross on it.
  
  
  "I try the hunting trail," Hyman said. "If everything goes this way, it could end up in Centocelli. And we can go there without approaching the gate.
  
  
  'Within walking distance?'
  
  
  "This is not necessary," he said. "I have two folding bikes in the trunk. And now the place where she should be distracted by the guards.
  
  
  "I saw a starter pistol in your house," I said.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Does he have a signal rocket, and do you have one?" - Vote and that's it, " he said. "But it will light up the entire area so they can see you and me."
  
  
  "Not if we find a tree," I said. "And if you shoot in the wrong direction." Then not everything is illuminated, or at least not sharply. Wait until we get there.
  
  
  We parted at the tavern door. Hyman went back for his guns and his car. He returned to his quarters to collect ammunition for the Luger. I'll meet him again at the river bridge in fifteen minutes.
  
  
  He was just in time, in an old Peugeot. It looked battered from the outside, but once her sel was in it and we were driving at a steady speed through the still-busy nine o'clock traffic, hers could tell by ear that the car was set up perfectly.
  
  
  "Half an hour by car," Hyman said.
  
  
  — Then at least another half hour to get there." Then it should be dark by now.
  
  
  We didn't say anything more, breaking the silence only to agree on our meeting plans when the job was done.
  
  
  "Don't wait for me," emu told her. "If I can get in, I can also find a way out. I'll be at your house at seven-thirty in the morning. If I'm not here by nine, check this radio and see if there's anything alive sticking to my heel.
  
  
  We parked the Peugeot in Centocelli, a far from leafy suburb, and no one noticed us as we unpacked and assembled two folding bikes. Hyman drove ahead of me down the street until the houses thinned out.
  
  
  "It's here somewhere," he called softly. — There are about kilometers of forests and fields between us and the studio. But which path leads where?
  
  
  We were lucky. The paths are overgrown, but not so much that you can't ride a bike on them. Three or four wrong turns were easily corrected using the compass. It was seven minutes past ten in Rivne when we saw the long fence around the barbed wire of the Roman Empire of Renzo.
  
  
  It looked exactly as I remembered it from a cursory inspection of tem this morning. The entire hotel area, and the front fence has been cleared, except for a cluster of trees here and there. He told Hyman to measure two hundred paces north, and then, when he found a good hiding place, light a lantern diagonally across the fence. While he was choosing his position, he prepared it and said a short prayer.
  
  
  We felt sorry for each other's hands, and he disappeared. Her started kneading four identical balls of hamburger dough that he gave her, and mixed ih with equal parts valerian dog products and a sedative for quick knockouts. He even mixed it with Camille's crushed sleeping pills, which he carried with him all the time, despite all the disguises.
  
  
  He was so close that he heard the scrape of knees and saw pale shadows; they were giant German Shepherds. Two men were running back and forth on the other side of the fence. I threw her four hamburgers one after the other over the fence. They came down without making a sound to us. He saw the dogs trotting toward the two different places he had chosen. I wouldn't stand a chance if I got into a fight with these dogs, so I gave each dog hamburgers with a sleepy filling.
  
  
  I had just enough time to get the wheels off my bike before Hyman, wherever he was sitting, made a new star bloom in the sky. He ran to the fence, holding the dismantled bike in front of him. There I planted the frame in the ground and jumped the four-foot fence in a graceful pole vault.
  
  
  When I landed, I rolled over and lay there in Rivnenskaya for five seconds, until I was sure that the sentries hadn't heard or seen me. Fifty yards away, they were shouting at each other, drawn by the rocket's light. Hers moved slowly forward, toward the nearest warehouse. He passed the dogs and sentries, and at any moment he might encounter a new alarm.
  
  
  But nothing happened. At least he hadn't noticed anything. He hoped that Renzo and his cronies were already so satisfied with the floodlights at the main gate, the German shepherds, and the patrolling sentries that they hadn't taken any extra precautions. They did have good, solid double-lock locks on the day of the first warehouse, but good, solid double-lock locks are a child's animation for an AX agent.
  
  
  Before entering, it was carefully oiled by Petukhov and the locks.
  
  
  Arsenale was waiting for her, so I wasn't surprised to find ego. He was surprised and shocked by the variety and lethality of the weapons. There's something for everyone here: from Russian missiles for the latest model Mig-24 fighter, to nuclear warheads for our T-2B provided by the US Navy, and small missiles for our Sabre 100-F (new series, unregistered, secret).
  
  
  You could be sure that none of the governments that had lent ego the equipment had any idea that it could be turned into a working weapon so quickly. A visit to the warehouse by someone from Russia, China, or one of the NATO countries is sure to nip the plot in the bud before it can develop, even if it started, thanks to the Studds clause, on Monday.
  
  
  I made invisible bookmarks on several boxes of ammunition using a fat pencil containing a radioactive element. I didn't need to look at the other storeroom, but it lay still for a grim ten minutes while the night watchman went around both buildings. Gradually, it turned into a frightening monotony. Now, all I had to do was make sure I got out of here alive so that I could warn as many people as possible. Even Pierrot's political connections couldn't save the ego, with such strong evidence.
  
  
  The sky was still cloudy when he slowly crawled up to the fence. Her attention should have been diverted again, but this time it should have been ih alone. She was reminded of the graceful old-fashioned weather vane on the farm that had once been part of the Vereldeinde scenery. It was just visible from where I was now, and a cluster of artificial trees would hide me from any sentries that might be tempted. He took out his Luger, tapped the handle, and screwed on the silencer. It made ego a little clumsy, and it was a little harder to aim, but I only had one chance, and I had to take it anyway.
  
  
  He propped himself up on one elbow and waited for the clouds to clear a little. That was about ten minutes later. At least I had enough polling to take a shot. The silencer let out a controlled cough, and the weather vane spun around, and the sound of the impact echoed around the area. She was heard running shaggy approaching the farm. He took his knife and started digging a three-meter hole under the fence.
  
  
  There were still shouts all around the farm as he lifted the frame of his bike again, screwed on the wheels, and drove off in the direction of Centocelli. He cursed himself for being so stupid that he hadn't kept Hyman waiting in the car. Now every minute can count. Report to Hawke for good first, and then get rid of everything related to the End of the World. .
  
  
  I was thinking about this when I took my bike and everything else and plunged headlong into the camouflaged pit. He stood up again, luger in hand, but dropped it again. Four men stood around the pit, clutching clumsy automatic carbines.
  
  
  "We've been waiting for you, Nick Carter," one of the men said, his voice distorted by the hood he'd pulled over his head.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  Two men helped me out of the pits and searched me thoroughly, while the other two held me at gunpoint around their weapons. After the first hello, no one said a word to us.
  
  
  They found the stiletto and took it away. They found a gas bomb in my pants pocket and took it along with everything else around the pockets, including a paper clip of some sort; which was a good thing, because this random paper clip was a magnesium compound that could explode in blinding light enough to temporarily block their view.
  
  
  By the way, all four of them were brawny, probably tougher than the Gorilla and Pepe, and supposedly they were the ones who were smarter. They took me to the side of the driveway, where a big Fiat was waiting for me. With so much at stake, he couldn't take any chances. It wasn't my style to shout for help, but this wasn't the time for personal pride. And in the split second it took me to take a breath and scream for help like a howling dog, Odin around my handlers opened my mouth and stuffed a pear-shaped gag into it.
  
  
  "This is designed to save you unnecessary effort, Carter," an ih spokesperson said.
  
  
  So the drive back to Rome was just as peaceful as my trip there, though not as pleasant. I knew we were entering Rome when I caught a glimpse of the Port Maggiore gate. Then the two thugs flanking me in the back of the car pulled down the curtains, as well as the curtain in front of the glass section separating us from the driver. The mentioned glass partition looked bulletproof, and both rear doors had no levers. Even if I managed to defeat both of my guards and take their weapons, he would still be taken to where they intended to take me, in a tightly sealed cage surrounded by glass and metal.
  
  
  We drove for another five minutes, and then her, I felt the car go down the slope and stop. My guards let down the curtains and waited for the driver and ego companion to open the day outside.
  
  
  We were in the underground parking lot of a large building. Different numbers on different cars; several Italian, Austrian, Swiss, one English and one with themes, special numbers used by Maltese diplomats. They were in three through six Italian license plate characters. CD for the diplomatic corps. Pierrot might have been waiting for her, or at least Pierrot's friends.
  
  
  As soon as the doors opened, I was helped out. Hers was still gagged, they were still holding me tight and could only protest silently. I was dragged to the automatic elevator.
  
  
  Four heavyweights clung to me, even though a small metal sign on the side clearly indicated in English, French, and Italian that the maximum load was four people, or at most 300 kg. Everyone around us weighed at least ninety kilograms, so I nodded at the metal plate.
  
  
  "Yes, it's so shameful to break the commandments," said one of the four. "But sometimes you don't have a choice, do you, Carter?"
  
  
  The elevator went up four floors and emerged into one of those long corridors lined with office doors so typical of Mussolini-era government buildings. There was a window at the end of the hall, and in front of that window sat a figure with a submachine gun under his arm. Where the passage to the other side formed a right angle, an equally armed figure sat.
  
  
  Any faint hope I might have had of escaping and venturing out was gone. I didn't think Nick Carter, Jerry Carr, or Ben Carpenter would have survived this sublunary existence.
  
  
  If I hadn't said it and wasn't going to say it, they would have put me under torture, truth serum, or both. In all of these cases, maybe that split second came when I needed to break out, or if that failed, bring someone with me for company in the morgue.
  
  
  They led me through, or rather mimmed me past three doors and stopped at the fourth. The leader walked in and out a few moments later, gesturing with his finger. I was pushed into the room by my three ego companions.
  
  
  It was a large, airy office with barred windows that looked out over the Tiber. One wall was surrounded by a large teak chair of modern design. Comfortable chairs were arranged around it. One was empty, and the others were occupied by five men in their mid-thirties and mid-fifties . Everyone is as respectable as my fellow investors at World End, but not Piero or Renzo.
  
  
  A tall, thin man in his forties, with long yellowish hair and horn-rimmed glasses, was sitting in a chair behind a desk. I've never seen her before, Ego. I've never seen anyone around a man before. And they all looked more like members of the committee that was preparing my oral history exam than the employers of the guys who tried to roast me, cut Rosana's neck, and now put me in an empty seat.
  
  
  "Thank you, Mr. Carter," the blond man said politely, as if he hadn't noticed that I was being pushed into a chair, and two of the same guys came up on either side of me to keep me there. .
  
  
  "As you can see," he said, " we know your real name, and what little we know about your abilities. One of our people here, Mr. Oleg Perestov, says that his colleagues ' egos have had interesting meetings with you.
  
  
  A short, bald man with deep, sunken eyes nodded grimly in Slavonic. Suddenly the name came to mind. He was the main man of the MGB of Russia for Western Europe. Therefore, my fleeting thought about the participation of Communists during the meetings was not wrong . But then why are Russian weapons in the "both ends of the World" props department? A clever red herring? Or did you miss something important?
  
  
  "I know that," he said with a smile, " I won't allow you the slightest freedom of movement until I make it clear that we're operating on the same side. May I ask you to drop all your preconceptions, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  I didn't see it as a big point to participate internally in this operation, which also involved Perestov. Now she also knows a Chinese face that belonged to Mr. Fal, a member of the Red China Intelligence Service. I might have bought myself some time, so I nodded to her.
  
  
  'Good.'- The Blond Man Was Delighted. "Let me introduce myself. Her Colonel is Pitt Norden, Norway, Interpol. He placed his ID card on a polished chair and nodded to my guards, allowing me to reach out and take it. There was an ego name and photos, his connection to Interpol, and, in numbers, an ego identity that she knows as one of the world's best agents.
  
  
  "If I'd known who you were, Carter," he said, " we'd have been spared that unfortunate Thursday night. At the time, all we thought was that you were just another member of that infamous core group "World End" . And Oleg sent the first forces he could get to get information from you. I suspect that they interpreted their instructions too loosely, but then they will be able to justify it to the highest court."
  
  
  Perestoff shrugged disapprovingly, and Kou Faul smiled at ego's embarrassment.
  
  
  "As soon as the facts of your escape and the mysterious, still unsolved deaths of Luigi and Pepe became known, it became clear to anyone with little experience that an international agent like Nick Carter must be involved. But to what extent and from what side? Your past has always been impeccable.
  
  
  Perestoff and Ko Fol were both fidgeting in their seats. "Perfect from a NATO perspective," Colonel Norden clarified, and both men froze again. — But you could have taken a different route that we didn't know. Not so long ago, Sir Hugh Marsland was a relatively honest politician, and Lorenzo Conti was nothing more than a film producer with an insatiable thirst for wealth and bragging rights. Chris Mallory was an unpredictable genius, but nothing more. Pierrot? All you had to do was point your finger at him and all of Italy, right and left, would stand up for him'
  
  
  My surprised expression broke through my gagged lips, and Colonel Norden was silent for a moment.
  
  
  "I don't have time for a lecture right now," he said. We are a reform group of international powers, and Interpol likes the example, as does the CIA . All too dirty, too explosive and too immodest orders come to us, " he said.
  
  
  — As I said, we couldn't be sure of your attitude, and we couldn't approach you until we were sure. Clem Andersson signed his own death warrant when he tried to talk to Chris Mallory, because he thought Mallory was a simple American citizen who was tricked by cunning Europeans. Hyman said you were fine, but of course you could still play with him. Our only chance was for Miss Morandi to contact you again.
  
  
  So while I thought I was surreptitiously checking Rosana's connections in Le Superb, she was also checking and establishing trust in me.
  
  
  — She told us that she said you were more than 100 percent clean and that they had the same goals as we did: to infiltrate Threads of the World and try to find irrefutable evidence against them. But it was almost impossible to contact you because of the thick screen that Pierrot and his friends surrounded you with, " the colonel said. "We have decided to send Rosana again, with a fatal outcome that you know all too well." He paused, as if waiting for me to get through.
  
  
  — You were right to disappear. Hyman, at this point, putting his loyalty primarily at the service of you and AH, refused to act as an intermediary, but it didn't really matter. You did what we were hoping for: you broke into the locked storage areas. So we put a microphone on young Hyman's car and two ego bikes, and followed you at a respectful distance. This time, we used agents who were a bit more experienced. His smile was charming and sincere.
  
  
  "So, Carter, if you're going to believe us and know that we need your cooperation, let us know with a nod of your head. If you find any clues in this warehouse, then we have the opportunity to get inside, dismantle the ego and put the thread to this whole dirty business.
  
  
  He nodded, making a quick decision. If Colonel Norden and ego comrades were topics, hema seems like all my problems would be over. Even if they weren't on his side, once I freed her, I could find a way to use ih to our advantage. The guards on both sides removed the gag and stepped back. At this meeting of nimble, powerful forces, he looked disheveled, unkempt, but she needed him, and with my information, he was probably the most important person here.
  
  
  "Wonderful," Colonel Norden said. "First, a brief introduction." He moved his finger from one person to another. Mr. Carter, Comrade Perestoff, Mr. Kau Fol, Herr Bergen, General Maseratti, Colonel Le Grand. Well, what did you find there? Twelve eyes and twelve ears were riveted as he described the contents of the two warehouses. No one took notes. They were experienced agents, trained to listen and remember. Colonel Norden made a note on a piece of paper and gave the ego to one of the hooded henchmen, who quickly left through the rooms.
  
  
  He saw my raised eyebrows and dispelled my suspicions. "This is only to prepare our transport so that we can leave," he said, " as soon as we get the necessary approval and support from the government. If what you say is true at least 20 percent, Pierrot's political power can no longer stop ego warehouses from being dismantled. It's half past two now. If the bomb really goes off, it's pointless for me to call the relevant minister in the next five hours."
  
  
  "But time is important," I said. "By now, they may have found these sleeping dogs and possibly the hole he made in the fence to get out again."
  
  
  "It took them more than a year to collect these weapons in these warehouses," said Colonel Le Grand, a French agent. - I doubt that ih ble can be moved for five hours. "If they try, they will fall into our trap," General Maserati said. "We have our own observers at all exits, and I have my own small but well-trained commando unit, free from the malign influence of Signor Piero Simca in some other areas of the university ministries."
  
  
  "I think we can afford to relax a little more now, until the hour of impact arrives," Colonel Norden said. He rang the bell on his desk, and it was a beautiful blonde woman in a uniform-Interpol? A cordon ? A canteen service that works in the hall on standby twenty-four hours a day? - We made quite a buffet.
  
  
  In addition to drinks, snacks and sandwiches, we had the opportunity to supplement the fragments of my discovery with scattered but detailed information from other sources.
  
  
  What all this has led to is:
  
  
  "Thread of Peace" was not in the vanguard of some group of conspirators. It was the ego's own devilish scheme of destruction, the ultimate act of aimless violence for a super-psychopath. The ego obvious plot was a blatant mockery of ego's true intentions. Poor Ken Lane. He did not participate in this dell at all and wrote his script as a warning about the Third World War. In fact, it was a schematic stepping stone to the very beginning of this very war, to the very last massacre.
  
  
  "Today's world is a barrel of gunpowder," said Herr Bergen. "And wait for someone to blow it up." A few small, overburdened groups, such as you, Sir Carter, our own, and the occasional single dedicated person here and there, share the burden of countering this ignition."
  
  
  "So far, ferret," General Maseratti said — " the difficulties have been dispelled, and we have managed to keep ih under control. But imagine, Mr. Carter, a world in which incidents such as the shooting down of a Lebanese plane over Israel, the old U-2 incident, the assassination of a president, the simultaneous killing of diplomats, and the bombing of planes occur simultaneously. with enemy markings over key localities. Mix it all together with uprisings, bombings in Belfast, guerrilla wars in Central Africa, revolutions in Central and Latin America, tensions in the Middle East and in the powder keg of Southeast Asia. Who can stop this before it escalates into a worldwide war?
  
  
  "I warned the Kremlin not to act too quickly," Oleg Perestov said grimly. "But my warnings don't stand up to the panic and public pressure. If a plane with American or Chinese license plates drops a single bomb over Leningrad, Moscow, or Kamchatka, my commanders will push the button and retreat to their bomb shelters. My warnings had only one effect: an entry in my file saying that I might be suspected of being a double agent.
  
  
  "As was the case with my superiors in Beijing," Ko Fol interjected.
  
  
  The great conspirators were represented by Pierrot, Sir Hugh, Renzo, and Studs, for example, in this order. Maybe I'll add my sex-hungry and desirable girlfriend Camille and some Stud techs.
  
  
  "We were able to reconstruct most of this plot with Rosana's help," Colonel Norden said. "She played the role of a double agent at great risk to herself, but with all her dedication. Thanks to our investigations and findings, we found out how and where it all started."
  
  
  Seven of the least sentimental gentlemen you'll find around the globe observed a minute's silence in memory of the deceased girl.
  
  
  Her silence was broken. — The plot started in that madhouse in Sussex?"
  
  
  "Exactly," Norden said. "You sum it up for a small fraction of the time it took us. More than seven years ago, Sir Hugh began to show signs of emotional and mental instability. He did not wait for others, partners, or friends to notice the ego and force treatment, but rather did so on his own volleys, and sent a letter for help to the great one in mathematics and in Europe: R Doctor. To the Untenweiser, an innocent but necessary pawn in the game that " will then evolve."
  
  
  I asked her. "Anderson Jangel?"
  
  
  'Correct. Dr. Untenweiser was able to use tranquilizers and other drugs to help Sir Hugh control his psychotic attacks. Sir Hugh's killing of a call girl in 1968 was an accident, but ego influence ensured that the case was covered up. Dr. Untenweiser gave the name of a particular disease that Sir Hugh suffered from, and which he shares with Renzo, Studs, and Pierrot. This is called agriothymia ambitiosa, the uncontrollable and passionate need to destroy nations and wipe out all organized structures of society.
  
  
  "Anderson's AA designation," I muttered.
  
  
  'That's right.'Noorden said. The same disease that has always driven Sirhan Sirhan, the Olympic killers, and so many others. But this time, the disease had taken root in a man with both political power and prestige. Also a patient person. He was willing to wait a long time and try to gather the allies he needed, and a few years later, he did.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Sir Hugh, either as a reward for his treatment or for personal safety, arranged for Dr. Untenweiser to stay at his private hospital, Easeful Acres. This is the most luxurious place for nervous disorders, mainly from drugs and alcohol, that you can imagine. In the early 1970s, Camille Cavour was there as a patient after a nervous breakdown when she went from street prostitute to movie star. Maybe it was an accident.
  
  
  The key was the simultaneous arrival of Renzo, then a serious nervous breakdown, then Stud Mallory, then an ego-busting six-month binge, and Piero Simca, incognito, then a suicide attempt that would have been a success.
  
  
  All three suffered from the same progressive agriothymia of ambition, compounded by the fact that they considered themselves a legitimate grievance against society. Renzo suffered through the loss of his noble status and the loss of his vast estates, something that the millions from his films could never fully rectify. Studds thought that the major studios and the U.S. government had taken away some of his patent rights to some of his ego-driven electronic inventions. Pierrot, the most visible around the three, has accumulated humiliations since childhood due to his small stature.
  
  
  Chance introduced Sir Hugh to the others during one of his visits there as headmaster. The Emu had enough diagnostic notes on the cards of the three men. In addition, we can only add some guesses to this. But it seems plausible to us that the few weeks they spent together there, they organized a "Stream of Light" together .
  
  
  Pierrot seemed to take on a more senior role than Sir Hugh, but there was no argument from Ego. Together they had all the necessary international connections, but Pierrot was still licking his way to the top. And that was important when they got to the props they wanted to borrow. As for the weapons themselves, they used double and triple agents from different countries, from smugglers to money-hungry traitors. For twelve million dollars, you can buy a lot of puppies. Renzo's studios and Ego's position in the world of cinema made the whole project real. But Studds, who looked like a prankster on the outside, was in some ways the cornerstone of both ends of the World. It was only thanks to ego's technical know-how that the computer could be programmed and powered."
  
  
  "Because, my dear Nick," Colonel Le Grand said, " they have equipped real props, planes, tanks, gunboats, the British submarine Porpoise, with the same remote control that Studds so brilliantly demonstrated to you on his miniature field, paints."
  
  
  "This information was passed on to us, your Mr. Gilchrist," General Maserati said — " who is not as slow or as energetic as he seems."
  
  
  "And he's a genius himself who comes close to Chris Mallory's talent when it comes to computer electronics," Perestov said. "We tried to get it once, but unfortunately, we failed."..
  
  
  The hands of the wall clock showed that it was only seven o'clock.
  
  
  "In an hour and a half," Colonel Norden said, " we will be able to get the necessary permits by phone. General Maseratti will continue to do this, because at this level, of course, this is a matter for the Italian government."
  
  
  "According to Signor Carter's report," the general said, " I will take full responsibility and demand immediate action. Oral consent is enough, and it only takes a few minutes. I suggest we move on to the final planning.
  
  
  Colonel Norden spoke a few quiet words into the intercom.
  
  
  "Actually," he said. "But first, the report on the surveillance of the warehouse. Mr. Hyman is downstairs, and he ordered emu to join us. He turned to me. "He was extremely displeased when he found out that we "borrowed" you, so he softened her ego a little by entrusting emu with our observation post."
  
  
  Hyman came into the room and stood next to me. "I'm sorry, Ben... Nick, " he said. "These people didn't tell me until it was over. But I knew who they were and who you were, so I had to work with them."
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," emu told her.
  
  
  He turned to the table in a semi-military pose. "No movement that could be interpreted as moving supplies from the depots, sir," he reported to Colonel Norden. - Minimal Regular morning work. Food trucks for studio supplies and the like. These people stopped watching when they left the site; far enough away that ih couldn't be seen, but they didn't find anything more deadly than a milk bottle in them."
  
  
  "Very well," said the Colonel. — What about the dogs and the hole Carter made to escape?"
  
  
  "I've been monitoring this place through my night vision devices, sir," Hyman said. "They didn't find the dogs until three in the morning. When this happened, there were a lot of loud comments, and one of the sentries made some kind of report. They didn't check the fence, as any sane security guard would have done right away. But just after sunrise, this place was accidentally discovered by a sentry. There was a lot of shouting again, and Odin around the men reported it on the field phone. There was a man who fixed the fence for fifteen minutes.
  
  
  — Any further developments?" The colonel asked. "One important person in the photo?"
  
  
  "Just Stud Mallory, sir," Hyman said. "But we do know that he always comes in at six-thirty to play with his computers and machines, no matter how drunk he might have been the night before."
  
  
  "We hope to release ego from his busy schedule soon," Colonel Le Grand said dryly.
  
  
  Then we dealt with the main question: how, when, what and whom to attack.
  
  
  General Maserati's elite commando unit had been on standby for an hour.
  
  
  There is no problem on this side. Problems only occurred when all hotels joined the action, and all as commanders.
  
  
  Colonel Norden had to get up to maintain order.
  
  
  "I don't need to remind you, gentlemen, that I am the commander," he snapped in a soldier's voice. "We don't put on an advertising show here, either for someone personally or for a specific country."
  
  
  The murmur of approvals could be heard everywhere.
  
  
  "General Maserati, of course, will want to lead his unit," the colonel said. — I'm going with him." Fully corresponds to my position as an Interpol officer. Mr. Hyman, who holds the temporary position of Communications Officer, joins Mr. Carter as a liaison. That's all.'
  
  
  He tapped the table to drown out the sounds of protest, including mine.
  
  
  "If we are seen together in such an operation," he said,"we will be our organization." Mr. Carter, you forget that you are still wanted for questioning in the murder of Signorina Morandi. When our locality in Russia is completed, it will be easy to clarify, but not before.
  
  
  We had to agree to this.
  
  
  "Also," he added, to make the situation more bearable — " it would be foolish to lose our main group in this first major operation. I don't know what can go wrong, but it's dangerous to underestimate our opponents. If something goes wrong, there will be at least five of us left. Six, if we're talking about Mr. Carter joining us.
  
  
  "Count me in," he said too quickly.
  
  
  "If I am not here," said Colonel Norden, " the leadership will pass to Comrade Perestov." So I just found myself under the command of a Russian MGB officer .
  
  
  "General Maserati," Colonel Norden said, " I think you can call now."
  
  
  An Italian officer dialed the number and spoke to a high-ranking official around the Ministry of Defense. He dials another number, this time for officials at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation.
  
  
  "We're going out," he said. "Colonel Norden, Mr. Hyman, will you go?" Others : goodbye.
  
  
  "I suggest that you all disperse," Colonel Norden said, " and do as much of your normal work as possible. New items will be announced soon.
  
  
  Then he was gone.
  
  
  "I'll see you at my house," Hyman said. — The moment you're sure I'll be back." Of course, today at eight o'clock. Don't worry. I'll keep an eye out for her.
  
  
  On the way back in the taxi, she was bought a cheap transistor radio. He left her his complicated device to Hyman. Pinelli's girlfriend was sitting in a rocking chair in the living room and gave me a mischievous smile that she probably saved for a late-night hangover.
  
  
  Her, went to her room and bench press on the sagging bed in a relaxed yoga pose. The radio operated on the Roman network.
  
  
  There was the usual morning light music program with fifteen-minute house tips before another music program started. He estimated that it would take Norden, Maseratti, Hyman, and a squad of commandos twenty minutes to reach the studio, and then half an hour to two hours before the news broke.
  
  
  Rivnenskaya an hour and thirty-seven minutes later, the news broke.
  
  
  "Professor Piero Simca, a senator from Colle di Val d'amore, called it the most direct invasion of personal freedom since fascism," Poe said. It condemns the search of Lorenzo Conti's studio this morning by a military unit of General Giulio Maseratti, accompanied by Interpol Colonel John Norden. Senator Piero Simca is speaking here and now..."
  
  
  Then Pierrot's voice, surprisingly low as ever for a small ego, was scornful and triumphant.
  
  
  "...morning read in the most brutal and totalitarian way, " he said. "A search that isn't exactly Rivnenskaya nothing, but has revealed something very important. They showed the credulity of our military leaders and their inability, even after thirty years, to break out around the long shadows of the dictatorship. Nen shows the revelation that the supposedly apolitical Interpol organization that deals with the Della turns out to be nothing more than a corrupt police force. It would be interesting to know if Colonel Norden's personal bank account, no doubt in another country, was not replenished with some amount of dollars in California, since this action of payments is directly contrary to the interests of Italian cinema."
  
  
  Then he went back to work, reporting Pierrot's demand that the Norwegian government immediately recall Colonel Norden. He also demanded that General Maseratti be reprimanded and demoted. Not a single clerk around the Ministry of Defense or Interior-del-admitted sanctioning the action, but it was political business as usual.
  
  
  He turned off the radio, filled up his ammunition and other things he could stash in his pockets, and headed for Hyman's house. Now that the news was in the air, Hyman was probably home.
  
  
  He got there only five minutes before I did, and the look on his face when he opened the door had little to do with his usual cheerful smile.
  
  
  "There was nothing there, Carter," he said.
  
  
  "But I've seen it, these open crates, and I've even seen one around these nuclear warheads," I said. "Damn it, Hyman, you don't think I'm making up this whole story, do you?"
  
  
  "All I know," he said,"is that I went there with Maserati, mimmo of the Conti guards, and there was nothing at all in those warehouses."
  
  
  "Maybe they cleaned it up later," I said.
  
  
  "We had fifteen people with binoculars around the fence," Hyman said. "From the moment you walked in, until that commando unit walked in."
  
  
  So you've been tricked into disguising everything, he thought aloud. "Maybe they hid the ego in some innocent prop. My God, what kind of search was this? Preschoolers playing some kind of search game?
  
  
  "When I said' nothing, 'I meant' nothing, 'Nick," he said, more relaxed now. "Geez, just an empty room and a bare, slightly dusty floor. But no sign of moving anything larger than the canister. Vote like this, Nick.
  
  
  "They tricked us," I said. Its sel to get lost in your thoughts. — I should have come with you.".. but it's too late. I must get her back.
  
  
  "No chance, Nick," Hyman said. "Conti has lost surveillance of his studio, and the Carabinieri have humbly asked ego to host two hundred of the most select security personnel who are already looking for Jerry Carr. No chance.'
  
  
  "Then I'll make her odina."
  
  
  "Nick, you're not the most popular person in Rime," Hyman told me. "You were called fango, meaning 'shit', after General Maserati. Colonel Norden still thinks you've found something. The others are in a meeting right now to decide whether to throw you to the wolves or keep you quiet about our organization.
  
  
  I let out my emotions when I thought about this organization, which included a Russian and a red Chinese, who had to decide whether to trust Nick Carter. It is unlikely that ih's decision will be dictated by something as vague and warm as emotions. On the other hand, they had to keep up with me. They had a lot of evidence to show that the Thread of Peace project was a huge threat, a time bomb that needed to be defused. And he was the only person who saw the project from the inside out.
  
  
  He remembered that he not only saw and touched the keys, but also invisibly and indelibly marked ih with his special fat pencil.
  
  
  "I need a carbon-yttrium scanner," I said. "Like the radio that gave it to you, but with a certain atomic weight. Such a thing should be available at our university or even in the state scientific department.
  
  
  "I'll make coffee while the commission decides if they still want to trust you with a yo-yo, let alone such a good scanner," Hyman said softly.
  
  
  "Where are they holding this meeting?" — We have no time to lose, Hyman. I can ask ih myself and explain my reasons to them. Perestov will understand.
  
  
  "They're calling us, not the other way around," Hyman said. "I'm sorry, but it's true. I do not know where they meet, I have never climbed so high in this club. I know it's not at the Navy office where they were this morning.
  
  
  I thought about it while Hyman made a simple instant coffee. I took a sip of the liquid he placed in front of me in a cracked cup. I knew I'd seen the keys, but it didn't make any sense to keep saying so until I saw the green color, against Pierrot's influence.
  
  
  The phone rang. Hyman raised his ego.
  
  
  "Yes," he said.' I try to get the grin back on my boyish face. "Where?.. Well, here we are."
  
  
  "You're still in this dell, Nick," he said to me. — They're having a meeting at the villa on the Appian Way. Maseratti and Norden aren't there, but Maseratti's replacement was, and they voted for you. The new Interpol official, who remains under Perestov's direct supervision, voted against. You had Perestov, LeGrand, and Co Fall on your side. Bergen, the finance minister, voted against it. Conclusion: you need another chance.
  
  
  We left the house and played ego games with the Peugeot while he continued to talk. At that time, speed was more important than safety. He drove like a madman through the traffic jams of Rome, which were already full of crazy drivers. Less than fifteen minutes later, we screeched to a stop in the driveway of the old villa. The old gate swung open and slammed shut behind us.
  
  
  It was a short, serious meeting that didn't have the same upbeat camaraderie as the previous session. I was informed that I was being used only because I represented the last hope, not because anyone particularly believed in me or liked my blue eyes.
  
  
  I was introduced to Major Millione, the Italian police officer who replaced General Maseratti, and Senor Sousa, the suspicious Portuguese naval attache at Interpol. The meeting was presided over by T. Perestov.
  
  
  I explained to them that I had no explanation, but only one hope. He showed them his signature pencil, and Perestov nodded. Ego's own agents used a similar trick. I told them about the scanner I needed, and Monet sent a messenger to the physics department of the Alfa Romeo University of Rome with a wailing siren.
  
  
  "If it's a good device," I said, " I can find my tags within a three — mile radius. Right now, we're less than half that distance from Conti territory, so we can start as soon as this thing gets here. We need a topographic map for local coordinates.
  
  
  There was little general chatter until we heard the siren wail, signaling that the Alfa Romeo was returning. The billionaire had a detailed map of the northwestern part north of the city. It was lying on the table in an unfolded form, the ends hanging down on both sides. He was standing over her with a pencil in his hand, a stocky man in uniform with a spiky mustache like an old, wary cat ready to spring.
  
  
  The policeman gave me a borrowed phone from the physics department. It was almost identical to the device that had known her from my exercises at headquarters. Her ego adjusted her to an eccentric combination of elements, explaining her actions.
  
  
  "It must be an unusual combination, otherwise it will point to anyone with a fluorescent wristwatch." Over there! It's up to you to vote!
  
  
  Slowly, I turned on the meter and got rheumatism from the vibrating needle on the length scale. Let Hey calm down before handing the device to the Billionaire. Perestov looked over my shoulder, breathing hard.
  
  
  The Italian drew a straight line across the map. I set the scale to latitude and read a different number.
  
  
  Monet drew a second line that intersected the first at a point just between the two rectangles on the map that marked the Conti warehouses that she had visited, the warehouse that General Maseratti had invaded and found empty.
  
  
  "That's a stupid joke," Herr Bergen said disgustedly. "Carter's on the ih side, and he's holding us back. Any crazy person can twist this scanner to get the places they already know. This is absolutely useless.
  
  
  "I don't believe the device is faulty," Colonel Le Grand said. "I read it, they're the numbers on that disk that Mr. Carter mentioned." Major Monet looked more like a fat, wise cat than ever.
  
  
  "Mr. Hyman," he said. "You and Lieutenant Gismondi were both there. You say that you didn't see or hear anything unusual during your watch, nothing but the usual excitement when the dogs were found sleeping, and then when a breach in the enclosure was discovered. Please tell us again . Step by step, without missing anything."
  
  
  Hyman told me exactly what he had told me, but when he tried to stop, the Major forced Ego to continue until Stud Mallory arrived.
  
  
  "Well, he drove in a Mercedes with a driver," Hyman said. "I went out around the car and entered the engineering department, a building that is located in the hall between the administrative building and warehouses. Then I heard her buzzing, you know, like when you turn on the preheated system. And most Americans do it on March mornings. It's all."Lieutenant Gismondi," the major said.
  
  
  The lieutenant started from the beginning, but Monet interrupted him.
  
  
  "That buzz was after Mallory arrived," he said. — Did you hear that too?" Think carefully.'
  
  
  "Well, sir," Lieutenant Gismondi said. "The ego was clearly audible, but..."
  
  
  Before anyone else, he knew what the Billionaire was thinking. "Elevator," I said. "The whole damn floor is down. Odin on the technical achievements of the great genius of the Mallory Herd." Major Monet smiled in agreement.
  
  
  "It's like a theater, I guess," he said. "The floor that goes up, the floor that goes down. This is all part of the ih illusory world. And the only proof is a faint hum, which could be anything. Then the ego's wide feline grin disappeared.
  
  
  — But how will it help us?" "After the first fiasco, I can't allow the new warhead to enter the premises, Renzo, for another inspection. My own Carabinieri wouldn't even let me pass through the"Moscow gate". And Pierrot is organizing a protest march.
  
  
  All the faces were grim, until the fat Major slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, like a child trying to solve a riddle.
  
  
  "We can't enter by land," he said. "We can hardly get down from air sampling. But there are enough corridors underground to build a highway. No one knows all the catacombs Rhyme, underground running gain of nineteen centuries. But I know her, Guglielmo Millione, better than any other living creature, because I always go there to follow thieves to ih's lair. Take a look here.'
  
  
  He bent over the map and quickly drew lines with a pencil, a grid of turns that merged, crossed, converged, and diverged again. Two passed through them just below the two intersecting lines of our scan.
  
  
  I'm a fool not to have thought of that right away, he scolded himself as he took the holster for his revolver from the chair. — It is very likely that this is the way they delivered their top-secret materials. Mallory also built a warehouse with a floor lift that can go down into the catacombs and up again if desired.
  
  
  — What are you going to do when you get there, Major?" 'Whistle a tune? We are still facing inconveniences related to the inability to transfer a warhead there." "Take the tailor," he admitted. 'I do not know. But I'll do something. Maybe I'll blow it up for everyone, including myself."
  
  
  "A remarkable sacrifice, Major," Perestov said. "And entirely in the old Roman tradition. But not practical. All these nuclear warheads together can lead to almost the same explosion as the accident that we are trying to avoid."
  
  
  "I'm coming with you," I said. "Not in the spirit of ancient Roman values, Comrade Perestov, but because I know my weapons. I can separate a nuclear weapon from a non-nuclear one, and then make a mine around several conventional ones. This will give the fire department the right to enter the studio gates, Major. And then your subordinates can be ready to hand over what we need as soon as they get in there and find the hidden "both ends of the World" ammunition .
  
  
  "Voice and rheumatism," said the Major, patting me contentedly on the shoulder. "You go ahead, Signor Carter. Gismondi, organize a fire alarm team and assemble Gilio's combat unit to follow him. This will mean rehabilitation for him before Pierrot can court-martial ego.
  
  
  -"If Nick goes," Perestov said in a tone that brooked no argument, " I'll go with her." I only voted for him because he's our last hope. I still don't trust him to have a warehouse full of such weapons."
  
  
  -"I'm afraid I'll have to add my poor body to yours if Perestov comes," Ko Fal said. "I don't think my superiors will approve if I send an American and a Russian together. Even under your watch, Major.
  
  
  Major Monet struggled to maintain his composure, and Em succeeded.
  
  
  — Are you sure you don't want to be accompanied by Carabinieri, mounted police, and a police band?" 'Then it's fine. We will celebrate with you. But that's all. We can enter the uncharted catacombs just behind the tourist spots in St. Petersburg. Galikste. Let's go.'
  
  
  It was only a short drive from Pulverize, where we were left with a police car. Major Millione led us mimmo a mountain of old bicycle wreckage to a narrow entrance.
  
  
  "The cards are outside," he said,"and I have them in my heads." He dived, and we followed. The passageway widened, and the major's flashlight ahead showed rows of stolen cars, most of them disassembled for parts sold at thieves ' markets, but some of them were still in good condition.
  
  
  Major Schell is ahead. Her shell is sincerely behind him, I know very well that Perestov is sincerely behind me with a Czech pistol in his right hand. Behind him is shell Ko Phol, who carries an American automatic pistol, Vietnam's small contribution to the Chinese arsenal.
  
  
  "Another half hour," Major Monet said. "In the beginning, we have something to fear from the society of ordinary thieves, so friends, be careful."
  
  
  We walked in silence. Ten minutes later, Monet switched on the dimmer switch on his lamp and started walking more slowly. "Now," he said, turning, " we are less than two hundred yards from the Conti lands. I suggest you exercise extreme caution. He spoke Italian, which was the common language of our mission. In Italian, the word prudence consists of three syllables: prudenza. Major Millionnet had not yet finished when a loud and resounding thud came from behind two barred gates that had collapsed in front of us and behind us. At the same time, our small enclosed space was flooded with blinding white light. "I think," Pierrot said in a baritone voice, " that the correct expression for this is like rats in a trap."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  Our locked room in the catacomb tunnel looked like the setting for some underground torture scene. Every detail was razor-sharp, but the space on it was as black and impenetrable as a pit.
  
  
  Cerro-brown stone and earthen walls with traces of orange and red. A pile of stolen tires shied like an altar under the niche around the ancient bones. A brand-new chrome car shone in the corner next to the radiator grille.
  
  
  Major Monet fired two deafening shots from his automatic pistol. Perestov, Co, Fal, and her dodged the ricocheting bullets that hit the iron bars.
  
  
  "Stop it," Perestov ordered. "Can you please remember that I'm still commanding you?"
  
  
  Sir Hugh's voice rang out, with the mocking laugh of an English squire.
  
  
  "With Stud's virtuosity, you can hardly think that these bodies are the source of our voices," he said sarcastically. "On the dell itself, we sit very comfortably in Renzo's office, watching you on closed-circuit television." Discouraged, Major Millione put away his weapon.
  
  
  "In a few seconds," Sir Hugh continued, " you will be treated with an instantaneous, odorless, short — acting but effective gas. When you fall asleep, these people will move you to these more pleasant rooms for questioning, which may well become much less pleasant.
  
  
  "Hold your breath," Perestov ordered, but he was too late and had already slid to the dusty floor. That was the last thing I remembered before Eugene woke up in Renzo's room.
  
  
  The first thing I saw was a wall covered with silk engravings.
  
  
  Andy Warhol and images of Marilyn Monroe. I thought it was a hallucination, until I saw familiar faces, Renzo, Studds, Sir Hugh, and Pierrot, sitting across the room, and next to me, bound hand and foot as carefully as his, Major Monet, Oleg Perestov, and Co Fall.
  
  
  "You are four losers," Pierrot said to us when we had all come to our senses. "As ridiculous and pathetic as the world itself, which, as you obviously guessed, we are going to destroy. A sick and rotten civilization, and you served as the guardians of its sewers — an obvious symptom of its weakness.
  
  
  "This last little conference," said Sir Hugh, " is for our amusement only. The Vereldeinde web tragedy, the greatest spectacle in human history, as we have announced without exaggeration, is the absence of an audience."
  
  
  "It goes without saying," Renzo explained — " that the real flow of the world is not in the film of the same name. This is completely ridiculous, even by my lenient standards. But all four of us are showbiz people, and we're somewhat saddened that we're not getting a relationship with the audience."
  
  
  "So when four of the world's best cops around you fell into our trap," Studds Mallory said with a big smile, pouring himself four fingers of whiskey from a crystal decanter, " we thought you, our audience, were a prisoner of the audience. . Tack voting.'
  
  
  The psychopaths ' pathological need for an audience part was a weakness that often led to ih's downfall. But openly right now, I didn't see a good way out around this meeting. My companions were tightly bound, and on either side of the couch were two burly security guards about six feet tall, guns drawn.
  
  
  Pierrot must have noticed that I was thinking along these lines, because he reacted. "Your security detail, Mr. Carter," he said, " is Indonesian. They are connected by loyalty, which can only be obtained through high wages. And these latest revelations are, well, not shocking, as they don't understand English at all. No Chinese, either, Mr. Ko, Foul. "Shoot us, then we'll die," Major Capone said. "We know your plan, and there are others who ego knows. Perhaps they will succeed where we failed.
  
  
  "I don't think so," Pierrot said. "General Maserati is in the courtroom under house arrest and awaiting an investigation. Most likely, it will be a military tribunal. If your bodies are found after the studio security guards shot you in self-defense, we can put the final nail in your coffin... In addition, we are now talking about our entertainment, and not about meeting your priorities. I'll ask Sir Hugh to start the story, since the plan is really emu's."
  
  
  Sir Hugh leaned forward, elegantly dressed, perfect for any casting director, an affable, affable but efficient New English businessman.
  
  
  -"About five years ago," he said in an easy, conversational tone, " all this reached its climax when I became aware of my nervous state. Fainting, confused speech, temporary loss of memory, and so on. But what was even worse was his tendency to let things get out of hand and make a mess when he was caught up in his emotions.
  
  
  I always felt like I had to get involved with a hired whore for example, once or twice a week; the only sensible way: no cold crowds, just explicit up and down. But her hotel treated them a little rough from time to time, so I had to pay a little extra. But things got even rougher, and one good night she was almost literally ripped off by the dumb bitch's tits. It cost me a lot of money for lawyers, friends, in some ministries and so on to get around this. When it was over, I realized I needed medical attention.
  
  
  To the greatest fortune in the world, when it was discovered by Dr. Untenweiser. He found the right drugs to control my nerves and sadistic outbursts. During several sessions on the couch, he made me realize that what was really going on with me was wrong, supposedly, and a lot of abnormal things. In any case, it's not something that I won't be able to live a comfortable life with with proper treatment. And he was absolutely right. In the years that followed, there were no more obvious problems, except for one small mistake when the unfortunate girl was left dead. But hers was elevated in the world so that everything was neatly swept under the chair.
  
  
  But what I couldn't explain, my dear Dr. Untenweiser, "said Sir Hugh, as casually as if he were talking about a skin rash," is that I miss my old destructive pleasures, and that I need something huge, something global, to replace them. It was then that Renzo, Studs , and Piero appeared on the scene, in that order. Renzo?
  
  
  "Sir Hugh had Dr. Untenweiser in his private clinic," Renzo said. The ego and fame quickly spread in informed circles around the outdoor pool. Her self suffered from an unfortunate type of nervous breakdown, and also suffers from the same violent outbursts that Sir Hugh thought so dangerous to his image. In my case, it was boys. And the moment a frail teenager with the face of a Botticelli cherub expressed his ingratitude and died of peritonitis, which he contracted due to a ruptured rectum, her ego saw the Easeful Acres Clinic as a place to relax while a few business friends hushed up the matter. '
  
  
  He, too, spoke with the apparent indifference of a madman.
  
  
  "My friends assured me that Dr. Untenweiser would not interfere with the few doses of cocaine that I, like the great Sherlock Holmes, need from time to time to realize my creative abilities. And this was an additional incentive for me to go to this clinic. To my great surprise, she was found in this clinic by an outstanding colleague in the world of cinema and your compatriot Mr. Carter, Chris Mallory.
  
  
  "I went there to take a break from the booze," Studds said cheerfully to Mallory. "Not that her alcoholic, no. But once in a while, once or twice a year, this nonsense just slips out around my rta. Then I do some crazy pranks, and I have to wait again to get around the knot again. This time it was her last Oscar; they called it Mallory's comeback, as if I'd never been there. Hers went to Mexico, to a fancy whorehouse. She started drinking whiskey, which for me is like not drinking. But by the time I switched to tequila, I was doing some tricks with four of these whores at once. Hers is also a sex programmer. These stupid Mexican whores didn't take orders from me, and I used one around these old razors to bring ih around me. One of these bitches was taken to the grave, and the other will never walk again. The others were also slightly affected. But you can buy anything in Mexico, so I bought myself an alibi. However, I had a feeling that it was time to take a break again in a slightly cooler environment. She was sold on a plane to Sussex, where it all came together."
  
  
  "He was once, somewhere in Africa,"Pierrot continued," under the pseudonym ' Charles Stratton.' He chose this name because it was the name of the famous general "Little Thumb". He was physically exhausted by the mission in Central Africa. It was a great success, although not entirely safe. Like my friends here, I have a certain penchant for extravagance. Before the situation was resolved, there were many startling murders of white farmer families. News stories on the front pages about torture, rape of children, extraction of intestines, in some cases children were eaten openly in front of their parents. I would still have gone outright there if the United Nations had asked me to, but more to join these small groups than to sort out problems."
  
  
  "This Pierrot," Studs bellowed, " always does what he wants.
  
  
  Pierrot smiled and continued: "From time to time, Sir Hugh visited his clinic, Easeful Acres, to check the ledgers, see how he was being treated by Dr. Untenweiser and look for information that could potentially help Emu in the ego mail business," it said. Not blackmail, but knowledge of, say, the sodomy of a prominent nobleman might help an emu with a new name, wouldn't it?
  
  
  Sir Hugh quickly hacked my pseudonym, found out about the ih files of two other soulmates in Renzo and Studse, and brought us together. Very secretly in my personal wing for a series of meetings that led to the Stream of Light project .
  
  
  "But it was Pierrot who really put it all together," said Studs. "Tailor take it, Pierrot, we were all immaculately shabby before your income, or else we wouldn't have been." "Let's just say our skills complemented each other," Pierrot said modestly. "We all, consciously or unconsciously, craved an attack on the establishment that hurt us. I was punished by being laughed at because of my height. Renzo lost his inheritance. Sir Hugh, despite his fame and wealth, still had to endure a series of subtle taunts because of his low-born ego. And they lost the fruit ego stud of ingenuity with no apparent feedback or reward."
  
  
  "Only, no one around us could take revenge like he did," Renzo said thoughtfully. "Our little escapades, although technically crimes, were child's play. Holy
  
  
  George was ready to kill dragons, but he was only concerned with killing flies . Now together we can achieve anything..."
  
  
  "Renzo's studio and its reputation as a filmmaker gave me this idea," Piero said. "We were helped by my own diplomatic connections, as well as Sir Hugh's international business partners, as well as Stud's technical skills and prestige. We collected the ammunition and nuclear warheads needed to equip ih carriers, which all the governments willingly provided us based on the script of Renzo's films about battlefields. It took a while, but it happened. The only suspicion came from a couple of hypersensitive twangs from your organization and a hypersensitive other Mr. Carter, Clemm Anderson, who had to be eliminated.
  
  
  It's Friday night. The four of us decided to have a nice dinner in town, perhaps with Mr. Carter's charming friend, Signorina Cavour, and a few other generous ladies. Tomorrow Renzo, Sir Hugh, and him will fly Renzo's private jet to the shelter we've prepared. According to the best experts, it is protected from even the most dangerous precipitation during the food we have prepared. For added security, we have shelters deep underground with filtered air and with all possible amenities. We have enough wealth in the form of their beautiful gold bars that were sent to her in Lugano in the course of the last six months . We have our own army of thousands of men, like the two guards here. Its, hope you all are happy to know this story now.
  
  
  In rheumatism, Perestov spat on the luxurious carpet. The others didn't answer.
  
  
  "Not quite the enthusiastic audience I was hoping for," sighed Sir Hugh. "But I've learned to live with my little frustrations."
  
  
  "Why isn't that American bastard flying with you sincerely?" Ko Faul couldn't contain her curiosity. "Mr. Mallory will stay for a few more hours to program the last tapes and push the computer button," Pierrot said. "Another plane is ready to transport ego so that he can join us at a safe time . And watch and listen to our little performance during those two days when radio and television can still work." Studds Mallory drank his third strong drink. He pulled his chair forward, his blue eyes bulging slightly at what was about to happen. "You promised me the first sacrifice, Pierrot," he said. "Forgive the expression." He reached in a minute and pulled out a large paring knife. He opened it, and a long curved blade came out.
  
  
  I could hear Major Monet's breathing quicken beside me, but he didn't even blink.
  
  
  "You see," said Pierrot. "Since you were such an unsatisfactory audience for us, we will have to get satisfaction from you in some other way."
  
  
  Studds jumped up from his chair and plunged the knife into the hood of his shirt just below his navel. The Major growled, but that was all. The lack of reaction was driving Studs mad with rage. Again and again he stabbed the Italian officer. But fate had mercy on the man, for the third or fourth blow struck the man in the face, and the bloody body slid down on top of me. "Quite careless, Studds, antiquities," said Sir Hugh. — I suppose it's this Chinese gentleman's turn?"
  
  
  He got up and went to the Halyard, pulling the bent needle of a sailmaker from his waistcoat. I'll never know what that meant, either, because at that moment Ko Fol bit the cyanide capsule he'd been hiding in his teeth, and died before Sir Hugh could touch it.
  
  
  The Yellow Deceiver. Sir Hugh pouted like a fat schoolboy who can't play.
  
  
  "Well, well," said Pierrot. "We can only hope that we can rise above this terrible radicalism and nationalism of our friends in Interpol.... Renzo, good luck with your Russian.
  
  
  He knew something about MGB training. Like our training at AX, it focused on keeping secrets in the face of torture. But what our opponents had in mind was, in the end, nothing more than ordinary torture, as an end in itself.
  
  
  Slender, angry, and elegant in a tailored suit, Renzo rose from his chair. The man's ego is a thin, cold smile, like a portrait of the elegant Renaissance ancestors he claimed.
  
  
  "Thank you, Pierrot," he said. "I take special pleasure in turning these bleating heterosexual types into whimpering jelly. So, I'll start with the ego of the proletarian sex glands. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a narrow suede scabbard, around which a thin surgical scalpel was protruding.
  
  
  He was already within range of the sofa when Perestov shouted: He lunged forward with his chained feet and kicked Renzo hard and purposefully in the crotch.
  
  
  Renzo doubled over in pain and staggered back. When he got to his feet and ego, breathing returned to normal, he hissed at the two guards.
  
  
  "You'll pay for this, Russian. And you'll pay for it.
  
  
  I have a strong stomach, but I turned away when Renzo started cutting my ego. Perestov died for a long time, but survived. There were a few groans at the end, but they were hardly human anymore. They were the involuntary reflexes of a dismembered and tortured piece of flesh that had lost all contact with consciousness. I hated everything that Oleg Perestov stood for, but at that moment I was hoping that I would make an equally worthy outcome.
  
  
  "And now you, Carter," Pierrot said. But he leaned back in his chair and didn't move again. "I think everything you've seen happening to your friends will be too easy for you, Carter. I think... He raised a small hand to his more carefully combed goatee, with an expression of deep concentration.
  
  
  "An ordinary murder seems too vulgar for our big show," he said.
  
  
  "The fact that there are children on Rosana?" I asked her, making a guess. She was asked to tie together some disparate threads before she died.
  
  
  "You guessed right?" The dwarf asked politely. "Yes, just like I searched your room when you so cleverly disappeared that first morning. His is a person who loves athletics, and my height has certain advantages . It wasn't too hard for me to slip through the roof of the hotel, climb down to the balcony, and sneak out of the street both times. Poor Roseanne, she still pretended to work in our best interests. But we had a lot of evidence about her connection to Colonel Norden, so I had to remove her. Unfortunately. She would be a beautiful maid in our new home.
  
  
  "She trusted you," I said.
  
  
  "Every politician has to disappoint a few voters in favor of higher politics," Pierrot said with the patience of a madman trying to impose his logic on a serious non-believer .
  
  
  "Now everyone agrees that the biggest problem in the world is overpopulation. "World End" will contribute to solving this problem. And whatever race of us emerges around it, it's our job to dominate it."
  
  
  He smiled. "But I'll be late for our dinner." You, Carter, will be the only member of our global audience who will know the purpose of our show." He laughed. — So I won't even touch you." We'll take you back to the catacombs, back to the same locked place. There we leave you with pen and paper to write down your last memories as the world explodes overhead and you die of hunger and thirst. My irony is that I hope that the pages will be preserved; a story about the architects of this event: Sir Hugh, Renzo, Studse and me. In a few hundred years, these records will be found along with your bones and those of early Christian martyrs. He was clapping his hands and saying something in an Asian language that I couldn't immediately make out. Odin around the guards hit me hard on the head, and he lost consciousness before he could fight back.
  
  
  When he regained consciousness, he was back in his barred catacomb digital cell. Pierrot left the spotlight on, giving me a small table, some ballpoint pens, and about a dozen notebooks. That's all: new furniture, a pile of stolen tires, cars, old, very old bones, and her. I might have screwed up if I'd written down Pierrot's enthusiastic words, but maybe I could have done something else with the paper.
  
  
  But what? Catch a rat, tie a piece of paper to it, and then let it go? But who the hell is going to notice this message in time? Its frustrated in its helplessness. Not a case that would be typical of Nick Carter. As an added insult, they left me my Luger, my stiletto, my gas bomb, and the contents of all my pockets.
  
  
  My knife had a file, but it didn't work. It would be like hacking into the safes of Chase Manhattan Bank with a letter opener, just an exercise in helplessness.
  
  
  I kept thinking in circles as my watch counted down the hours like minutes and I couldn't find a solution. It was Saturday morning, then nights of drowsiness and moments of dead end. Piero, Renzo, and Sir Hugh should be in the air by now, heading for their cozy and distant hideout . Somewhere behind me, Chris Mallory was putting the finishing touches to his computer programming. Later in Washington, Hawke intimidated some innocent employees, assuring senior officers that everything would be fine, because Nick Carter worked on this case and believed that it was so.
  
  
  There was a commotion somewhere at the western end of the tunnel. Rats? Small-time thieves who came to hide even more of their loot here? Even the police would have made me happy, even if they had orders for Jerry Carr.
  
  
  "Laugh, you're in the picture." It was Hyman's mocking voice, which gave the impression of great relief.
  
  
  "Trovato, we found him," said a voice that I remembered as belonging to Lieutenant Gismondi, Major Millione's assistant. "Where are the others?" "You need a cutter." He was already giving out orders without wasting any more time.
  
  
  "Sergeant Fazio," Gismondi heard her reply. "Emergency burner".
  
  
  Renzo's consecration will leave the outside of my cell in total darkness, but Hymana and the young chief engineer saw it as they approached the bars. Then he saw the faint flash of a torch cutting through metal like butter. I stumbled out of the holes and found myself in Hyman's arms.
  
  
  "We have less than forty — eight hours," I said. — I'll tell you everything on the way. Hey, hello..."
  
  
  This is to the burly Gilchrist, who has appeared next to Lieutenant Gismondi.
  
  
  "Saturday weekends," he grumbled. "I didn't agree when I took this job. But young Hyman has captured me, and I have to admit that there are some technical aspects that interest me. What he said about the computer controlling the entire arsenal... "
  
  
  "Shut up and listen," I snapped. "What I have to say may interest you more. And you, Gilchrist, may be our only way out of here.
  
  
  Driving us as fast as possible, I told them my story, and they told me theirs. My plan was known, but ih was to capture this company, the CIA, General Maserati, and the entire ego commando squad were with Jerry Carr, Ben Carpenter, and Nick Carter. He might have guessed it. But what I couldn't have guessed, what I couldn't have hoped for, was that Hyman thought of my transistor tracker, and then Gismondi was convinced. So not only were they acting informally, but they were also acting illegally again when they tapped a commando unit to join Gilchrist and hunt me down. The machine has marked them, they are the same points that we need in the warehouse map. Gismondi corrected the maps scratched by Major Millione. They hadn't even managed to get close to the main entrance to the area, which was now well sealed off by the two ends of the World guys , but they took a different, roundabout route.
  
  
  "But we're still in the same position," he finished. — You say they won't let the commandos investigate. No one around us will be able to break through the government apparatus that Pierrot left us as a blockade. Even if we entered, we would find nothing but a clean office and equally empty warehouses. And they have enough private troops there to completely crush us before we have a chance to crack the floor and bring the entire arsenal to the surface. They can always say they shot at us because we were destroying ih private property."
  
  
  "Our organization still exists," Lieutenant Gismondi said. "I am in touch with both General Maserati and Colonel Norden, who is still awaiting deportation. They are ready to launch an air attack if necessary, and from your account of it, I realized that it is necessary now."
  
  
  "No chance," I said. — It's too much of a risk when all these nuclear warheads are so close together. I can provide a clean blast myself to ruin the World End schedule, but only as a last resort. I still have some cards up my sleeve.
  
  
  "I wish it was an ace, Mr. Carter," Gismondi said bitterly.
  
  
  "But it's a woman," I said.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  Just after noon aka Saturday, a shaven and less scruffy Ben Carpenter sat next to Camille Cavour in the backseat of her Rolls-Royce. A beautiful car was speeding towards Lorenzo Conti's workshop. It would have cost me a lot of effort, but we were there...
  
  
  "As far as you know, she's part of the gang," Hyman said. "We know that she was a patient at he clinics, the cradle of all this horror."
  
  
  "But so are hundreds of others," I said. "She wasn't there at the same time. And no one mentioned her when they bragged in Renzo's office. There was no reason for them to keep her cooperation a secret, since they thought we would be dead anyway. I have an idea, Hyman, and, hey God, we should nah grab on. Because that's pretty much all we have left.
  
  
  "All right," he said sourly.
  
  
  "First of all," I said, finishing my list of priorities, " make sure Mallory is there. It is important. The only way to stop this is to change the ego program, and the only one who can do that is Gilchrist.
  
  
  'Perhaps? The stocky man snorted indignantly. "Show me the computer, Carter, and I'll do anything with it." From playing on the Swansea River to making souza meniere and bombing Guam. What this Texas Mallory troll can do, Gilchrist can do twice.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Hyman, call Camille Cavour at Le Superbe. There's too much chance that the people behind the counter will recognize my voice as Jerry Carr's. Tell hey that to advertise and promote "World End", ee is invited to attend the opening of a new gas station. Her fee will be 100,000 liras. Gilchrist and her will be waiting for her there. Then his, I'll get down to business. If you can't hear me for twenty-four hours, you can drop your bombs.
  
  
  He nodded, still annoyed.
  
  
  "Nah has access to the studio," I said. "Nobody out there but Chris Mallory knows my role as Ben Carpenter, and she's known for picking up homeless bums and rolling ih into a little roll or something. Once we're in the studio, we'll do it, and hopefully with Camille's help . "
  
  
  -"Do you think," said Lieutenant Gismondi, with a cynical smile, " that Signorina Cavour is so fond of taking on the role of savior just because she occasionally appears at charity balls?"
  
  
  "No, but I think Camille has a slightly more personal motive for trying to preserve what we all call civilization. If I'm not mistaken, its dead.
  
  
  "Open like me," Gilchrist complained. "But Mrs. Mallory would like to see it." If this stingy government will only give me a fifth of the ego budget... but maybe it will change ih's mind."
  
  
  Camille took the bait that hey Hyman offered. But there were fifteen risky minutes at the gas station before she agreed to the rest of my plan.
  
  
  First a critical and unflattering examination of my appearance as Ben Carpenter, before she even admitted that she knew me. Then we spent a little more time evaluating my current appearance in the audience.
  
  
  "A tramp," she said. — But you still have that strong masculinity that I really like, Jerry, Ben! Maybe I'll think of another name..."
  
  
  "Nick Carter," I said. "That's my real name. And you should know better."
  
  
  "But I've heard of you," she said. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There are quite a few stories about you. And from what I've heard from my friends, they're not very good."
  
  
  So it was an all-or-nothing game. He played it straight with her and gave her a brief report on the situation. Whatever Camille was, she definitely wasn't stupid. After my explanations, she occasionally asks questions.
  
  
  "I don't believe you," she said when he finished.
  
  
  "No one is crazy enough to turn down a big movie starring me because of such a crazy and wild plan."
  
  
  It was precisely this sharpness in her response that I had hoped for and placed my future, if possible, the future of all of humanity, in. So I pushed it further.
  
  
  "I didn't expect you to believe me either, Camille," I said. He backed it up with a look that he hoped would bring back fond memories of past times together. — I'm just asking you to give me a chance to prove that what I'm telling you is true." If you still don't believe me, you can hand me over to the Italian authorities, and you'll get a lot of publicity in the Italian newspapers. Bigger and better than it would be if a new gas station were opened." "Renzo, among other things, made me a star," she said. "So now you're asking me to betray my ego for something that seems like pure fantasy to me." By the time she started arguing, the matter was more than half settled.
  
  
  I asked her. "Was that a fantasy? "Rosana's murder?" All I want is for you to be present during the confrontation between Stud Mallory and me. To do that, you'll have to bring Gilchrist and me to the territory."
  
  
  — Why him?" She gave in all over to curiosity. But maybe it was something else, too.
  
  
  "An engineering genius like Studds," I said. "He may be the only person capable of making up for the damage done by your comrades."
  
  
  Gilchrist stepped forward with a touch of human pleasure at my flattering description. In his old brown suit, he looked like a wolf trying to smile.
  
  
  "What film was he working on?" asked Camilla. But she was already ahead of us in her Rolls, and with an imperious hand gesture I signaled the driver to open the day for us.
  
  
  "Not all methods work with film," I said.
  
  
  "The best ones are around them," Camille said. "Alberto, to the studio..."
  
  
  We arrived there. No difficulties at the gate. The Rolls sped down the smooth, quiet road to the administration building, where the doormen stumbled over one another to open the door and let us in. With Camille in our company, all these paths were open. "Yes, Signorina Cavour. Of course, Signorina Cavour. It's very easy.
  
  
  She asked for Mallory at the front desk, and hey, they said he was in his private office in the computer center next to the infamous warehouse. As I said to hey earlier, she asked me not to announce it any further.
  
  
  "We want to surprise Stud," she said, revealing her world-famous smile. "My friends and I.'
  
  
  Part of my assumption was that the employees of the studio complex would be ordinary employees who had nothing to do with the Stream of Light project . The tough guys around the security service were concentrated at the main gate and at the fence.
  
  
  Judging by the smile she got at rheumatism, she was right. Everyone was convinced that Chris Mallory was very lucky to have such a charming creature as Camille Cavour.
  
  
  I spoke to Camille quickly and quietly as we walked down the covered walkway connecting the buildings. Gilchrist was a step behind us. It was being repeated over and over again in the Rolls-Royce.
  
  
  "Let me go in first," I said. Rheumatism Stud will give you the first clue. If he doesn't recognize me, even if he sees me only as Jerry Carr, you can call the police. But if he's shocked to see me there alive, then you'll have to admit that I was telling the truth.
  
  
  "Yes, yes," she said impatiently. — You've already told me enough. Hers is no longer a child. But with a touch of childish mischief, she added: "I can find out who you really are later... at your own discretion."
  
  
  A sleepy man in a gray uniform looked up from his chair at the entrance to the tech center. He knows Camille and manages to smile without getting up from his hunched position.
  
  
  "We'll go to Mr. Mallory's," Camille said.
  
  
  "You will find ego in room 19, signorina," he said.
  
  
  He made Camille knock on the door and answer Stud's growl, " Who's there?"
  
  
  "Camille, my dear," Camille said with abominable shyness. "Up to my neck in work, but never too busy for you." Studds spoke in a voice that sounded like he was unzipping a zipper. "Come in, baby."
  
  
  Ah nah her, went inside, leaving the door wide open behind him.
  
  
  "Nick Carter," he said, with more astonishment than any director could have imagined. "What the hell are you doing here."
  
  
  Ego's right hand went to the button on the desk, and his left hand went to the drawer.
  
  
  Her, walked across the room before both hands hit the target, especially ego's left, which wasn't an inch out of the gun.
  
  
  Although Stud was big and muscular, he was also fast on his feet. The time it took me to pull out the alarm wire and slam the drawer shut gave him enough time to fully recover. Camille and Gilchrist also entered. Gilchrist slammed the door behind him and locked it to keep out any new customers.
  
  
  With his right hand, Studds grabbed a Venetian paperweight, a rainbow ball the size of a baseball. Her quickly leaped forward, catching ego's shoulder kick. I dug my fist into the emu of life and felt it sink into all those extra fats that made the ego, once strong body sag. Her other hand hit emu in the groin. The situation called for quick, quiet, and merciless action. My Luger would have taken out an entire army, but I didn't need it with Stud. Ego power was gone ten years ago, and only a thin layer of nail polish remained.
  
  
  He was scratching at my eyes, but he was already holding ego by the throat with both hands, thumb and forefinger at the pressure point. Ego hands went down without even starting their work. I only had two thin scratches to show that I was in a fight. I've sometimes had more injuries at the barbershop.
  
  
  Rivnensky pressed it just enough to turn off the ego for a few minutes. A thin crocodile-skin belt was pulled from her ego's waist and her wrists were tightly bound. Camilla giggled as his pants fell down, revealing that he was a man who hated underwear. He'd untied her own tie to tie her ankles together.
  
  
  Gilchrist sauntered around the room now that the fight was over, reading all the computer monitors on the walls with the joy of a child at the zoo.
  
  
  When Studds came to, he looked at me like a defused cobra.
  
  
  "You need to answer a few questions, Studds," I said, " before we decide what to do with you." Now I'm asking her questions. "You're so strong, Jerry, Nick, Ben." Camille came close to me to express her admiration.
  
  
  It was my own damn mistake. All my attention was focused on Studse the moment she took the Luger out of my holster and made ego to the opposite moan. She flipped off the safety catch with the skill she'd acquired in a couple of spaghetti westerns, and took a steady step from me to Gilchrist and back again .
  
  
  "Both of you stand against the wall on," she said. "Put your hands behind your head. Now Camille Cavour is asking the questions."
  
  
  "Well said," Studds said. — I knew you weren't in league with them. We don't have much time left. Its already programmed everything, and the first feed button is pressed."
  
  
  "I have a few questions for you too, dear Studs," Camilla said, not taking a step forward to let go of ego, her pretty face clouded by a frown.
  
  
  Her was considering the idea of taking a leap in her direction. He might still be below the line of fire, but the sound of a gunshot could still mean disaster, a double disaster now that Studds had brought his car up to speed.
  
  
  "Then tell hey your plan, Studs - your grand scheme to destroy the entire world by pretending to make a movie."
  
  
  Studds chuckled, still sure of his obsession.
  
  
  "Thread the world is real, Cammie dear," he said. — But the final is only for voting such idiots. He made an awkward body movement toward Gilchrist and me. "The plane is ready to take you and me to Vara Lenoeviki, an island north of Fiji, where our own world awaits us. Piero, Renzo, and Sir Hugh are already halfway there. From Rhyme to Calcutta. By Calcutta to Nandi, and from there the last hop there.
  
  
  "This isn't a movie?" Camille asked. Everyone but a madman like Studs could hear the anger in her voice.
  
  
  "Tailor take no, baby. Moda Loe Lenoeviki you will really be a queen, " said Studs. "More than a movie star. Queen of all the world that remains to us. We will rule over this world. Pierrot, Renzo, Sir Hugh, you and me.
  
  
  "Thank you, Studs," Camilla said. "I've played a whore before in my life. It took a lot of effort to become a movie star, and I prefer to stay that way."
  
  
  With perfect accuracy, she shot him straight in the middle of the ego's broad forehead. The wrinkles of the execution permit flag rose to greet the bullet, and a rose bloomed where it had entered. Then she lost consciousness.
  
  
  Gilchrist was already moving toward the sound of the gunshot, and I followed.
  
  
  "Push those two buttons on the center panel, Carter," he said, pointing at the two red buttons like an old fire-fighting instructor. I say this, he's already flipped switches and levers. "One blessing this Mallory guy left us," he said. "An eight-centimeter steel screen between this computer center and the rest of the building."
  
  
  No one around us paid any attention to Camille until Gilchrist made sure we were safe.
  
  
  "Look at this," he said, flipping the last switch in a schoolboy gesture. "That gives us access to -" he glanced short-sightedly at the small panel "- at least for forty-eight hours."
  
  
  It was pretty easy back then. Just a bit of computer technology, but that was Gilchrist's job.
  
  
  He picked up the phone from Stud's chair and called Hyman and Gismondi on 911.
  
  
  "Now we can act," I said. "Take a commando squad with you. We've taken over the computer center, and I think the army unit here has figured out what's going on and is now operating. Chris Mallory is almost dead.
  
  
  Camille regained consciousness and sat next to me, warm and shivering.
  
  
  "Explain to them that I shot him to protect my honor and reputation," she said, as if mistletoe meant it.
  
  
  "No court in this country will give me anything but a medal."
  
  
  She pouted a little, because Gilchrist and I barely had enough time for nah in our attempts to interrupt the Stud program. But the greater good, the fact that the world will still have the chance to enjoy a close-up of Camille Cavour, won out.
  
  
  It would have just been shot through the main computer with gunfire, but for Gilchrist, it was like cutting up the Mona Lisa to fix the wall behind it.
  
  
  "These things are priceless," he murmured. "Since you can kill someone with a knife and fork, we don't go back to the time when we ate with our hands, do we? Oh, God, no. It should not be destroyed.
  
  
  I had enough technical knowledge in my luggage to take care of the rougher actions, such as stopping and reversing tires that were tuned and designed for key actions.
  
  
  Gilchrist dealt with more subtle issues, such as finding planes and military equipment already on their way to the battlefield. It reached ih somewhat before a nuclear explosion could occur. He programmed the ih to fly around in circles until NATO and other forces could detect the ih and bring it out by assembly.
  
  
  The desk phone rang ten times before it was answered. It was Hyman. He was in the administration building with Gismondi and the newly rehabilitated Colonel Norden and General Maseratti.
  
  
  "It worked out exactly as you said, Carter," Hyman exclaimed in delight. "When Renzo's armed forces realized that the technical building was locked, they crawled away like a group of rats. We searched the warehouse and found hidden ammunition. Some around them were already moving onto conveyor belts to be loaded into remote-controlled vehicles."
  
  
  "You can get any reward that my side can offer," General Maserati interjected.
  
  
  "Ah, he doesn't think so, General," I said. "Right now, I urgently need the fastest American vehicle that can take me from here to Calcutta. From there to Nandi, and from there a smaller plane that can take me to a small island called Vera Lenoeviki. I still have some unfinished business there.
  
  
  "Isn't that her unfinished business, Nick?" Camille asked.
  
  
  "You, my dear, are an unfinished treat," I said. "Unfortunately, that will have to wait a bit."
  
  
  She looked grim until I put her through to Hyman, who told me how many photographers were waiting at the main gate. Gilchrist and I were going out the back door.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  I slept most of the way, and there were no flight attendants like Rosana on the plane.
  
  
  When I wasn't sleeping, I sat at the encryption telex in the back of the big plane on the phone, arguing and exchanging information with Hawk.
  
  
  I was just lucky that an experimental, as yet top-secret plane was waiting for me on the runway of the NATO airport near Naples. General Maseratti took me there in a fast two-seat Italian Air Force plane.
  
  
  Hawk followed my every move around his Washington, DC office, and my boss, like hers, was able to get the job done completely, leaving no stray bacteria to re-infect the world. He pulled strings, scolded, threatened, and blackmailed where necessary, and the plane sat with the pilot, co-pilot, two navigators, and a platoon of paratroopers, fueled and ready to fly, waiting for her to come out around General Maserati's plane. .
  
  
  The chief navigator helped me on board and informed me of our chances in the flight schedule. Renzo's business jet was fast in its class, but compared to this plane, it was like a tasteless sports car versus Formula 1. And Renzo's plane was taking the usual route through Calcutta and Nandi, an airport in the Fiji Islands, to the paradise island of Vereldeinde. With transfers and all the free time they could afford, the smart asses had no reason to hesitate to arrive at ih private airport later than Sunday, no matter when. We will travel non-stop on a direct route across the North Pole and reach the island early in the morning of the same day.
  
  
  Hawke's order came by telex, translated into the official state language by the secretary and telexist, and stripped of its usual sarcasm, but clear, concise, and complete:
  
  
  THE CURRENT LOCALITY OF RUSSIA GIVES YOU FULL KILMASTER POWERS TO ENTER THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE SUPREME INDIVIDUALS AND FINAL ELIMINATION STOP REPEAT FINAL ELIMINATION STOP PARATROOPERS ANOTHER ORDER, ALTHOUGH YOU CAN GIVE AWAY WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO OFFER ...
  
  
  There followed several yards of details, mostly relating to the villa's location, its internal and external security, and incidents that Hawk had planned " with the support of a number of press representatives who collaborated with AG to mimic what Gilchrist had read from computer tapes. There will be headlines about bombings in Paris and London. In reality, there would also be some explosions, but carefully controlled and harmless. The USSR would have reported the loss of a nuclear submarine. It is reported that China is protesting against the incident on the border with Mongolia. Our FBI managed to repel the attack on a prominent politician in time. The rest of the telex contained details for the paratroopers. It was a tough unit, commanded by an American colonel.
  
  
  At the very end: "GOOD JOB." This is a great credit to someone like Hawkeye, but then immediately followed by "IT'S TIME ... THREAD".
  
  
  Half an hour before we were due to rendezvous with Lenoeviki Island, Colonel, this was my only broadcast.
  
  
  "We're approaching the island from the south," he said. " Three minutes after we hover over it, you and the boys will get out, and we'll hope you land on its northern tip."
  
  
  "Actually," I said. "For example, two miles from the villa." He nodded. "The plane continues its flight and lands in the Ellis Islands," he said. "Her connections to the British-American shortwave command post. Nice to meet you, Carter. We shook hands, and he gave a curt order for his men to get ready and line up at the hatch. It was the proffees. No nonsense when they fell out two at a time on the plane, packed with everything they were supposed to be and a few other items.
  
  
  He opened his Rolex and stared at the second hand until it went full circle three times. Then he went out through the trapdoor.
  
  
  We were flying too high to be seen, except through a telescope above Palobar, or to be detected by radars located outside of Washington and Moscow. I pulled on my oxygen mask and started counting down the seconds until I could pull the rope and the atmosphere was thick enough to breathe. Then it was thrown out by sl. The opening hours and location were perfect. As he dived through the cloud cover, he saw a beautiful stretch of island below him, full of palm trees and gardens that glowed softly on the sandy beach. Using ropes, he made his way through the windless air and landed lightly on a cleared patch of land protected by coconut trees.
  
  
  He unfastened her harness and rolled her parachute into a small ball, which he hid at the base of one, around the trees, and sprinkled with grass and coconut fiber.
  
  
  I didn't have time to enjoy the heavenly surroundings. He had already seen the villa while lowering it and was now heading in that direction, taking advantage of the shelter of palm trees and tropical shrubs. A seventeenth-century Italian palace might look out of place here in the Pacific, but this elegant architectural beauty definitely wouldn't look like it.
  
  
  It took me a bit of effort to get access. As stated in the Hawke report, security was based on routine. There were armed security patrols, but they made detours at regular intervals. He crawled across the stone moan, hid behind the crouching griffin, and took his time. Ih spotted her twice before taking advantage of the ten minutes of rest I had and crossing the garden, breaking through a window on the ground floor and entering the villa. Now all I had to do was make sure that I didn't get caught in the eye of the maintenance staff. According to my information, there weren't any sentries inside, but it wasn't Stahl taking any chances.
  
  
  Following the pattern I had memorized, I managed to find a large living room and sit behind a large high-backed chair made of golden hide.
  
  
  It was huge and looked like a throne. And if it was a throne, it was for Piero Simca. The seat was raised six inches, and was wide enough for the ego to be covered by an ordinary hand with fingers spread out. It stood in a dark corner of the room and gave me a good day's view of the hallway. He arranged to wait there for as long as it took; half an hour, two hours, five hours or more.
  
  
  Now I had time to rethink the operation in my mind, memorize the contents of the room, and do a few exercises in silence. The Colonel and Ego paratroopers should have already gathered on the deserted south side of the island. From there, they will go to a small private airport. Then they'll wait until they get a signal that my Killmaster campaign is over. If they don't receive this signal, within two hours, after the private jet lands, they will take action and start their own operation. But Hawke prefers that identifiable American troops are not in a special operation in anything other than as a last resort in the event of an obvious emergency.
  
  
  The room itself was a small museum full of precious objects. Including a lot of paintings and sculptures, which she became aware of all over the world by a casual glance at the list of stolen and missing art objects: Italian, French, English. Furniture rivaled each other in beauty and rarity. From the high paneled ceiling hung a giant chandelier with thousands of beautiful crystal icicles hanging from a gilded frame. She looked like a giant millionaire's crinoline skeleton.
  
  
  An hour passed and I did some yoga exercises to keep my nerves toned and my muscles flexible. There were only two stressful present times. Shortly after I was seated there, a bronze figure of an Indonesian maidservant appeared in the living room. Nah had a regal dignity, despite the short length of her skirt. She was dressed all in black with a white lace apron with pleats. She pulled a lever and the front of the antique chest of drawers swung open, revealing three large television screens. Then she left again. Forty minutes later, a butler came in to take a quick look around the room. But he came up to me not licking more than four meters. He seemed satisfied and left again. A clear sign that the owners were expected.
  
  
  Her, heard the plane coming down. Less than ten minutes later, she heard Sir Hugh's booming voice in the corridor.
  
  
  "Everything is going smoothly, Pierrot," he said.
  
  
  "Pravda is preparing its own declaration of war over the missing submarine. Studds must be on his way out to join us by now.
  
  
  The butler let ih into the room and asked the gentlemen what drinks to serve.
  
  
  "I'll take care of the drinks, Charles," Sir Hugh said. "We don't want to be disturbed for the next few hours because we're busy." Through the panel, he switched on three screens, each showing a different scene of rioting: a breathless reporter reporting a bomb explosion in central London; nothing more than smoke and noise generated by the CID at Hawke's instigation. A shocked UN columnist in New York spoke about a direct attack: the ambassador of a deputy of the USSR became the guest of honor of the event. On the third screen were the latest Dallas software. "Very close to another political assassination."
  
  
  Pierrot took his place on the throne behind which hers was still hidden. Sir Hugh filled three tall glasses of whisky and soda. Renzo stretched out comfortably on his back.
  
  
  He waited until Sir Hugh was halfway between the other two before ducking into the room, luger in hand.
  
  
  "Put your hands behind your head," I snapped. "All of you. Quickly! Surprise and utter disbelief that Nick Carter was still alive and now here in this room made ih comply as quickly as she would have liked.
  
  
  "I'll tell you everything this time," I said. "But not as much as you did. Enough to let you guys know that this is the flow of your journey.
  
  
  Renzo moved with the speed of a cheetah. Ego smooth neat wig hit me openly, in the face, and before hers could fire a single shot, he knocked the gun around my arm with a well-aimed karate kick. The others, still stunned by the scene, dropped their hands again.
  
  
  In one motion, he flung her Luger away from the others, and Hugo's stiletto was already slashing through the air, heading for Renzo's throat. As his dying body fell to the ground, he once again held the gun in his hand, knocked Sir Hugh down on his way to the ground, and was in complete control of the situation.
  
  
  "Get up, you bastard. Its insufficient kicked a noble Englishman. He kept a safe distance from her now. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through her ego hair and Pierrot's to make sure there were no more wig jokes.
  
  
  "Now we're going to do something different," I said. "Marsland, link your SIM card." It was thrown to the emu by a piece of electrical cord, which he pulled out around the floor lamp. — I'll check it out."
  
  
  With hatred on every inch of his red face, Sir Hugh did as the emus were told. He made sure that the knots were properly tied and cut into the skin tightly.
  
  
  "All right," I said with satisfaction when he was done. She was pushed to the side by Pierrot, who was now little more than a child's carnival ball.
  
  
  "I assume you know what this thread is for you," I said. "If you want to say the last prayer, the last word, do it quickly."
  
  
  "This is outrageous, Carter. Sir Hugh tried to put parliamentary dignity into his voice, but failed miserably. "You can't kill people in cold blood like that."
  
  
  "An international jury will find you more guilty than any Nazi hanged in Nuremberg," I said. "But it will take months. And the publicity that will only then be given to your whims can lead others to the same harmful idea. My boss believes that some forms of insanity are as contagious as syphilis if you attract the attention of the general public. Your deaths will be treated as accidents.
  
  
  "But that won't stop the Flow of Blood," said Sir Hugh boastfully. "The ego can still be stopped if you give us a chance to send Studs a telex.
  
  
  "You can't telex a dead person in math," I said. And in a few short sentences, he told them about Stud's death and the fake TV pictures they'd enjoyed so much. The latter made something click in the big Englishman.
  
  
  You can be prepared for anything but a sudden bout of madness. What at first seemed like a slow, inert body hit me like a jet bulldozer. With his hands, he knocked the luger out of my hands, and Alenka's ego almost knocked me to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pierrot move hopefully under the TV screens, but I didn't have time to pay attention to him now. Sir Hugh fought fiercely and filthily, like the most dangerous opponent he had ever faced, and his ego power was doubled by his insane rage. One huge hand grabbed my groin and tore my pants, fly, and everything else with a savage tug. He snatched up the small suede bag in which Piera had kept her and hurled the gas bomb at the far end of the room.
  
  
  He knew Nick Carter, that's for sure. But the ego maneuver cost the emu some of its perks. It hit his ego headfirst into life, causing him to sit on the floor. He leaned over him and delivered a karate chop to the emu's neck.
  
  
  Slowly, he returned to pick up the Luger and finish off Pierrot without wasting any more time. Then her, recoiled. The chandelier with its thousands of crystals clattered down around me. The hollow dome of a sparkling world is now Stahl's my cage. There were holes in the metal frame for my arm, but my Luger was only an arm's length away.
  
  
  An almost friendly smile came from the writhing Pierrot, still in his handcuffs.
  
  
  "So now it's just the two of us, Carter," he said. "Maybe we can get down to business after all." I know you value your reputation, and I don't want to endanger it. You can tell me that you drowned me, and I promise to disappear .
  
  
  He made a few more writhing movements, and in a few moments, despite the tightness of the knots, he was free. "In addition to being a sports fan, I'm also an acrobat," he said. "You have to develop a lot of skills if you want to survive." There was bitterness in his voice, but he replaced it with a smile. "I still have more than enough millions. I can reward you much better than your miserly government.
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "This isn't going to work, Pierrot," I said. "There is a company willing to help you if I can't do it." -"If I trusted you," he said, still in a good mood, stretching, taking light steps to the luger and raising his ego, " and I'm not sure I believe you yet, then you would, so if you're telling the truth, they might make up the same story about mine." drowning.
  
  
  You can believe that I will disappear forever, like Piero Simca. Now that your friend, Hawke, seems to be so knowledgeable about our little population-reduction planning scheme, I know I don't have a future in politics or anywhere else like Piero Simcke. But with a new identity, with a different name, I can look forward to a pleasant life in my beloved Africa. And then you can retire as the richest AX agent ever."
  
  
  "No way," I said. — There's something else to settle besides both ends of the world, Pierrot. You forget Rosana.
  
  
  It exploded. "That stupid whore." "Would you like to match her with Pierrot Simka?"
  
  
  "As before, Pierrot," I said. "A life for a life."
  
  
  Anger was building up in the little demon. My web-based hope was to hook the ego in this way.
  
  
  "Besides," I said, " it wouldn't be entirely fair to Rosana. On the scales, it not only surpasses you in weight, but also a hundred in decency.
  
  
  'Decency! The ego's voice has lost its depth and is absurd, almost shrill. "Then let me tell you about all the ways she was fucked by that peasant bitch." He went into details of which only the venerable Dr. Untenweiser would have been delighted.
  
  
  Her father yawned. "You must have looked like a monkey on the body of Venus de Milo," I said sarcastically.
  
  
  'Monkey?'Stop it!' he growled. "A monkey in a cage. You're a monkey, Carter. I'm free. He swung the luger and proudly made an ego at me through the one around the bars. Clucking with pleasure, he pulled his hand away before he could grab it. "We're going to play a game. The game is about a bad boy teasing a monkey. Then I'll shoot you, Carter, whether your friends come or not. I think that I, Piero Simca, will still run away.
  
  
  He danced around my cage, shoved his weapon inside, and then quickly snatched up ego again when I dared to lunge at him. Again and again, he jumped out of reach as it dived toward him and caught nothing but air sampling. He blushed with frustration, exhaled convulsively, and slowed down with each failed attempt. Until the last moment, when my hand closed around his head and squeezed so hard that he dropped the weapon.
  
  
  Now he started asking. He didn't stop to negotiate when her parched-lipped ego head was sucked into the hole. It had incredible strength for an ego of small size, but ego thread was already known as soon as it was grabbed by ego little head, the size of a coconut. "That's it," he said hoarsely. "All my money, Carter, women, whatever you want... ahhh..."
  
  
  I thought of Rosana's body as she lay on the floor, bathed in her own blood, on my bed at the Superba, and I tilted my head down until I heard her neck break.
  
  
  A floor lamp was stuck in the cage with me, and when I had nothing to fear from Pierrot and the gun, I used it to lift the chandelier a few inches off the ground. After that, it took me a little more than pulling and pushing to get free of this thing.
  
  
  A Luger picked her up and fired three shots three seconds apart. Agreed signal with the colonel. Hawk could have spared me the ego of the newspaper story that's coming up.
  
  
  A BRITISH FINANCIER AND AN ITALIAN STATESMAN ARE KILLED AFTER FALLING FROM A BALCONY.
  
  
  MYSTERIOUS SUICIDE OF A FAMOUS PRODUCER.
  
  
  Whatever Hawke's story was presented to us, it always came down to the same thing for me: "The order is fulfilled."
  
  
  Thread.
  
  
  
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